Part 57

_Boy._ Why, sir, the horse that I do meane Hath a leg both straight and cleane, That hath nor spaven, splint, nor flawe, But is the best that ever ye saw; A pretie rising knee, O knee! 45 It is as round as round may be; The full flanke makes the buttock round: This palfray standeth on no ground When as my maister's on her backe, If that he once do say but, ticke;[1646] 50 And if he pricke her, you shall see Her gallop amaine, she is so free; And if he give her but a nod, She thinkes it is a riding rod; And if hee'l have her softly go, 55 Then she trips it like a doe; She comes so easie with the raine, A twine thred turnes her backe againe; And truly I did nere see yet A horse play proudlier on the bit: 60 My maister with good managing Brought her first unto the ring;[1647] He likewise taught her to corvet, To runne, and suddainlie to set; Shee's cunning in the wilde goose race, 65 Nay, shee's apt to every pace; And to proove her colour good, A flea, enamourd of her blood, Digd for chanels in her neck, And there made many a crimson speck: 70 I thinke theres none that use to ride But can her pleasant trot abide; She goes so even upon the way, She will not stumble in a day; And when my maister-- 75

_Fra._ What do I?

_Boy._ Nay, nothing, sir.

_Phil._ O, fie, Franke, fie! Nay, nay, your reason hath no justice now, I must needs say; perswade him first to speake, 80 Then chide him for it!--Tell me, prettie wag, Where stands this prawncer, in what inne or stable? Or, hath thy maister put her out to runne, Then, in what field, what champion[1648] feeds this courser, This well paste, bonnie steed that thou so praisest? 85

_Boy._ Faith, sir, I thinke----

_Fran._ Villaine, what do yee thinke?

_Bay._ I thinke that you, sir, have bene askt by many, But yet I never heard that yee tolde any.

_Phil._ Well, boy, then I will adde one more to many, 90 And aske thy maister where this jennet feeds.-- Come, Franke, tell me, nay, prethie, tell me, Franke, My good horse-maister, tell me--by this light, I will not steale her from thee; if I do, Let me be held a felone to thy love. 95

_Fran._ No, Phillip, no.

_Phil._ What, wilt thou we[a]re a point[1649] but with one tag? Well, Francis, well, I see you are a wag.

_Enter_ COMES.

_Com._ Swounds, where be these timber turners, these trowle the bowles, these greene men, these-- 100

_Fran._ What, what, sir?

_Comes._ These bowlers, sir.

_Fra._ Well, sir, what say you to bowlers?

_Coo._ Why, I say they cannot be saved.

_Fra._ Your reason, sir? 105

_Coo._ Because they throw away their soules at every marke.

_Fra._ Their soules! how meane ye?

_Phi._ Sirra, he meanes the soule[1650] of our bowle.

_Fra._ Lord, how his wit holdes bias like a bowle!

_Coo._ Well, which is the bias? 110

_Fra._ This next to you.[1651]

_Coo._ Nay, turne it this way, then the bowle goes true.

_Boy._ Rub, rub!

_Coo._ Why rub?

_Boy._ Why, you overcast the marke, and misse the way. 115

_Coo._ Nay, boy, I use to take the fairest of my play.

_Phi._ Dicke Coomes, me thinkes thou art[1652] very pleasant: When[1653] gotst thou this mirrie humor?

_Coo._ In your fathers seller, the merriest place in th' house.

_Phi._ Then you have bene carowsing hard? 120

_Coo._ Yes, faith, 'tis our custome when your fathers men and we meete.

_Phi._ Thou art very welcome thether, Dicke.

_Coo._ By God, I thanke ye, sir, I thanke ye, sir: by God, I have a quart of wine for ye, sir, in any place of the world. There shall not a servingman in Barkeshire fight better for ye then I will do, if you have any quarrell in hand: you shall have the maidenhead of my new sword; I paide a quarters wages for't, by Jesus. 128

_Phi._ Oh, this meate failer Dicke! How well t'as made the apparell of his wit, 130 And brought it into fashion of an honor!-- Prethe,[1654] Dicke Coomes, but tell me how thou doost?

_Coo._ Faith, sir, like a poore man at service.

_Phi._ Or servingman.

_Coo._ Indeede, so called by the vulgar. 135

_Phi._ Why, where the devill hadst thou that word?

_Coo._ Oh, sir, you have the most eloquenst ale in all the[1655] world; our blunt soyle affoordes none such.

