Part 58

_Phil._ This ayre is pleasant, and doth please me well, And here I will stay. 265

_Mi. Bar._ Wilt thou, stubborne villaine?

_Enter_ M. BAR.

_M. Bar._ How now, whats the matter?

_Mi. Bar._ Thou setst thy sonne to scoffe and mocke at me: Ist not sufficient I am wrongd of thee, But he must be an agent to abuse me? 270 Must I be subject to my cradle too? O God, O God amend it! [_Exit._]

_M. Ba._ Why, how now, Phillip? is this true, my sonne?

_Phil._ Deare father, she is much impatient: Nere let that hand assist me in my need, 275 If I more said then that she thought amisse To thinke that you were so licentious given; And thus much more, when she inferd it more, I swore an oath you lov'd her but too well: In that as guiltie I do hold my selfe, 280 Now that I come to more considerate triall: I know my fault; I should have borne with her: Blame me for rashnesse, then, not for want of dutie.

_M. Ba._ I do absolve thee; and come hether, Phillip: I have writ a letter unto master Goursey, 285 And I will tell thee the contents thereof; But tell me first, thinkst thou Franke Goursey loves thee?

_Phil._ If that a man devoted to a man, Loyall, religious in loves hallowed vowes, If that a man that is soule laboursome 290 To worke his owne thoughts to his friends delight, May purchase good opinion with his friend, Then I may say, I have done this so well, That I may thinke Franke Goursey loves me well.

_M. Ba._ Tis well; and I am much deceived in him, 295 And if he be not sober, wise, and valliant.

_Phi._ I hope my father takes me for thus wise, I will not glew my selfe in love to one That hath not some desert of vertue in him: What ere you thinke of him, beleeve me, father, 300 He will be answerable to your thoughts In any quallity commendable.

_M. Bar._ Thou chearst my hopes in him; and, in good faith, Thoust[1697] made my love complete unto thy friend: Phillip, I love him, and I love him so. 305 I could affoorde him a good wife I know.

_Phi._ Father, a wife!

_M. Bar._ Phillip, a wife.

_Phil._ I lay my life, my sister.

_M. Bar._ I, in good faith. 310

_Phil._ Then, father, he shall have her; he shall, I sweare.

_M. Bar._ How canst thou say so, knowing not his minde?

_Phi._ All is one for that; I will goe to him straight. Father, if you would seeke this seaven yeares day, You could not[1698] finde a fitter match for her; 315 And he shall have her, I sweare he shall; He were as good be hang'd as once deny her. I faith, Ile to him.[1699]

_M. Bar._ Hairebraine, hairebraine, stay! As yet we do not know his fathers[1700] minde: 320 Why, what will master Goursey say, my sonne, If we should motion it without his knowledge? Go to, hees a wise and discreet gentleman, And that expects[1701] from me all honest parts; Nor shall he faile his expectation; 325 First I doe meane to make him privy to it: Phillip, this letter is to that effect.

_Phil._ Father, for Gods[1702] sake send it quickly, then: Ile call your man.--What, Hugh! wheres Hugh, there, ho?

_M. Bar._ Phillip, if this would proove a match, 330 It were the only meanes that could be found To make thy mother frends with Mist[resse] Gou[rsey].

_Phil._ How, a match! Ile warrant ye, a match. My sister's faire, Franke Goursie he is rich; Her[1703] dowrie too will be sufficient; 335 Franke's yong,[1704] and youth is apt to love; And, by my troth, my sisters maiden head Standes like a game at tennis,--if the ball Hit into the hole, or hazard, farewell all!

_Ma. Bar._ How now, where's Hugh? 340

[_Enter_ NICHOLAS.]

_Phil._ Why, what doth this proverbial with us? Why, where's Hugh?

_M. Bar._ Peace, peace.

_Phil._ Where's Hugh, I say?

