Part 62

_Rap._ Sownes, now I heere foure hollo at the least! One had a little voice; then thats the wench 40 My man hath lost: well, I will answer all. [_Aside._] So ho!

[_Enter_ HODGE.]

_Hodg._ Whope, whope!

_Raph._ Whose there? Will? 44

_Hod._ No, sir; honest Hodge: but, I pray yee, sir, did yee not meete with a boye with a torche? he is runne away from me, a plague on him!

_Raph._ Hey day, from Franke and Phillip to a torche, And to a boye! nay, sownes, then, hap as twill. [_Aside._] [_Exeunt_ SIR RAPH _and_ HODGE _severally_.]

_M. Gour._ Who goes there? 50

[_Enter_ WILL.]

_Wil._ Gesse heere.

_M. Bar._ Phillip?

_Wil._ Phillip! no, faith; my names Will,--ill will, for I was never worse: I was even now with him, and might have been still, but that I fell into a ditch and lost him, and now I am going up and downe to seeke him. 56

_M. Gor._ What wouldst thou do with him?

_Wil._ Why, I would have him go with me to my maisters.

_M. Gou._ Whose thy maister?

_Wil._ Why, sir Raphe Smith; and thether he promist me he would come; if he keepe his worde, so tis. 61

_M. Ba._ What was he[1893] doing when thou first found[1894] him?

_Wil._ Why, he holloed for one Francis, and Francis hollod for him; I hallod for my maister, and my maister for me; but we mist still, meeting contrary, Phillip and Francis with me and my maister, and I and my maister with Philip and Franke. 66

_M. Gou._ Why, wherefore is sir Raphe so late abroade?

_Wil._ Why, he ment to kill a buck,--Ile say so to save his honestie, but my Nan was his marke [_Aside_]--and when[1895] he sent me for his bow, and when I came, I hollod for him; but I never saw such luck to misse him, it hath almost made me mad. 71

_M. Bar._ Well, stay with us; perhaps sir Raphe and he Will come anon: harke! I do heere one hollo.

_Enter_ PHILLIP [_from the fields_.]

_Phil._ Is this broad waking in a winters night? I am broad walking in a winters night,-- 75 Broad indeed, because I am abroad,-- But these broad fields methinks are not so broad That they may keepe me foorth of narrow ditches. Heers a hard world! For I can hardly keep myself upright in it: 80 I am marvellous dutifull--but, so ho!

_Wil._ So ho!

_Phil._ Whose there?

_Wil._ Heeres Will.

_Ph._ What, Will! how scapst thou? 85

_Wil._ What, sir?

_Ph._ Nay, not hanging, but drowning: wert thou in a pond or a ditche?

_Wil._ A pestilence on it! ist you, Phillip? no, faith, I was but durty a little: but heeres one or two askt for yee. 90

_Phil._ Who be they, man?

_M. Bar._ Philip, tis I and maister Goursey.

_Phi._ Father, O father, I have heard them say The dayes of ignorance are past and done; But I am sure the nights of ignorance 95 Are not yet past, for this is one of them. But wheres my sister?

_M. Bar._ Why, we cannot tell.

_Ph._ Wheres Francis?

_M. Gour._ Neither saw we him. 100

_Phi._ Why, this is fine. What, neither he nor I, nor she nor you, Nor I nor she, nor you and I, till[1896] now, Can meet, could meet, or nere, I thinke, shall meete! Cal ye this woing? no, tis Christmas sport 105 Of Hob man blind:[1897] all blind, all seek to catch, All misse,--but who comes heere?[1898]

_Enter_ FRANKE _and his_ BOYE [_with torch_].

_Fra._ O, have I catcht yee, sir? it was your dooing That made me have this pretty daunce to night; Had not you spoake, my mother had not scard me: 110 But I will swinge ye for it.

_Phil._ Keepe the kings peace!

_Fran._ How! art thou become a constable? Why, Phillip, where hast thou bin all this while?

_Ph._ Why, where you were not: but, I pray, whers my sister?

_Fran._ Why, man, I saw her not; but I have sought her 116 As I should seeke seeke--

_Phil._ A needle, have yee not? Why, you, man, are the needle that she seekes To worke withall. Well, Francis, do you heere? 120 You must not answere so, that you have sought her; But have yee found her? faith, and if you have, God give yee joy of that ye found with her!

_Fra._[1899] I saw her not: how could I finde her?

