University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Enter Thomas, Hylas, and Sam.
Tho.
Keep you the back door there, and be sure
None of her servants enter, or go out,
If any Woman pass, she is lawful prize, Boys,
Cut off all convoyes.

Hyl.
Who shall answer this?

Tho.
Why, I shall answer it, you fearful widgeon,
I shall appear to th'action.

Hyl.
May we discourse too,
On honourable terms?

Tho.
With any Gentlewoman
That shall appear at window: ye may rehearse too
By your commission safely, some sweet parcels
Of Poetry to a Chamber-maid.

Hyl.
May we sing too?
For there's my master-piece.

Tho.
By no means, no Boys,
I am the man reserv'd for Air, 'tis my part,
And if she be not rock, my voyce shall reach her:
Ye may record a little, or ye may whistle,
As time shall minister, but for main singing,
Pray ye satisfie your selves: away, be careful.

Hyl.
But hark ye, one word Tom, we may be beaten,

Tho.
That's as ye think good your selves: if you deserve it,
Why 'tis the easiest thing to compass: beaten?
What Bugbears dwell in thy brains? who should beat thee?

Hyl.
She has men enough.

Tho.
Art not thou man enough too?
Thou hast flesh enough about thee: if all that mass
Will not maintain a little spirit, hang it,
And dry it too for dogs-meat: get you gone;
I have things of moment in my mind: that door,
Keep it as thou would'st keep thy Wife from a Servingman
No more I say: away, Sam.

Sam.
At your will, Sir.

[Exeunt Hylas and Sam.
Enter Launcelot, and Fidler.
Lan.
I have him here, a rare Rogue, good sweet Master,
Do something of some favour suddenly,
That we may eat, and live: I am almost starv'd,
No point manieur, no point devein, no Signieur,
Not by the vertue of my languages,
Nothing at my old masters to be hoped for,
O Signieur du, nothing to line my life with,
But cold Pyes with a cudgel, till you help us.

Tho.
Nothing but famine frights thee: come hither Fidler,
What Ballads are you seen in best? be short Sir.

Fidler.
Under your masterships correction, I can sing
The Duke of Norfolk, or the merry Ballad
Of Diverus and Lazarus, the Rose of England,
In Creet when Dedimus first began,
Jonas his crying out against Coventry.

Tho.
Excellent,
Rare matters all.

Fid.
Mawdlin the Merchants Daughter,
The Devil, and ye dainty Dames.

Tom.
Rare still.

Fid.
The landing of the Spaniards at Bow,
With the bloudy battel at Mile-end.

Tho.
All excellent:
No tuning as ye love me; let thy Fidle
Speak Welch, or any thing that's out of all tune,
The vilder still the better, like thy self,
For I presume thy voice will make no trees dance.

Fid.
Nay truly, ye shall have it ev'n as homely.

Tho.
Keep ye to that key, are they all abed trow?

Lan.
I hear no stirring any where, no light
In any window, 'tis a night for the nonce Sir.

Tho.
Come strike up then: and say the Merchants daughter,
We'l bear the burthen: proceed to incision Fidler.

Song.
Enter Servant, above.
Ser.
Who's there? what noise is this? what rogue
At these hours?

Thom.
O what is that to you my fool?
O what is that to you,
Pluck in your face you bawling Ass,
Or I will break your brow.
hey down, down, down.
A new Ballad, a new, a new.

Fid.
The twelfth of April, on May day,
My house and goods were burnt away, &c.

Maid above.
Maid.
Why who is this?

Lan.
O damsel dear,
Open the door, and it shall appear,
Open the door,
O gentle squire.

Maid.
I'le see thee hang'd first: farewel my dear,
'Tis master Thomas, there he stands.

Enter Mary above.
Mary.
'Tis strange
That nothing can redeem him: rail him hence,
Or sing him out in's own way, any thing
To be deliver'd of him.

Maid.
Then have at him:
My man Thomas did me promise.
He would visit me this night.

Tho.
I am here Love, tell me dear Love,
How I may obtain thy sight.

