ACT V.--SCENE I.

_Enter_ MERCHANT, _solus_.

_Merch._ I will have no great store of company at the wedding: a couple of neighbours and their wives; and we will have a capon in stewed broth, with marrow, and a good piece of beef, stuck with rosemary.

_Enter_ JASPER, _with his face mealed_.

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

_Merch._ Heav'n bless me! Jasper!

_Jasp._ Ay, 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 borne away On wings of angels, through the liquid air 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 father's anger, poverty, Nor any cross that troubles earthly men, Shall make us sever our united hearts. And never shalt thou sit, or be alone In any place, but I will visit thee With ghastly 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 fill'd with swelling wine, I'll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, Invisible to all men but thyself, 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 satisfy thy troubled ghost?

_Jasp._ There is no means, too late thou think'st on this.

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

_Jasp._ Repent thy deed, and satisfy my father, And beat fond Humphrey out of thy doors. [_Exit_ JASPER.

_Enter_ HUMPHREY.

_Wife._ Look, George, his very ghost would have folks beaten.

_Humph._ Father, my bride is gone, fair Mistress Luce. My soul's the font of vengeance, mischief's sluice.

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

_Humph._ Hold, my father dear, For Luce thy daughter's sake, that had no peer.

_Merch._ Thy father, fool? There's some blows more, begone. [_Beats him._

Jasper, I hope thy ghost be well appeased To see thy will perform'd; now will I go To satisfy thy father for thy wrongs. [_Exit._

_Humph._ What shall I do? I have been beaten twice, And Mistress Luce is gone. Help me, device: Since my true love is gone, I never more, Whilst I do live, upon the sky will pore; But in the dark will wear out my shoe-soles In passion, in Saint Faith's Church under Paul's. [_Exit._

_Wife._ George, call Ralph hither; if you love me, call Ralph hither. I have the bravest thing for him to do, George; prithee call him quickly.

_Cit._ Ralph, why Ralph, boy!

_Enter_ RALPH.

_Ralph._ Here, sir.

_Cit._ Come hither, Ralph, come to thy mistress, boy.

_Wife._ Ralph, 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 soldiers to be merry and wise, and to keep their beards from burning, Ralph; and then skirmish, and let your flags fly, and cry, Kill, kill, kill! My husband shall lend you his jerkin, Ralph, and there's a scarf; for the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we'll pay for't: do it bravely, Ralph, and think before whom you perform, and what person you represent.

_Ralph._ I warrant you, mistress, if I do it not, for the honour of the city, and the credit of my master, let me never hope for freedom.

_Wife._ 'Tis well spoken i'faith; go thy ways, 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 myself a pike-man once, in the hottest of the day, wench; had my feather shot sheer 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 thundered 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 fly; but have a great care of the butchers' hooks at Whitechapel, 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. Sergeant, call a muster.

_Serg._ A stand. William Hamerton, pewterer.

_Ham._ Here, Captain.

_Ralph._ A croslet 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, sergeant.

_Serg._ George Green-goose, poulterer.

_Green._ Here.

_Ralph._ Let me see your piece, neighbour Green-goose. When was she shot in?

_Green._ An' 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 stinketh. And I tell you, moreover, and believe it, ten such touch-holes would poison the army; get you a feather, neighbour, get you a feather, sweet oil and paper, and your piece may do well enough yet. Where's your powder?

_Green._ Here.

_Ralph._ What, in a paper? As I am a soldier and a gentleman, it craves a martial court: you ought to die for't. Where's your horn? Answer me to that.

_Green._ An't like you, sir, I was oblivious.

_Ralph._ It likes me not it should be so; 'tis a shame for you, and a scandal to all our neighbours, being a man of worth and estimation, to leave your horn behind you: I am afraid 'twill breed example. But let me tell you no more on't; stand till I view you all. What's become o' th' nose of your flask?

_1st Sold._ Indeed, la' captain, 'twas blown away with powder.

_Ralph._ Put on a new one at the city's charge. Where's the flint of this piece?

_2nd Sold._ The drummer took it out to light tobacco.