_M. Gou._ Why, could yee misse from maister Barnses house Unto his cunnyberry? 126

_Fran._ Whether I could or no, father, I did.

_Phil._ Father, I did! well, Franke, wilt thou beleeve me, Thou dost not know how much this same doth greeve me: Shall it be said thou mist so plaine a way, 130 When as so faire a wenche did for thee stay?

_Fra._ Sownes, man!

_Phi._ Sownes, man! and if thou hadst bin blinde, The cunny-borow thou needst must finde. I tell thee, Francis, had it bin my case, 135 And I had bin a woer in thy place, I would have laide my head unto the ground, And sented out my wenches way, like a hound; I would have crept upon my knees all night, And have made the flint stones linckes to give me light. 140 Nay, man, I would--

_Fran._ Good Lord, what you would doe! Well, we shall see one day how you can woe.

_M. Gor._ Come, come, we see that we have all bin crost; Therefore lets go, and seeke them we have lost. _Exeunt._

[Scene Thirteenth. _The Same._[1900]]

_Enter_ MAL.

[_Mal_]. Am I alone? doth not my mother come? Her torch I see not, which I well might see, If any way she were comming toward me: Why, then, belike shees gone some other way; And may she go till I bid her turne! 5 Farre shall her way be then, and little faire, For she hath hindered me of my good turne; God send her wet and wearie ere she turne! I had beene at Oxenford, and to morrow Have beene releast from all my maidens sorrow, 10 And tasted joy, had not my mother bin; God, I beseech thee, make it her worst sinne! How many maides this night lyes in their beds, And dreame that they have lost their maidenheads! Such dreames, such slumbers I had to[o] enjoyde, 15 If waking mallice had not them destroide. A starved man with double death doth dye, To have the meate might save him in his eye, And may not have it: so am I tormented, To starve for joy I see, yet am prevented. 20 Well, Franke, although thou woedst and quickly wonne, Yet shall my love to thee be never done; Ile run through hedge and ditch, through brakes and briers, To come to thee, sole lord of my desires: Short woing is the best, an houre, not yeares, 25 For long debating love is full of feares. But, hearke! I heare one tread. O, wert my brother, Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother!

[_Enter_ SIR RAPH SMITH _from the fields._]

_S. Rap._ O, when will this same yeare of night have end? Long lookt for daies sunne, when wilt thou ascend? 30 Let not this theefe friend, misty vale[1901] of night, Incroach on day, and shadow thy faire light, Whilst thou com'st tardy from thy Thetes bed, Blushing foorth, golden haire and glorious red; O, stay not long, bright lanthorne of the day, 35 To light my mist way[1902] feete to my right way!

_Mall._ It is a man, his big voice tels me so, Much am I not acquainted with it tho; And yet mine eare, sounds true distinguisher, Boyes[1903] that I have been more familiar 40 With it then now I am: well, I doe judge, It is not envies fellon, not of grudge[1904]; Therefore Ile plead acquaintance, hyer his guiding, And buy of him some place of close abiding, Till that my mothers mallice be expired, 45 And we may joy in that is long desired [_Aside_].-- Whose there?

_Ra._ Are ye a maide?--No question this is she My man doth misse: faith, since she lights on me, I doe not meane till day to let her goe; 50 For what[1905] she is my mans love I will know [_Aside_].-- Harke ye, mayde, if mayde, are ye so light That you can see to wander in the night?

_Mal._ Harke ye, true man, if true, I tell you, no; I cannot see at all which way I goe. 55

_Ra._ Fayre mayde, ist so? say, had ye nere a fall?

_Mal._ Fayre man, not so; no, I had none at all.

_Ra._ Could you not stumble on one man, I pray?

_Mal._ No, no such blocke till now came in my way.

_Ra._ Am I that blocke, sweete tripe? then, fall and try. 60

_Ma._ The grounds too hard a feather-bed; not I.

_Ra._ Why, how and you had met with such a stumpe?

_Mal._ Why, if he had been your height, I meant to jumpe.

_Ra._ Are ye so nimble?

_Mal._ Nimble as a doe. 65

_Ra._ Backt in a pye.

_Mal._ Of ye.

_Ra._ Good meate ye know.

_Mall._ Ye hunt sometimes?

_Ra._ I do. 70

_Mal._ What take ye?

_Ra._ Deare.

_Mall._ You'l nere strike rascall[1906]?

