University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Tuck. George a Greene. Much. Aeglamour.
Tuc.
And I, the Chaplaine, here am left to be
Steward to day, and charge you all in fee,
To d'on your Liveries; see the Bower drest;
And fit the fine devises for the Feast:
You George must care to make the Baldrick trim,
And Garland that must crowne, or her, or him;
Whose Flock this yeare, hath brought the earliest Lambe!

Geo.
Good Father Tuck, at your Commands I am
To cut the Table out O the greene sword,
Or any other service for my Lord;
To carve the Guests large feats; and these laid in
With turfe (as soft and smooth as the Moles skin:)
And hang the bulled Nose-gaies 'bove their heads,
The Pipers banck, whereon to sit and play;
And a faire Dyall to meete out the day.
Our Masters Feast shall want no just delights:
His entertainments must have all the rites.

Muc.
I, and all choise that plenty can send in;
Bread, Wine, Acates, Fowle, Feather, Fish, or Fin,
Aeglamour fals in with them.
For which my Fathers Nets have swept the Trent.

Aeg.
And ha' you found her?

Mu.
Whom?

Aeg.
My drowned Love.
Earine! the sweet Earine!
The bright, and beautifull Earine!
Have you not heard of my Earine?
Just by your Fathers Mills (I thinke I am right)
Are not you Much the Millers sonne?

Mu.
I am.

Aeg.
And Baily to brave Robin-hood?

Mu.
The same.

Aeg.
Close by your Fathers Mills, Earine!
Earine was drown'd! O my Earine!
(Old Maudlin tells me so, and Douce her Daughter)
Ha' you swept the River say you? and not found her?

Muc.
For Fowle, and Fish wee have.

Aeg.
O not for her?
You'are goodly friends! right charitable men!
Nay, keepe your way, and leave me: make your toyes,
Your tales, your poesies, that you talk'd of; all
Your entertainments: you not injure me:
Onely if I may enjoy my Cipresse wreath!
And you will let me weepe! ('tis all I aske;)
Till I be turn'd to water, as was she!
And troth what lesse suit can you grant a man?

Tuck.
His Phantasie is hurt, let us now leave him:
The wound is yet too fresh, to admit searching.

Aeg.
Searching? where should I search? or on what track?
Can my slow drop of teares, or this darke shade
About my browes, enough describe her losse!
Earine, O my Earine's losse!
No, no, no, no; this heart will breake first.

Geo.
How will this sad disaster strike the eares
Of bounteous Robin-hood, our gentle Master?

Mu.
How will it marre his mirth, abate his feast;
And strike a horror into every guest!

Aeg.
If I could knit whole clouds about my browes,
And weepe like Swithen, or those watry signes,
The Kids that rise then, and drowne all the Flocks
Of those rich Shepherds, dwelling in this Vale;
Those carelesse Shepherds, that did let her drowne!
Then I did something or could make old Trent
Drunke with my sorrow, to start out in breaches
To drowne their Herds, their cattle, and their corne,
Breake downe their Mils, their Dams, ore-turne their weeres,
And see their houses, and whole lively-hood
Wrought into water, with her, all were good:
I'ld kisse the torrent, and those whirles of Trent,
That suck'd her in, my sweet Earine!
When they have cast their body on the shore,
And it comes up, as tainted as themselves,
All pale and bloodlesse, I will love it still,
For all that they can doe, and make 'hem mad,
To see how I will hugge it in mine armes!
And hang upon the lookes, dwell on her eyes:
Feed round about her lips, and eate her kisses!
Suck of her drowned flesh! and where's their malice?
Not all their envious sousing can change that:
But I will study some revenge past this!
I pray you give me leave, for I will study.
Though all the Bels, Pipes, Tabors, Timburines ring
That you can plant about me: I will study.