_M. Bar._ Be not so hasty, Phillip. 345

_Phil._ Father, let me alone, I doe it but to make my selfe some sport. This formall foole, your man, speakes naught but proverbs, And speake men what they can to him, hee'l answere With some rime,[1705] rotten sentence, or olde saying, 350 Such spokes[1706] as the ancient of the parish use, With, 'neighbour, tis an olde proverbe and a true, Goose giblets are good meate, old sacke better then new'; Then saies another, 'neighbour, that is true'; And when each man hath drunke his gallon round, 355 A penny pot, for thats the olde mans gallon, Then doth he licke his lips, and stroke his beard That's glewed together with his slavering droppes Of yesty ale, and when he scarce can trim His gouty fingers, thus hee'l phillip it, 360 And with a rotten hem say, 'hey, my hearts, Merry go sorrie! cocke and pye, my heartes!' But then their saving penny proverbe comes, And that is this, 'they that will to the wine, Berlady[1707] mistresse, shall lay theyr penny to mine.' 365 This was one of this penny-fathers[1708] bastards, For, on my lyfe, he was never begot Without the consent of some great proverb-monger.

_M. Bar._ O, ye are a wag.

_Phil._ Well, now unto my busines. 370 Swounds, will that mouth, thats made of olde sed sawes And nothing else, say nothing to us now?

_Nich._ O master Phillip, forbeare; you must not leape over the style before you come at it; haste makes waste; softe fire makes sweete malt; not too fast for falling; there's no hast to hang true men. 376

_Phil._ Father, we ha'te, ye see, we ha'te. Now will I see if my memorie will serve for some proverbs too. O,--a painted cloath were as wel worth a shilling as a theefe woorth a halter; well, after my heartie commendations, as I was at the making hereof; so it is, that I hope as you speed, so you're sure; a swift horse will tire, but he that trottes easilie will indure. You have most learnedly proverbde it, commending the vertue of patience or forbearance, but yet, you know, forbearance is no quittance.

_Nich._ I promise yee, maister Philip, you have spoken as true as steele. 386

_Phil._ Father, theres a proverbe well applied.

_Nich._ And it seemeth unto me, I, it seemes to me, that you, maister Phillip, mocke me: do you not know, _qui mocat mocabitur_? mocke age, and see how it will prosper. 390

_Phil._ Why, ye whoresen proverb-booke bound up in follio, Have yee no other sence to answer me But every worde a proverbe? no other English? Well, Ile fulfill a proverb on thee straight.

_Nich._ What is it, sir? 395

_Phil._ Ile fetch my fist from thine eare.

_Nich._ Beare witnesse he threatens me!

_Phil._ Father, that same is the cowards common proverbe.--But come, come, sirra, tell me where Hugh is. 399

_Nich._ I may, and I will; I need not except I list; you shall not commaund me, you give me neither meate, drinke, nor wages; I am your fathers man, and a man's a man, and a have but a hose on his head; do not misuse me so, do not; for though he that is bound must obay, yet he that will not tarrie, may[1709] runne away, so he may. 405

_M. Bar._ Peace, Nicke, Ile see he shall use thee well; Go to, peace, sirra: here, Nicke, take this letter, Carrie it to him to whom it is directed.

_Nich._ To whom is it?

_M. Bar._ Why, reade it: canst thou read? 410

_Nich._ Forsooth, though none of the best, yet meanly.

_M. Bar._ Why, dost thou not use it?

_Nich._ Forsooth, as use makes perfectnes, so seldome seene is soone forgotten.

_M. Bar._ Well said: but goe; it is to master Goursey. 415

_Phil._ Now, sir, what proverbe have ye to deliver a letter?

_Nich._ What need you to care? who speakes to you? you may speake when you are spoken to, and keep your winde to coole your pottage. Well, well, you are my maisters sonne, and you looke for his lande; but they that hope for dead mens shooes, may hap to go barefoote: take heed; as soone goes the yong sheep to the pot as the olde. I pray God save my maysters life, for sildome comes the better! 423

_Phil._ O, he hath given it me! Farewell, proverbes.

_Nich._ Farewell, frost.[1710] 425

_Phil._ Shal I fling an old shoe after ye?

_Nich._ No; you should say, God send faire weather after me!

_Phil._ I meane for good lucke.

_Nich._ A good lucke on ye! _Exit._

_M. Bar._ Alas, poore foole, he uses all his wit! 430 Phillip, in faith[1711] this mirth hath cheered thought, And cussend it of his right play of passion. Goe after Nick, and, when thou thinkst hees there, Go in and urge to that which I have writ: Ile in these meddowes make a cerckling walke, 435 And in my meditation conjure so, As that same[1712] fend of thought, selfe-eating anger, Shall by my spels of reason[1713] vanish quite: Away, and let me heare from thee to night.