_Fra._ Phillip, leave talking with this drunken foole.--Say, sirra, where's my father? 140

_Coo._ 'Marrie, I thanke ye for my verie good cheere.'--'O Lord, it is not so much worth.'--'You see I am bolde with ye.'--'Indeed, you are not so bolde as welcome; I pray yee, come oftner.'--'Truly, I shall trouble ye.'--All these ceremonies are dispatcht betweene them, and they are gone. 145

_Fra._ Are they so?

_Coo._ I, before God, are they.

_Fra._ And wherefore came not you to call me, then?

_Coo._ Because I was loth to change my game.

_Fra._ What game? 150

_Coo._ You were at one sort of bowles, as I was at another.

_Phi._ Sirra, he meanes the buttery bowles of beere.

_Coo._ By God, sir, we tickled it.

_Fra._ Why, what a swearing keepes this drunken asse!-- Canst thou not say but sweare at every word? 155

_Phi._ Peace, do not marre his humour, prethie, Franke.

_Coo._ Let him alone; hee's a springall, he knowes not what belongs to an oath.

_Fra._ Sirra, be quiet, or I doe protest--

_Coo._ Come, come, what doe you protest? 160

_Fra._ By heaven, to crack your crowne.

_Coo._ To crack my crowne! I lay ye a crowne of that, Lay it downe, and ye dare; Nay, sbloud, ile venter a quarters wages of that. Crack my crowne, quotha![1656] 165

_Fra._ Will[1657] ye not yet be quiet? will ye urge me?

_Coo._ Urge yee, with a pox! who urges ye? You might have said so much to a clowne, Or one that had not been ore the sea to see fashions: I have, I tell ye true; and I know what belongs to a man. 170 Crack my crowne, and ye can.

_Fra._ And I can, ye rascall! [_Offers to beat him._]

_Phi._ Hold, haire braine, holde! dost thou not see hees drunke?

_Coo._ Nay, let him come: Though he be my masters sonne, I am my masters man, 175 And a man is a man in any ground of England. Come, and he dares, a comes upon his death: I will not budge an inche, no, sbloud, will I[1658] not.

_Fran._ Will ye not?

_Phi._ Stay, prithie, Franke.--Coomes, dost thou heare? 180

_Coo._ Heare me no heares: Stand away, Ile trust none of you all. If I have my backe against a cart wheele, I would not care if the devill came.

_Phi._ Why, ye foole, I am your friend. 185

_Coo._ Foole on your face! I have a wife.

_Fra._ Shees a whore, then.

_Coo._ Shees as honest as Nan Lawson.

_Phi._ What she?

_Coo._ One of his whores. 190

_Phi._ Why, hath he so many?

_Coo._ I, as many as there be churches in London.

_Phil._ Why, thats a hundred and nine.

_Boy._ Faith, he lyes a hundred.

_Phi._ Then thou art a witnes to nine. 195

_Boy._ No, by God, Ile be witnes to none.

_Coo._ Now doe I stand like the George[1659] at Colbrooke.

_Boy._ No, thou standst like the Bull[1659] at S. Albones.

_Coo._ Boy, ye lye the hornes.[1660]

_Boy._ The bul's bitten; see how he buts! 200

_Phil._ Comes, Comes, put up,[1661] my friend and thou art friends.

_Coo._ Ile heare him say so first.

_Phil._ Franke, prethie doe; be friends, and tell him so.

_Fra._ Goe to, I am.

_Boy._ Put up, sir, and ye be a man, put up. 205

_Coom._ I am easily perswaded, boye.

_Phil._ Ah, ye mad slave!

_Coomes._ Come, come, a couple of whore-masters I found yee, and so I leave yee. _Exit._

_Phil._ Loe, Franke, doost thou not see hees drunke, 210 That twits thee[1662] with thy disposition?

_Fra._ What disposition?

_Phil._ Nan Lawson, Nan Lawson.

_Fran._ Nay, then--

_Phil._ Goe to, ye wag, tis well: 215 If ever yee get a wife, i faith Ile tell. Sirra, at home we have a servingman; Hees[1663] not humord bluntly as Coomes is, Yet his condition[1664] makes me often merrie: Ile tell thee, sirra, hees a fine neate fellow, 220 A spruce slave; I warrant ye, heele[1665] have His cruell[1666] garters crosse about the knee, His woollen hose as white as the driven snowe, His shooes dry leather neat, and tyed with red ribbins, A nose-gay bound with laces in his hat, 225 Bridelaces, sir, in's hat--an all greene hat,[1667] Greene coverlet for such a grasse greene wit. 'The goose that graseth on the greene,' quoth he, 'May I eate on when you shall buried be!' All proverbes is his speech, hee's proverbs all. 230

_Fra._ Why speakes he proverbs?