_Ra._ Yes, when ye are there.

_Mal._ Will ye strike me? 75

_Rap._ Yes: will ye strike againe?[1907]

_Mall._ No, sir; it fits not maides to fight with men.

_Ra._ I wonder, wench, how I thy name might know.

_Mall._ Why, you may finde it, sir, in the Christcrosse row.

_Rap._ Be my schoolemistresse, teach me how to spell it. 80

_Mall._ No, faith, I care not greatly if I tell it; My name is Marie Barnes.

_Ra._ How, wench? Mall Barnes!

_Mal._ The verie same.

_Rap._ Why, this is strange. 85

_Mal._ I pray, sir, whats your[1908] name?

_Raph._ Why, sir Raph Smith doth wonder, wench, at this; Why, whats the cause thou art abroad so late?

_Mal._ What, sir Raph Smith! nay, then, I will disclose All the hole cause to him, in him repose 90 My hopes, my love: God him, I hope, did send Our loves and both our mothers hates to end. [_Aside_].-- Gentle sir Raph, if you my blush might see, You then would say I am ashamed to be Found, like a wandring stray, by such a knight, 95 So farre from home at such a time of night: But my excuse is good; love first by fate Is crost, controulde,[1909] and sundered by fell hate. Franke Goursey is my love, and he loves me; But both our mothers hate and disagree; 100 Our fathers like the match and wish it don; And so it had, had not our mothers come; To Oxford we concluded both to go; Going to meete, they came; we parted so; My mother followed me, but I ran fast, 105 Thinking who went from hate had need make hast; Take me she cannot, though she still persue: But now, sweet knight, I do repose on you; Be you my orator and plead my right, And get me one good day for this bad night. 110

_Ra._ Alas, good heart, I pitty thy hard hap! And Ile employ all that I may for thee. Franke Goursey, wench! I do commend thy choyse: Now I remember I met one Francis, As I did seeke my man,--then, that was he,-- 115 And Philip too,--belike that was thy brother: Why, now I find how I did loose myself, And wander[1910] up and down, mistaking so. Give me thy hand, Mall: I will never leave Till I have made your mothers friends againe, 120 And purchast to ye both your hearts delight, And for this same one bad many a good night. Twill not be long ere that Aurora will, Deckt in the glory of a goldon sunne, Open the christall windowes of the east, 125 To make the earth enamourde of her[1911] face, When we shall have cleare light to see our way: Come; night being done, expect a happy day. _Exeunt._

[Scene Fourteenth. _A Hillside in the Fields._[1912]]

_Enter_ MISTRESSE BARNES [_with torch_].

_Mis. Ba._ O, what a race this peevish girle hath led me! How fast I ran, and now how weary I am! I am so out of breath I scarce can speake,-- What shall I doe?--and cannot overtake her. It is[1913] late and darke, and I am far from home: 5 May there not theeves lye watching heere about, Intending mischiefe unto them they meete? There may; and I am much affrayde of them, Being alone without all company. I doe repent me of my coming foorth; 10 And yet I do not,--they had else beene married, And that I would not for ten times more labour. But what a winter of colde feare I thole,[1914] Freecing my heart, least danger should betide me! What shal I do to purchase company? 15 I heare some hollow here about the fields: Then here Ile set my torch upon this hill, Whose light shall beacon-like conduct them to it; They that have lost theyr way, seeing a light, For it may be seene farre off in the night, 20 Will come to it. Well, here Ile lye vnseene,[1915] And looke who comes, and chuse my company: Perhaps my daughter may first come to it. [_Retires to one side._]

[_Enter_ MISTRESSE GOURSEY.]

_Mi. Gour._ Where am I now? nay, where was I even now? Nor now, nor then, nor where I shall be, know I. 25 I thinke I am going home: I may as well Be[1916] going from home; tis so very darke, I cannot see how to direct a step. I lost my man, pursuing of my sonne; My sonne escapt me too: now, all alone, 30 I am enforst[1917] to wander up and downe. Barnses wife's abroad: pray God, that she May have as good a daunce, nay, ten times worse! Oh, but I feare she hath not; she hath light To see her way. O, that some[1918] bridge would breake, 35 That she might fall into some deep digd ditch, And eyther breake her bones or drowne her selfe! I would these mischiefes I could wish to her Might light on her!--but, soft; I see a light: I will go neere; tis comfortable, 40 After this nights sad spirits dulling[1919] darknes. How now? what, is it set to keep it selfe?