_Ralph._ 'Tis a fault, my friend; put it in again. You want a nose, and you a flint; sergeant, take a note on't, for I mean to stop it in their pay. Remove and march; soft and fair, gentlemen, soft and fair: double your files; as you were; faces about. Now you with the sodden face, keep in there: look to your match, sirrah, it will be in your fellow's flask anon. So make a crescent now, advance your pikes, stand and give ear. Gentlemen, countrymen, friends, and my fellow-soldiers, I have brought you this day from the shop of security and the counters of content, to measure out in these furious fields honour by the ell and prowess by the pound. Let it not, O let it not, I say, be told hereafter, the noble issue of this city fainted; but bear yourselves in this fair action like men, valiant men, and free men. Fear not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the guns; for believe me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer's car is more terrible, of which you have a daily experience: neither let the stink of powder offend you, since a more valiant stink is always with you. To a resolved mind his home is everywhere. I speak not this to take away the hope of your return; for you shall see (I do not doubt it), and that very shortly, your loving wives again, and your sweet children, whose care doth bear you company in baskets. Remember, then, whose cause you have in hand, and like a sort of true-born scavengers, scour me this famous realm of enemies. I have no more to say but this: Stand to your tacklings, lads, and show to the world you can as well brandish a sword as shake an apron. Saint George, and on, my hearts!

_Omnes._ Saint George, Saint George! [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ 'Twas well done, Ralph; I'll send thee a cold capon a field, and a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, come myself to see thee.

_Cit._ Nell, the boy hath deceived me much; I did not think it had been in him. He has perform'd such a matter, wench, that, if I live, next year I'll have him Captain of the Gallifoist, or I'll want my will.

_Enter_ OLD MERRY-THOUGHT.

_Old Mer._ Yet, I thank God, I break not a wrinkle more than I had; not a stoop, boys. Care, live with cats, I defy thee! My heart is as sound as an oak; and tho' I want drink to wet my whistle, I can sing,

"Come no more there, boys; come no more there: For we shall never, whilst we live, come any more there."

_Enter a_ BOY _with a coffin_.

_Boy._ God save you, sir.

_Old Mer._ It's a brave boy. Canst thou sing?

_Boy._ Yes, sir, I can sing, but 'tis not so necessary at this time.

_Old Mer._ "Sing we, and chaunt it, Whilst love doth grant it."

_Boy._ Sir, sir, if you knew what I have brought you, you would have little list to sing.

_Old Mer._ "Oh, the Mimon round, Full long I have thee sought, And now I have thee found, And what hast thou here brought?"

_Boy._ A coffin, sir, and your dead son Jasper in it.

_Old Mer._ Dead!

"Why farewell he: Thou wast a bonny boy, And I did love thee."

_Enter_ JASPER.

_Jasp._ Then I pray you, sir, do so still.

_Old Mer._ Jasper's ghost!

"Thou art welcome from Stygian-lake so soon, Declare to me what wondrous things In Pluto's Court are done."

_Jasp._ By my troth, sir, I ne'er came there, 'tis too hot for me, sir.

_Old Mer._ A merry ghost, a very merry ghost.

"And where is your true love? Oh, where is yours?"

_Jasp._ Marry look you, sir. [_Heaves up the coffin._

_Old Mer._ Ah ha! Art thou good at that i'faith? "With hey trixie terlerie-whiskin, The world it runs on wheels; When the young man's frisking Up goes the maiden's heels."

MISTRESS MERRY-THOUGHT _and_ MICHAEL _within_.

_Mist. Mer._ What, Mr. Merry-thought, will you not let's in? What do you think shall become of us?

_Old Mer._ What voice is that that calleth at our door?

_Mist. Mer._ You know me well enough, I am sure I have not been such a stranger to you.

_Old Mer._ "And some they whistled, and some they sung, Hey down, down: And some did loudly say, Ever as the Lord Barnet's horn blew, Away, Musgrave, away."

_Mist. Mer._ You will not have us starve here, will you, Master Merry-thought?

_Jasp._ Nay, good sir, be persuaded, she is my mother. If her offences have been great against you, let your own love remember she is yours, and so forgive her.