_Phi._ Because he would speake truth, And proverbes, youle confesse, are olde said sooth.

_Fra._ I like this well, and one day Ile see him: But shall we part? 235

_Phil._ Not yet, Ile bring you somewhat on your way, And as we goe, betweene your boy and you Ile know where that [brave][1668] praunser stands at levery.

_Fra._ Come, come, you shall not.

_Phil._ I faith, I wil. _Exeunt._ 240

[Scene Third.[1669] _Barneses Garden._]

_Enter_ MASTER BARNES and his WIFE.

_M. Bar._ Wife, in my minde to day you were too blame, Although my patience did not blame ye for it: Me thought the rules of love and neighbourhood Did not direct your thoughts; all indirect[1670] Were your proceedings in the entertaine 5 Of them that I invited to my house. Nay, stay, I doe not chide, but counsell, wife, And in the mildest manner that I may: You neede not viewe me with a servants eye, Whose vassaile[1671] sences tremble at the looke 10 Of his displeased master. O my wife, You are my selfe! when selfe sees fault in selfe, Selfe is sinne obstinate, if selfe amend not: Indeede, I sawe a fault in thee my selfe, And it hath set a foyle upon thy fame, 15 Not as the foile doth grace the diamond.

_Mi. Bar._ What fault, sir, did you see in me to day?

_M. Bar._ O, doe not set the organ of thy voice On such a grunting key of discontent! Doe not deforme the beautie of thy tongue 20 With such mishapen answeres. Rough wrathfull words Are bastards got by rashnes in the thoughts: Faire demeanors are vertues nuptiall babes, The off-spring of the well instructed soule; O, let them call thee mother, then, my wife! 25 So seeme not barren of good courtesie.

_Mi. Bar._ So; have ye done?

_M. Bar._ I, and I had done well, If you would do what I advise for well.

_Mi. Bar._ Whats that? 30

_M. Bar._ Which is, that you would be good friendes With mistresse Goursey.[1672]

_Mi. Bar._ With mistresse Goursey!

_M. Bar._ I, sweet wife.

_Mis. Bar._ Not so, sweet husband. 35

_M. Bar._ Could you but shew me any grounded cause.

_Mis. Bar._ The grounded cause I ground because I wil not.

_M. Bar._ Your will hath little reason, then, I thinke.

_Mi. Bar._ Yes, sir, my[1673] reason equalleth my will.

_M. Bar._ Lets heare your reason, for your will is great. 40

_Mi. Bar._ Why, for I will not.

_M. Bar._ Is all your reason 'for I will not,' wife? Now, by my soule, I held yee for more wise, Discreete, and of more temperature in sence, Then in a sullen humour to affect[1674] 45 That womans[1675] will borne, common, scholler phrase: Oft have I heard a timely married girle, That newly left to call her mother mam, Her father dad, but yesterday come from 'Thats my good girle, God send thee a good husband!' 50 And now being taught to speake the name of husband, Will, when she would be wanton in her will, If her husband aske her why, say 'for I will.' Have I chid men for[1676] unmanly choyse, That would not fit their yeares? have I seene thee 55 Pupell[1677] such greene yong things, and with thy counsell Tutor their wits? and art thou now infected With this disease of imperfection? I blush for thee, ashamed at thy shame.

_Mi. Bar._ A shame on her that makes thee rate me so! 60

_M. Bar._ O black mouth'd rage, thy breath is boysterous, And thou makst vertue shake at this high storme! Shees[1678] of good report; I know thou knowst it.

_Mi. Bar._ She is not, nor I know not, but I know That thou dost love her, therefore thinkst her so; 65 Thou bearst with her, because she beares with thee. Thou mayst be ashamed to stand in her defence: She is a strumpet, and thou art no honest man To stand in her defence against thy wife. If I catch her in my walke, now, by Cockes[1679] bones, 70 Ile scratch out both her eyes.

_M. Bar._ O God!