_Mis. Bar._ A plague ont, is she there? [_Aside._]

_Mis. Gou._ O, how it cheares and quickens up my thoughts!

_Mis. Bar._ O, that it were the besseliskies fell eye, 45 To poyson thee! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gou._ I care not if I take it,-- Sure none is here to hinder me,-- And light me home.

_Mi. Bar._ I had rather she were hangd 50 Then I should set it there to doe her good. [_Aside._]

_Mis. Go._ I faith, I will.

_Mi. Ba._ I faith, you shall not, mistresse; Ile venter a burnt finger but Ile have it. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Gou._ Yet Barnses wife would chafe, if that she knew 55 That I had this good lucke to get a light.

_Mi. Ba._ And so she doth; but praise your[1920] lucke at parting. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ O, that it were[1921] her light, good faith, that she Might darkling walke about as well as I!

_Mi. Ba._ O, how this mads me, that she hath her wish! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ How I would laugh to see her trot about! 61

_Mi. Bar._ Oh, I could cry for anger and for rage! [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ But who should set it here, I marvel, a Gods name.

_Mi. Bar._ One that will hav'te from you, in the devils name. [_Aside._]

_Mi. Go._ Ile lay my life that it was Barnses sonne. 65

_Mi. Ba._ No, forsooth, it was Barnses wife. [_Advancing to seize torch._]

_Mi. Gou._ A plague upon her, how she made me start! [_Aside_].-- Mistresse, let go the torch. [_They struggle for it._]

_Mis. Bar._ No, but I will not.

_Mh. Gou._ Ile thrust it in thy face, then. 70

_Mi. Bar._ But you shall not.

_Mi. Gou._ Let go, I say.

_Mi. Ba._ Let you go, for tis mine.

_Mis. Go._ But my possession saies, it is none of thine.

_Mi. Bar._ Nay, I have holde too. 75

_Mi. Gou._ Well, let go thy hold,[1922] or I will spurn thee.

_Mi. Bar._ Do; I can spurne thee too.

_Mi. Go._ Canst thou?

_Mi. Ba._ I, that I can.

_Enter_ MASTER GOURSEY _and_ BARNES.

_M. Gou._ Why, how now, woman?[1923] how unlike to women 80 Are ye both now! come, part, come, part, I say.

_M. Ba._ Why, what immodesty is[1924] this in you! Come, part, I say; fie, fie.

_Mi. Ba._ Fie, fie! I say, she shall not have my torch.-- Give me thy torch, boy:--I will run a tilt, 85 And burne out both her eyes in my encounter.

_Mi. Go._ Give roome, and lets have this hot cariere.[1925]

_M. Go._ I say, ye shall not: wife, go to, tame your thoughts That are so mad with fury.

_M. Ba._ And, sweet wife, 90 Temper your rage with patience; do not be Subject so much to such misgovernment.

_Mi. Bar._ Shal I not, sir, when such a strumpet wrongs me?

_Mi. Go._ How, strumpet, mistris Barnes! nay, I pray, harke ye: I oft indeed have heard you call her so, 95 And I have thought upon it, why ye should Twit her with name of strumpet; do you know Any hurt by her, that you terme her so?

_M. Ba._ No, on my life; rage onely makes her say so.

_M. Go._ [_with pretended suspicion_]. But I would know whence this same rage should come; 100 Whers smoke, theres fire; and my heart misgives My wives intemperance hath got that name;-- And, mistresse Barnes, I doubt and shrewdly[1926] doubt, And some great cause begets this doubt in me, Your husband and my wife doth wrong us both. 105

_M Ba._ [_with assumed indignation_]. How! thinke ye so? nay, master Goursey, then, You run in debt to my opinion, Because you pay not such advised wisedome As I thinke due unto my good conceit.

_M. Go._ [_angrily_]. Then still I feare I shall your debter proove.

[_M. Bar._].[1927] Then I arrest you in the name of love; Not bale, but present answere to my plea; 112 And in the court of reason we will try If that good thoughts should beleeve jelousie. [_They make as if they were fighting._]

[_Enter_ PHILLIP, FRANK, COOMES, &c.]