_Luce._ Good Master Merry-thought, let me entreat you, I will not be denied.

_Mist. Mer._ Why, Master Merry-thought, will you be a vext thing still?

_Old Mer._ Woman, I take you to my love again, but you shall sing before you enter; therefore despatch your song, and so come in.

_Mist. Mer._ Well, you must have your will when all's done. Michael, what song canst thou sing, boy?

_Mich._ I can sing none forsooth but "A Lady's Daughter of Paris," properly.

_Mist. Mer._ [song.] "It was a lady's daughter," &c.

_Old Mer._ Come, you're welcome home again. "If such danger be in playing, And jest must to earnest turn, You shall go no more a-maying"----

_Merch._ [within.] Are you within, Sir Master Merry-thought?

_Jasp._ It is my master's voice, good sir; go hold him in talk whilst we convey ourselves into some inward room.

_Old Mer._ What are you? Are you merry? You must be very merry if you enter.

_Merch._ I am, sir.

_Old Mer._ Sing, then.

_Merch._ Nay, good sir, open to me.

_Old Mer._ Sing, I say, or by the merry heart you come not in.

_Merch._ Well, sir, I'll sing. "Fortune my foe," &c.

_Old Mer._ You are welcome, sir, you are welcome: you see your entertainment, pray you be merry.

_Merch._ Oh, Master Merry-thought, I'm come to ask you Forgiveness for the wrongs I offered you, And your most virtuous son; they're infinite, Yet my contrition shall be more than they. I do confess my hardness broke his heart, For which just Heav'n hath given me punishment More than my age can carry; his wand'ring sprite, Not yet at rest, pursues me everywhere, Crying, I'll haunt thee for thy cruelty. My daughter she is gone, I know not how. Taken invisible, and whether living, Or in grave, 'tis yet uncertain to me. Oh, Master Merry-thought, these are the weights Will sink me to my grave. Forgive me, sir.

_Old Mer._ Why, sir, I do forgive you, and be merry. And if the wag in's lifetime play'd the knave, Can you forgive him too?

_Merch._ With all my heart, sir.

_Old Mer._ Speak it again, and heartily.

_Merch._ I do, sir. Now by my soul I do.

_Old Mer._ "With that came out his paramour, She was as white as the lily flower, Hey troul, troly loly. With that came out her own dear knight, He was as true as ever did fight," &c.

_Enter_ LUCE _and_ JASPER.

Sir, if you will forgive 'em, clap their hands together, there's no more to be said i' th' matter.

_Merch._ I do, I do!

_Cit._ I do not like this. Peace, boys, hear me one of you, everybody's part is come to an end but Ralph's, and he's left out.

_Boy._ 'Tis long of yourself, sir, we have nothing to do with his part.

_Cit._ Ralph, come away, make on him as you have done of the rest, boys, come.

_Wife_. Now, good husband, let him come out and die.

_Cit._ He shall, Nell; Ralph, come away quickly and die, boy.

_Boy._ 'Twill be very unfit he should die, sir, upon no occasion, and in a comedy too.

_Cit._ Take you no care for that, Sir Boy; is not his part at an end, think you, when he's dead? Come away, Ralph.

_Enter_ RALPH _with a forked arrow through his head._

_Ralph._ When I was mortal, this my costive corps Did lap up figs and raisins in the Strand, Where sitting, I espy'd a lovely dame, Whose master wrought with lingel and with awl, And underground he vampéd many a boot. Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig, To follow feats of arms in warlike wise, Through Waltham Desert; where I did perform Many achievements, and did lay on ground Huge Barbaroso, that insulting giant, And all his captives soon set at liberty. Then honour prick'd me from my native soil Into Moldavia, where I gain'd the love Of Pompiana, his beloved daughter; But yet prov'd constant to the black-thumbed maid Susan, and scornéd Pompiana's love. Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins, And money for her father's officers. I then returnéd home, and thrust myself In action, and by all men chosen was The Lord of May, where I did flourish it, With scarfs and rings, and posie in my hand. After this action I preferréd was, And chosen City Captain at Mile End, With hat and feather, and with leading staff, And train'd my men, and brought them all off clean, Save one man that berayed him with the noise. But all these things I, Ralph, did undertake, Only for my belovéd Susan's sake. Then coming home, and sitting in my shop With apron blue, Death came unto my stall To cheapen aquavitæ, but ere I Could take the bottle down, and fill a taste, Death caught a pound of pepper in his hand, And sprinkled all my face and body o'er, And in an instant vanishéd away.