_Mi. Bar._ Nay, never say 'O God' for the matter: Thou art the cause; thou badst her to my house, Onely to bleare the eyes of Goursey, didst not? 75 But I wil send him word, I warrant thee, And ere I sleepe to[o]; trust upon it, sir. _Exit._

_M. Bar._ Me thinkes this is a mighty fault in her; I could be angry with her: O, if I be so, I shall but put a linke unto a torche, 80 And so give greater light to see her fault. Ile rather smother it in melancholly: Nay, wisedome bids me shunne that passion; Then I will studie for a remedy. I have a daughter,--now, heaven invocate, 85 She be not of like spirit as her mother! If so, sheel be a plague unto her husband, If that he be not patient and discreet, For that I hold the ease of all such trouble. Well, well, I would my daughter had a husband, 90 For I would see how she could demeane her selfe In that estate; it may be, ill enough,-- And, so God shall help me, well remembred now! Franke Goursey is his fathers sonne and heyre, A youth that in my heart I have good hope on; 95 My sences say a match, my soule applaudes The motion: O, but his lands are great, Hee will looke high; why, I will straine my selfe To make her dowry equall with his land. Good faith, and twere a match, twould be a meanes 100 To make their mothers friends. Ile call my daughter, To see how shees disposde to marriage.-- Mall, where are yee?

_Enter_ MALL.

_Mall._ Father, heere I am.

_M. Bar._ Where is your mother? 105

_Mal._ I saw her not, forsooth, since you and she Went walking both together to the garden.

_M. Ba._ Dost thou heare me, girle? I must dispute with thee.

_Mal._ Father, the question, then, must not be hard, For I am very weake in argument. 110

_M. Bar._ Well, this it is; I say tis good to marry.

_Mal._ And this say I, tis not good to marry.

_M. Bar._ Were it not good, then all men would not marry; But now they doe.

_Mal._ Marry, not all; but it is good to marry. 115

_M. Bar._ Is it both good and bad? how can this be?

_Mal._ Why, it is good to them that marry well; To them that marry ill, no greater hell.

_M. Bar._ If thou mightst marry well, wouldst thou agree?

_Mall._ I cannot tell; heaven must appoint for me. 120

_M. Bar._ Wench, I am studying for thy good, indeed.

_Mall._ My hopes and dutie wish your thoughts good speed.

_M. Bar._ But tell me, wench, hast thou a minde to marry?

_Mall._ This question is too hard for bashfulnes; And, father, now ye pose my modestie. 125 I am a maide, and when ye aske me thus, I like a maide must blush, looke pale and wan, And then looke pale[1680] againe; for we change colour As our thoughts change. With true fac'd passion Of modest maidenhead I could adorne me, 130 And to your question make a sober cursie And with close clipt civilitie be silent; Or els say 'no, forsooth,' or 'I, forsooth.' If I said 'no, forsooth,' I lyed, forsooth: To lye upon my selfe were deadly sinne, 135 Therefore I will speake truth, and shame the divell. Father, when first I heard you name a husband, At that same very name my spirits quickned. Dispaire before had kild them, they were dead: Because it was my hap so long to tarry, 140 I was perswaded I should never marry; And, sitting sowing, thus upon the ground I fell in traunce of meditation; But comming to my selfe, 'O Lord,' said I, 'Shall it be so? must I unmarryed dye?' 145 And being angry, father, farther said, 'Now, by saint Anne, I will not dye a maide!' Good faith, before I came to this ripe groath, I did accuse the labouring time of sloath: Me thought the yeere did run but slow about, 150 For I thought each yeare ten I was without. Being foureteene and toward the other[1681] yeare, Good Lord, thought I, fifteene will nere be heere! For I have heard my mother say that then Prittie maides were fit for handsome men: 155 Fifteene past, sixeteene, and seventeene too, What, thought I, will not this husband do? Will no man marry me? have men forsworne Such beauty and such youth? shall youth be worne, As rich mens gownes, more with age then use? 160 Why, then I let restrained[1682] fansie loose, And bad it gaze for pleasure; then love swore me To doe what ere my mother did before me; Yet, in good faith, I was[1683] very loath, But now it lyes in you to save my oath: 165 If I shall have a husband, get him quickly, For maides that weares corke[1684] shooes may step awry.

_M. Bar._ Beleeve me, wench, I doe not repprehend[1685] thee, But for this pleasant answere do commend thee. I must confesse, love doth thee mighty wrong, 170 But I will see thee have thy right ere long; I know a young man, whom I holde most fit To have thee both for living and for wit: I will goe write about it presentle.

_Mall._ Good father, do. [_Exit_ BARNES.] O God, me thinkes I should 175 Wife it as fine as any woman could! I could carry a porte to be obayde, Carry a maistering eye upon my maide, With 'Minion, do your businesse, or Ile make yee,' And to all house authoritie be take me. 180 O God, would I were married! be my troth, But if I be not, I sweare Ile keepe my oath.