_Phil._ To night! yes, that you shall: but harke ye, father; 440 Looke that you my sister waking keepe, For Franke I sweare shall kisse her ere I sleepe. _Exeunt._

[Scene Fourth. _The Court-yard of Master Gourseys House at Milton._]

_Enter_ FRANKE _and_ BOY.

_Frank._ I am very dry with walking ore the greene.-- Butler, some beere!--Sirra, call the butler.

_Bo._ Nay, faith, sir, we must have some smith to give the butler a drench, or cut him in the forehead, for he hath got a horses desease, namely the staggers; to night hees a good huswife, he reeles al that he wrought to day; and he were good now to play at dice, for he castes[1714] excellent well. 7

_Fran._ How meanst thou? is he drunke?

_Boy._ I cannot tell; but I am sure hee hath more liquor in him then a whole dicker[1715] of hydes; hees sockt throughly, i faith. 10

_Fran._ Well, goe and call him; bid him bring me drinke.

_Boy._ I will, sir. _Exit._

_Fran._ My mother powtes, and will looke merrily Neither upon my father nor on me: He saies she fell out with mistresse Barnes to day; 15 Then I am sure they'l not be quickly friends. Good Lord, what kinde of creatures women are! Their love is lightly wonne and lightly lost; And then their hate is deadly and extreame: He that doth take a wyfe betakes himselfe 20 To all the cares and troubles of the world. Now her disquietnes doth grieve my father, Greeves me, and troubles all the house besides.-- What, shall I have some drinke? [_Horn sounded within_]--How now? a horne! Belike the drunken slave[1716] is fallen asleepe, 25 And now the boy doth wake him with his horne.

[_Enter_ BOY.]

How now, sirra, wheres the butler?

_Boy._ Mary, sir, where he was even now, a sleepe; but I wakt him, and when he wakt, he thought he was in mayster Barnses buttery, for he stretcht himselfe thus, and yauning said, 'Nicke, honest Nicke, fill a fresh bowle of ale; stand to it, Nicke, and thou beest a man of Gods making, stand to it'; and then I winded my horne, and hees horne-mad. 33

_Enter_ HODGE.

_Hodg._ Boy, hey! ho, boy! and thou beest a man, draw.--O, heres a blessed mooneshine, God be thanked!--Boy, is not this goodly weather for barley? 36

_Boy._ Spoken like a right maulster, Hodge: but doost thou heare? thou art not drunke.

_Hod._ No, I scorne that, i faith.

_Boy._[1717] But thy fellow Dicke Coomes is mightily drunke. 40

_Hod._ Drunke! a plague on it, when a man cannot carrie his drinke well! sbloud, Ile stand to it.

_Boy._ Hold, man; see and thou canst stand first.

_Hodge._ Drunke! hees a beast, and he be drunke; theres no man that is a sober man will be drunk; hees a boy, and he be drunke.

_Boy._ No, hees a man as thou art. 46

_Hodge._ Thus tis when a man will not be ruled by his friends: I bad him keepe under the lee, but he kept downe the weather two bowes; I tolde him hee would be taken with a plannet,[1718] but the wisest of us all may fall. 50

_B._ True, Hodge. _Boy trip him._

_Hod._ Whope! lend me thy hand, Dicke, I am falne into a wel; lend me thy hand, I shall be drowned else.

_Boy._ Hold fast by the bucket, Hodge.

_Hodg._ A rope on it! 55

_Boy._ I, there is a rope on it; but where art thou, Hodge?

_Hodge._ In a well; I prethie, draw up.

_Boy._ Come, give up thy bodie; wind up, hoyst.

_Hodg._ I am over head and eares.

_Boy._ In all, Hodge, in all. 60

_Fran._ How loathsome is this beast mans shape to me, This mould of reason so unreasonable![1719] Sirra, why doost thou trip him downe, seeing hees drunke?

_Boy._ Because, sir, I would have drunkards cheape.[1720]

_Fran._ How meane ye? 65

_Boy._ Why, they say that, when any thing hath a fall it is cheape; and so of drunkards.

_Fran._ Go to, helpe him up [_Knocking without_]: but, harke, who knockes? [BOY _goes to the gate, and returns_.]

_Bo._ Sir heeres one of maister Barnsies men with a letter to my olde maister. 71

_Fran._ Which of them is it?

_Boy._ They call him Nicholas, sir.

_Fran._ Go, call him in. [_Exit_ BOY.]