_Cit._ 'Tis a pretty fiction, i'faith.

_Ralph._ Then took I up my bow and shaft in hand, And walkéd in Moorfields to cool myself, But there grim cruel Death met me again, And shot his forkéd arrow through my head. And now I faint; therefore be warn'd by me, My fellows every one, of forkéd heads. Farewell, all you good boys in merry London, Ne'er shall we more upon Shrove Tuesday meet, And pluck down houses of iniquity. My pain increaseth: I shall never more When clubs are cried be brisk upon my legs, Nor daub a satin gown with rotten eggs. Set up a stake, oh never more I shall; I die! Fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers Hall! Oh, oh, oh, &c.

_Wife._ Well said, Ralph, do your obeisance to the gentlemen, and go your ways. Well said, Ralph.

[_Exit_ RALPH.

_Old Mer._ Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly reconciled, should not part without a song.

_Merch._ A good motion.

_Old Mer._ Strike up, then.

SONG.

Better music ne'er was known, Than a quire of hearts in one. Let each other, that hath been Troubled with the gall or spleen, Learn of us to keep his brow Smooth and plain, as yours are now. Sing though before the hour of dying, He shall rise, and then be crying Heyho, 'tis nought but mirth That keeps the body from the earth. [_Exeunt omnes._

EPILOGUS.

_Cit._ Come, Nell, shall we go? The play's done.

_Wife._ Nay, by my faith, George, I have more manners than so, I'll speak to these gentlemen first. I thank you all, gentlemen, for your patience and countenance to Ralph, a poor fatherless child, and if I may see you at my house, it should go hard but I would have a pottle of wine, and a pipe of tobacco for you, for truly I hope you like the youth, but I would be glad to know the truth. I refer it to your own discretions, whether you will applaud him or no, for I will wink, and whilst, you shall do what you will.--I thank you with all my heart: God give you good night. Come, George.

THE REHEARSAL.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

BAYES. JOHNSON. SMITH. _Two Kings of Brentford_. PRINCE PRETTYMAN. PRINCE VOLSCIUS. _Gentleman-Usher_. _Physician_. DRAWCANSIR. _General_. _Lieutenant-General_. CORDELIO. TOM THIMBLE. _Fisherman_. _Sun_. _Thunder_. _Players_. _Soldiers_. _Two Heralds_. _Four Cardinals_. } _Mayor_. } Mutes _Judges_ } _Serjeant-at-Arms_. } AMARYLLIS. CLORIS. PARTHENOPE. PALLAS. _Lightning_. _Moon_. _Earth_. Attendants of Men and Women.

SCENE.--BRENTFORD.

PROLOGUE.

We might well call this short mock-play of ours, A posy made of weeds instead of flowers; Yet such have been presented to your noses, And there are such, I fear, who thought 'em roses. Would some of 'em were here, to see, this night, What stuff it is in which they took delight. Here brisk insipid rogues, for wit, let fall Sometimes dull sense; but oft'ner none at all. There, strutting heroes, with a grim-fac'd train, Shall brave the gods, in King Cambyses' vein. For (changing rules, of late, as if man writ In spite of reason, nature, art and wit) Our poets make us laugh at tragedy, And with their comedies they make us cry. Now critics, do your worst, that here are met; For, like a rook, I have hedg'd in my bet. If you approve, I shall assume the state Of those high-flyers whom I imitate: And justly too, for I will teach you more Than ever they would let you know before. I will not only show the feats they do, But give you all their reasons for 'em too. Some honour may to me from hence arise; But if, by my endeavours you grow wise, And what you once so prais'd, shall now despise; Then I'll cry out, swell'd with poetic rage, 'Tis I, John Lacy, have reform'd your stage.

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