_Phil._ Why, looke you, mother, this is long of you.-- 115 For Gods sake, father, harke! why, these effects Come still from womens malice: part, I pray.-- Comes, Wil, and Hodge, come all, and helpe us part them!-- [_They try to part the combatants._ Father, but heare me speake one word, no more.

_Franke._ Father, but heare me[1928] speake, then use your will. 120

_Phil._ Crie peace betweene ye for a little while.

_Mi. Gou._ [_pulling her husband off_]. Good husband, heare him speake.

_Mis. Bar._ [_pulling at hers_]. Good husband, heare him.

_Coom._ [_pulling at_ GOURSEY]. Maister, heare him speake; hees a good wise young stripling for his yeeres, I tell ye, and perhaps may speake wiser then an elder body; therefore heare him. 126

_Hod._ Master, heare, and make an end; you may kil one another in jest, and be hanged in earnest. [_He parts them._]

_M. Go._ Come, let us heare him.--Then, speake quickly, Phillip. 129

_M. Ba._ Thou shouldst have done ere this; speak, Phil, speak.

_Mis. Bar._ O Lord, what haste you make to hurt your selves!-- Good Phillip, use some good perswasions To make them friends.

_Phi._ Yes, Ile doe what I can.-- Father, and master Goursey, both attend. 135 It is presumption in so young a man To teach where he might learne, or [to][1929] derect Where he hath had direction; but in duety He may perswade as long as his perswase Is backt with reason and a rightfull sute. 140 Phisickes first rule is this, as I have learned, Kill the effect by cutting of the cause:[1930] The same effects of ruffin outrages Comes by the cause of mallice in your wives; Had not they two bin foes, you had bin friends, 145 And we had bin at home, and this same war In peacefull sleep had nere bin dreamt upon.-- Mother, and mistresse Goursey, to make them friends, Is to be friends your selves: you are the cause, And these effects proceed, you know, from you; 150 Your hates give life unto these killing strifes, But dye and if that envy dye in you.-- [_The fathers make as if to renew the combat._] Fathers, yet stay.--O, speake!--O, stay a while!--[_They desist._] Francis, perswade thy mother.--Maister Goursey, If that my mother will resolve[1931] your minde[1932] 155 That tis but meere suspect, not common proofe, And if my father sweares hees innocent, As I durst pawne my soule with him he is, And if your wife vow truth and constancy, Will you be then perswaded? 160

_M. Gou._ Phillip, if thy father will remit The wounds I gave him, and if these conditions May be performde, I bannish all my wrath.

_M. Bar._ And if thy mother will but cleere me, Phillip, As I am ready to protest I am, 165 Then master Goursey is my friend againe.

_Phi._ Harke, mother; now you heare that your desires May be accomplished; they will both be friends, If you'l performe these easie[1933] articles.

_Mi. Ba._ Shall I be friends with such an enemy? 170

_Phil._ What say you unto my perswase?

_Mi. Ba._ I say shees my deadly enemie.

_Phil._ I, but she will be your friend, if you revolt.[1934]

_Mi. Ba._ The words I said! what, shall I eate a truth?

_Phi._ Why, harke ye, mother. 175

_Fra._ Mother, what say you?

_Mis. Go._ Why, this I say, she slaundered my good name.

_Fra._ But if she now denie it, tis no defame.

_Mi. Go._ What, shall I thinke her hate will yeeld so much?

_Fra._ Why, doubt it not; her spirit may be such. 180

_M. Go._ [_Impatient for the reconciliation._] Why, will it be?

_Phi._ Yet stay, I have some hope. Mother, why, mother, why, heare ye.[1935] Give me your hand; it is no more but thus; Tis easie labour to shake hands with her: 185 A[1936] little breath is spent in speaking of faire words, When wrath hath violent deliveries.[1937]

_M. Bar._ What, shall we be resolved? [_As if to renew the fray._]

_Mi. Bar._ O husband, stay!-- [_Stepping between them._] Stay, maister Goursey: though your wife doth hate me, 190 And beares unto me mallice infinite And endlesse, yet I will respect your safeties; I would not have you perish by our meanes: I must confesse that onely suspect, And no proofe els, hath fed my hate to her. 195

_Mi. Gour._ And, husband, I protest by heaven and earth That her suspect is causles and unjust, And that I nere had such a vilde intent; Harme she imaginde, where as none was ment.

_Phil._ Loe, sir, what would yee more? 200

_M. Bar._ Yes, Phillip, this; That I confirme him in my innocence By this large universe.