_Enter_ COOMES.

_Coom._ By your leave, ho! How now, young maister, how ist?

_Fran._ Looke ye, sirra, where your fellow lies; 76 Hees in a fine taking, is he not?

_Coom._ Whope, Hodge! where art thou, man, where art thou?

_Hodge._ O, in a well.

_Co._ In a well, man! nay, then, thou art deepe in understanding.

_Fran._ I, once to day you were almost so, sir. 81

_Coom._ Who, I! go to, young maister, I do not like this humor in ye, I tell ye true; give every man his due, and give him no more: say I was in such a case! go to, tis the greatest indignation that can be offered to a man; and, but a mans more godlier given, you were able to make him sweare out his heart bloud. What though that honest Hodge have cut his finger heere? or, as some say, cut a feather? what thogh he be mump, misled, blind, or as it were? tis no consequent to me: you know I have drunke all the ale-houses in Abington drie, and laide the tappes on the tables when I had done: sbloud, Ile challenge all the true rob-pots in Europe to leape up to the chinne in a barrell of beere, and if I cannot drinke it down to my foote ere I leave, and then set the tap in the midst of the house, and then turne a good turne on the toe on it, let me be counted nobodie, a pingler,[1721]--nay, let me be[1722] bound to drinke nothing but small beere seven yeares after; and I had as leefe be hanged. 97

_Enter_ NICHOLAS.

_Fran._ Peace, sir, I must speake with one.--Nicholas, I think, your name is.

_Nich._ True as the skinne betweene your browes. 100

_Fran._ Well, how doth thy maister?

_Nich._ Forsooth, live, and the best doth no better.

_Fran._ Where is the letter he hath sent me?

_Nich._ _Ecce signum!_ heere it is.

_Fran._ Tis right as Phillip said, tis a fine foole [_Aside_].-- 105 This letter is directed to my father; Ile carrie it to him.--Dick Coomes, make him drinke. _Exit._

_Coom._ I, Ile make him drunke,[1723] and he will.

_Nich._ Not so, Richard; it is good to be merrie and wise. 109

_Dick._[1724] Well, Nicholas, as thou art Nicholas, welcome; but as thou art Nicholas and a boone companion, ten times welcome. Nicholas, give me thy hand: shall we be merrie? and wee shall, say but we shall, and let the first word stand.

_Nich._ Indeed, as long lives the merrie man as the sad; an ownce of debt will not pay a pound of care. 115

_Coom._ Nay, a pound of care will not pay an ownce of debt.

_Nich._ Well, tis a good horse never stumbles: but who lies here?

_Coom._ Tis our Hodge, and I thinke he lies asleep: you made him drunk at your house to day; but Ile pepper some of you fort.

_Nic._ I, Richard, I know youle put a man over the shooes, and if you can; but hees a foole wil take more then wil do him good.

_Coom._ Sbloud, ye shall take more then will doe yee good, or Ile make ye clap under the table. 123

_Nich._ Nay, I hope, as I have temperance to forbeare drinke, so have I patience to endure drinke: Ile do as company doth; for when a man doth to Rome come, he must do as there is done. 126

_Coomes._ Ha, my resolved Nicke, frolagozene![1725] Fill the potte, hostesse; swounes, you whore! Harry Hooke's a rascall. Helpe me but carry my fellow Hodge in, and weele crushe it, i faith. _Exeunt._

[Scene Fifth. _In front of Gourseys House._]

_Enter_ PHILLIP.

