SCENE III.[2125

_Enter_ EYRE, _making himself ready_.[2126]

_Eyre._ Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels? They wallow in the fat brewiss[2127] of my bounty, and lick up the crumbs of my table, yet will not rise to see my walks cleansed. Come out, you powder-beef[2128] queans! What, Nan! what, Madge Mumble-crust. (6) Come out, you fat midriff-swag-belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels[2129] that the noisome stench offend not the noses of my neighbours. What, Firk, I say; what, Hodge! Open my (10) shop windows! What, Firk, I say!

_Enter_ FIRK.

_Firk._ O master, is ’t you that speak bandog[2130] and Bedlam[2131] this morning? I was in a dream, and mused what madman was got into the street so early. Have you drunk this morning that (15) your throat is so clear?

_Eyre._ Ah, well said, Firk; well said, Firk. To work, my fine knave, to work! Wash thy face, and thou ’t be more blest.

_Firk._ Let them wash my face that will eat (20) it. Good master, send for a souse-wife,[2132] if you’ll have my face cleaner.

_Enter_ HODGE.

_Eyre._ Away, sloven! avaunt, scoundrel!—Good-morrow, Hodge; good-morrow, my fine foreman. 25

_Hodge._ O master, good-morrow; y’ are an early stirrer. Here ’s a fair morning.—Good-morrow, Firk, I could have slept this hour. Here ’s a brave day towards.[2133]

_Eyre._ Oh, haste to work, my fine foreman, (30) haste to work.

_Firk._ Master, I am dry as dust to hear my fellow Roger talk of fair weather; let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and plough-boys and those that work in the fields pray (35) for brave days. We work in a dry shop; what care I if it rain?

_Enter_ EYRE’S _wife_ [MARGERY].

_Eyre._ How now, Dame Margery, can you see to rise? Trip and go, call up the drabs, your maids. 40

_Marg._ See to rise? I hope ’t is time enough, ’t is early enough for any woman to be seen abroad. I marvel how many wives in Tower Street are up so soon. Gods me, ’t is not noon,—here ’s a yawling![2134] 45

_Eyre._ Peace, Margery, peace! Where ’s Cicely Bumtrinket, your maid? She has a privy fault, she farts in her sleep. Call the quean up; if my men want shoe-thread, I ’ll swinge her in a stirrup. 50

_Firk._ Yet, that ’s but a dry beating; here ’s still a sign of drought.

_Enter_ LACY [_disguised_], _singing_.

_Lacy. Der was een bore van Gelderland Frolick sie byen; He was als dronck he cold nyet stand, Upsolce sie byen. 56 Tap eens de canneken, Drincke, schone mannekin._[2135]

_Firk._ Master, for my life, yonder’s a brother (59) of the gentle craft; if he bear not Saint Hugh’s bones,[2136] I ’ll forfeit my bones; he ’s some uplandish workman: hire him, good master, that I may learn some gibble-gabble; ’t will make us work the faster. 64

_Eyre._ Peace, Firk! A hard world! Let him pass, let him vanish; we have journeymen enow. Peace, my fine Firk!

_Marg._ Nay, nay, y’ are best follow your man’s counsel; you shall see what will come on ’t. We have not men enow, but we must entertain (70) every butter-box;[2137] but let that pass.

_Hodge._ Dame, ’fore God, if my master follow your counsel, he ’ll consume little beef. He shall be clad of men an he can catch them.

_Firk._ Ay, that he shall. 75

_Hodge._ ’Fore God, a proper man, and I warrant, a fine workman. Master, farewell; dame, adieu; if such a man as he cannot find work, Hodge is not for you. _Offers to go._

_Eyre._ Stay, my fine Hodge. 80

_Firk._ Faith, an your foreman go, dame, you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman; if Roger remove, Firk follows. If Saint Hugh’s bones shall not be set a-work, I may prick mine all in the walls, and go play. Fare ye well, master; good-bye, dame. 86

_Eyre._ Tarry, my fine Hodge, my brisk foreman! Stay, Firk! Peace, pudding-broth! By the Lord of Ludgate, I love my men as my life. Peace, you gallimaufry![2138] Hodge, if he (90) want work, I ’ll hire him. One of you to him; stay,—he comes to us.

Lacy. _Goeden dach, meester, ende u vro oak._[2139]

_Firk._ Nails,[2140] if I should speak after him without drinking, I should choke. And you, (95) friend Oake, are you of the gentle craft?

Lacy. _Yaw, yaw, ik bin den skomawker._[2141]

_Firk. Den skomaker_, quoth ’a! And hark you, _skomaker_, have you all your tools, a good rubbing-pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your (100) four sorts of awls, and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand-and-thumb-leathers, and good St. Hugh’s bones to smooth up your work? 104

Lacy. _Yaw, yaw; be niet vorveard. Ik hab all de dingen voour mack skooes groot and cleane._[2142]

_Firk._ Ha, ha! Good master, hire him; he ’ll make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth than I can in earnest.

_Eyre._ Hear ye, friend, have ye any skill in (110) the mystery[2143] of cordwainers?

Lacy. _Ik weet niet wat yow seg; ich verstaw you niet._[2144]

_Firk._ Why, thus, man: [_Imitating by gesture_ (114) _a shoemaker at work._] _Ich verste u niet_, quoth ’a.

Lacy. _Yaw, yaw, yaw; ick can dat wel doen._[2145]

_Firk. Yaw, yaw!_ He speaks yawing like a jackdaw that gapes to be fed with cheese-curds. Oh, he ’ll give a villanous pull at a (120) can of double-beer; but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeymen.

_Eyre._ What is thy name?

_Lacy._ Hans—Hans Meulter. 125

_Eyre._ Give me thy hand; th’ art welcome.— Hodge, entertain him; Firk, bid him welcome; come, Hans. Run, wife, bid your maids, your trullibubs,[2146] make ready my fine men’s breakfasts. To him, Hodge! 130

_Hodge._ Hans, th’ art welcome; use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows; if not, thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a giant.

_Firk._ Yea, and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua. (135) My master keeps no cowards, I tell thee.—Ho, boy, bring him an heel-block, here ’s a new journeyman.

[_Enter_ Boy.]

Lacy. _O, ich wersto you; ich moet een halve dossen cans betaelen; here, boy, nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke._[2147] [_Exit_ Boy.] 141

_Eyre._ Quick, snipper-snapper, away! Firk, scour thy throat; thou shalt wash it with Castilian liquor. [_Enter_ Boy.] Come, my last of the fives, give me a can. Have to thee, Hans; here, Hodge; here, Firk; (146) drink, you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre, the shoemaker.—Here, Hans, and th’ art welcome.

_Firk._ Lo, dame, you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh. This (151) beer came hopping in well.

_Marg._ Simon, it is almost seven.

_Eyre._ Is ’t so. Dame Clapper-dudgeon?[2148] Is ’t seven a clock, and my men’s breakfast not ready? Trip and go, you sous’d conger,[2149] (156) away! Come, you mad hyperboreans; follow me, Hodge; follow me, Hans; come after, my fine Firk; to work, to work a while, and then to breakfast. _Exit._

_Firk._ Soft! _Yaw, yaw_, good Hans, though (161) my master have no more wit but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman. _Exeunt._