Maid.
Come up to my window love, come, come, come,
Come to my window my dear,
The wind, nor the rain shall trouble thee again,
But thou shalt be lodged here.

Thom.
And art thou strong enough?

Lan.
Up, up, I warrant ye.

Mary.
What do'st thou mean to do?

Maid.
Good Mistress peace,
I'le warrant ye we'l cool him: Madge.

Madge above.
Madge.
I am ready.

Tho.
The love of Greece, and it tickled him so,
That he devised a way to goe.
Now sing the Duke of Northumberland.

Fidler.
And climbing to promotion,
He fell down suddenly.

Madge with a Devil vizard roaring, offers to kiss him, and he falls down.
Maid.
Farewel Sir.

Mary.
What hast thou done? thou hast broke his neck

Maid.
Not hurt him.
He pitcht upon his legs like a Cat.

Tho.
O woman:
O miserable woman, I am spoil'd,
My leg, my leg, my leg, oh both my legs!

Mary.
I told thee what thou hadst done, mischief go with thee.

Tho.
O I am lam'd for ever: O my leg,
Broken in twenty places: O take heed,
Take heed of women, Fidler; oh a Surgeon,
A Surgeon, or I dye: oh my good people,
No charitable people, all despightfull,
Oh what a misery am I in! oh my leg.

Lan.
Be patient Sir, be patient: let me bind it.

Enter Samuel, and Hylas, with his head broken.
Tho.
Oh do not touch it rogue.

Hyl.
My head, my head,
Oh my head's kill'd.

Sam.
You must be courting wenches
Through key-holes, Captain Hylas, come and be comforted,
The skin is scarce broke.

Tho.
O my leg.

Sam.
How do ye Sir?

Tho.
Oh maim'd for ever with a fall, he's spoil'd too,
I see his brains.

Hyl.
Away with me for Gods sake,
A Surgeon.

Sam.
Here's a night indeed.

Hyl.
A Surgeon.

[Ex. all but Fidler.
Enter Mary, and Servant below.
Mary.
Go run for help.

Tho.
Oh.

Mary.
Run all, and all too little,
O cursed beast that hurt him, run, run, flye,
He will be dead else.

Tho.
Oh.

Mary.
Good friend go you too.

Fid.
Who pays me for my Musick?

Mary.
Pox o' your Musick,
There's twelve pence for ye.

Fid.
There's two groats again forsooth,
I never take above, and rest ye merry.

[Exit.
Ma.
A grease pot guild your fidle strings: how do you,
How is my dear?

Tom.
Why well I thank ye sweet heart,
Shall we walk in, for now there's none to trouble us?

Ma.
Are ye so crafty, Sir? I shall meet with ye,
I knew your trick, and I was willing: my Tom,
Mine own Tom, now to satisfie thee, welcom, welcom,
Welcom my best friend to me, all my dearest.

Tom.
Now ye are my noble Mistress: we lose time sweet.

Ma.
I think they are all gone.

Tom.
All, ye did wisely.

Ma.
And you as craftily.

Tom.
We are well met Mistress.

Ma.
Come, let's goe in then lovingly: O my Skarf Tom.
I lost it thereabout, find it, and wear it
As your poor Mistress favour.

[Exit.
Tom.
I am made now,
I see no venture is in no hand: I have it,
How now? the door lock't, and she in before?
Am I so trim'd?

Ma.
One parting word sweet Thomas,
Though to save your credit, I discharg'd your Fidler,
I must not satisfie your folly too Sir,
Ye'are subtle, but believe it Fox, I'le find ye,
The Surgeons will be here straight, roar again boy,
And break thy legs for shame, thou wilt be sport else,
Good night.

Tom.
She saies most true, I must not stay: she has bob'd me,
Which if I live, I'le recompence, and shortly,
Now for a Ballad to bring me off again.
All young men be warn'd by me, how you do goe a wooing.
Seek not to climb, for fear ye fall, thereby comes your undoing, &c.

[Exeunt.