_Phil._ By this, I thinke, the letter is delivered, And twill be shortly time that I step in, And wooe their favours for my sisters fortune: And yet I need not; she may doe as well, But yet not better, as the case doth stand 5 Betweene our mothers; it may make them friends; Nay, I would sweare that she would doe as well, Were she a stranger to one quality, But they are so acquainted, theil nere part. Why, she will floute the devill, and make blush 10 The boldest face of man that ever man saw; He that hath best opinion of his wit, And hath his braine pan fraught with bitter jestes Or of his owne, or stolne, or how so ever, Let him stand nere so high in his owne conceite, 15 Her wit's a sunne that melts him downe like butter, And makes him sit at table pancake wise, Flat, flat, [God knowes][1726] and nere a word to say; Yet sheele not leave him then, but like a tyrant Sheele persecute the poore wit-beaten man, 20 And so bebang him with dry bobs and scoffes, When he is downe, most cowardly, good faith, As I have pittied the poore patient. There came a farmers sonne a wooing to her, A proper man, well landed too he was, 25 A man that for his wit need not to aske What time a yeere twere good to sow his oates Nor yet his barley, no, nor when to reape, To plowe his fallowes, or to fell his trees, Well experienst thus each kinde of way; 30 After a two monthes labour at the most, And yet twas well he held it out so long, He left his love, she had so laste his lips He could say nothing to her but 'God be with yee'! Why, she, when men have din'd and call for cheese, 35 Will straight maintaine jests bitter to disgest; And then some one will fall to argument, Who, if he over master her with reason, Then sheele begin to buffet him with mockes. Well, I doe doubt Frances hath so much spleene, 40 Theil nere agree; but I will moderate. By this time tis time, I thinke, to enter: This is the house; shall I knocke? no; I will not Waite while[1727] one comes out to answere; Ile in, and let them be as bolde with us. _Exit._ 45

[Scene Sixth. _A Room in Gourseys House._]

_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY, _reading a letter_.

_M. Gour._ _If that they like, her dowry shall be equall To your sonnes wealth or possibility: It is a meanes to make our wives good friendes, And to continue friendship twixt us two._[1728] Tis so, indeed: I like this motion, 5 And it hath my consent, because my wife[1729] Is sore infected and hart sick with hate; And I have sought the Galen of advice, Which oneley tels me this same potion To be most soveraigne for her sicknes cure. 10

_Enter_ FRANKE _and_ PHILLIP.

Heere comes my sonne, conferring with his friend.-- Fraunces, how do you like your friends discourse? I know he is persuading to this motion.

_Fra._ Father, as matter that befits a friend, But yet not me, that am too young to marry. 15

_M. Gou._ Nay, if thy minde be forward with thy yeares, The time is lost thou tarriest. Trust me, boy,[1729] This match is answerable to thy birth; Her bloud and portion give each other grace; These indented lines promise a sum, 20 And I do like the valew: if it hap Thy liking to accord to my consent, It is a match. Wilt thou goe see the maide?

_Fra._ Nere. Trust me, father, the shape[1730] of marriage, Which I doe see in others, seeme[s][1731] so severe, 25 I dare not put my youngling liberty Under the awe of that instruction; And yet I graunt the limmits of free youth Going astray are often restrainde by that. But mistresse wedlocke, to my scholler thoughts, 30 Will be too curst, I feare. O, should she snip My pleasure ayming minde, I shall be sad, And sweare, when I did marry, I was mad!

_M. Gour._ But, boy, let my experience teach thee this-- Yet, in good faith, thou speakst not much amisse;-- 35 When first thy mothers fame to me did come, Thy grandsire thus then came to me his sonne, And even my words to thee to me he said, And as to me thou saist to him I said, But in a greater huffe and hotter bloud,-- 40 I tell ye, on youthes tip-toes then I stood: Saies he (good faith, this was his very say), 'When I was yong, I was but reasons foole, And went to wedding as to wisdomes schoole; It taught me much, and much I did forget, 45 But, beaten much, by it I got some wit; Though I was shackled from an often scoute,[1732] Yet I would wanton it when I was out; Twas comfort, old acquaintance then to meete, Restrained liberty attainde is sweet.' 50 Thus said my father to thy father,[1733] sonne, And thou maist doe this too,[1734] as I have done.

_Phi._ In faith, good counsell, Franke: what saist thou to it?

_Fra._ Phillip, what should I say?

_Phil._ Why, eyther I or no. 55

_Fra._ O, but which rather?

_Phil._ Why, that which was persuaded by thy father.

_Fra._ Thats I, then,[1735] I: O, should it fall out ill! Then I, for I am guilty of that ill,-- Ile not be guilty, no. 60

_Phi._ What, backeward gone!

_Fra._ Phillip, no whit backward; that is, on.

_Phi._ On, then.

_Fra._ O, stay!

_Phil._ Tush, there is no good lucke in this delay: 65 Come, come, late commers, man, are shent.

_Fra._ Heigh ho, I feare I shall repent! Well, which waye, Phillip?[1736]

_Phi._ Why, this way.

_Fra._ Canst thou tell, And takest upon thee to be my guide to hell?-- 70 But which way, father?

_M. Gour._ That way.