_Ent._ MI. BA.

[_Mi. Ba._] How now, minion, wher have you bin gadding?

_Mall._ Forsooth, my father called me forth to him.

_Mi. Bar._ Your father! and what said he too ye, I pray? 185

_Mall._ Nothing, forsooth.

_Mi. Bar._ Nothing! that cannot be; something he said.

_Mall._ I, somthing that as good as nothing was.

_Mi. Bar._ Come, let me heare that somthing nothing, then.

_Mal._ Nothing but of a husband for me, mother. 190

_Mi. Bar._ A husband! that was something: but what husband?

_Mall._ Nay, faith, I know not, mother: would I did!

_Mis. Bar._ I, 'would ye did'! i faith, are ye so hasty?

_Mall._ Hasty, mother! why, how olde am I?

_Mis. Ba._ To yong to marry.

_Mal._ Nay, by the masse, ye lie. 195 Mother, how olde were you when you did marry?

_Mis. Ba._ How olde so ere I was, yet you shall tarry.

_Mall._ Then the worse for me. Hark, mother, harke! The priest forgets that ere he was a clarke: When you were at my yeeres, Ile holde my life, 200 Your minde was to change maidenhead for wife. Pardon me, mother, I am of your minde, And, by my troth, I take it but by kinde.[1686]

_Mis. Bar._ Do ye heare, daughter? you shal stay my leasure.

_Mall._ Do you heare, mother? would you stay fro pleasure 205 When ye have minde to it? Go to, there's no wrong Like this, to let maides lye alone so long: Lying alone they muse but in their beds How they might loose their long kept maiden heads. This is the cause there is so many scapes, 210 For women that are wise will not lead apes In hell:[1687] I tel yee, mother, I say true;-- Therefore, come, husband, maiden head, adew! _Exit._

_Mis. Bar._ Well, lustie guts, I meane to make ye stay, And set some rubbes in your mindes smothest way.[1688] 215

_Enter_ PHILIP.

_Phi._ Mother--

_Mi. Ba._ How now, sirra, where have ye bin walking?

_Phil._ Over the meades, halfe way to Milton,[1689] mother, To beare my friend Franke Goursey company.

_Mi. Ba._ Wher's your blew coat,[1690] your sword and buckler, sir? Get you such like habite for a servingman, 221 If you will waight upon the brat of Goursey.

_Phil._ Mother, that you are moov'd, this maks me wonder, When I departed I did leave yee friends: What undigested jarre hath since betided? 225

_Mi. Bar._ Such as almost doth choake thy mother, boy, And stifles her with the conceit of it; I am abusde, my sonne, by Gourseys wife.

_Phil._ By mistresse Goursey?

_Mi. Bar._ Mistresse flurt, yon[1691] foule strumpet, 230 Light a love, short heeles! Mistresse Goursey Call her againe, and thou wert better no.

_Phil._ O my deare mother,[1692] have some patience!

_Mis. Bar._ I, sir, have patience, and see your father To rifle up the treasure of my love, 235 And play the spend-thrift upon such an harlot! This same will make me have patience, will it not?

_Phili._ This same is womens most impatience: Yet, mother, I have often heard ye say That you have found my father temperate, 240 And ever free from such affections.

_Mi. Bar._ I, till[1693] my too much love did glut his thoughts, And make him seek for change.

_Phi._ O, change your minde! My father beares more cordiall love to you. 245

_Mi. B._ Thou liest, thou liest, for he loves Gourseys wife, Not me.

_Phil._ Now, I sweare, mother, you are much too blame; I durst be sworne he loves you as his soule.

_Mi. Bar._ Wilt thou be pampered by affection? 250 Will nature teach thee such vilde[1694] perjurie? Wilt thou be sworne, I, forsworne,[1695] carelesse boy? And if thou swearst, I say he loves me not.

_Phil._ He loves ye but too well, I sweare, Unlesse ye knew much better how to use him. 255

_Mi. Bar._ Doth he so, sir? thou unnaturall boy! 'Too well,' sayest thou? that word shall cost thee[1696] somwhat: O monstrous! have I brought thee up to this? 'Too well'! O unkinde, wicked, and degenerate, Hast thou the heart to say so of thy mother? 260 Well, God will plague thee fort, I warrant thee: Out on thee, villaine, fie upon thee, wretch! Out of my sight, out of my sight, I say!