The Shomakers Holiday. Or The Gentle Craft With the humorous life of Simon Eyre, shoomaker, and Lord Maior of London |
 | The Shomakers Holiday. Or The Gentle Craft |  |
Lincolne.
My Lord Maior, you haue sundrie times
Feasted my selfe, and many Courtiers more,
Seldome, or neuer can we be so kind,
To make requitall of your curtesie:
But leauing this, I heare my cosen Lacie
Is much affected to your daughter Rose.
L. Maior.
True my good Lord, and she loues him so wel,
That I mislike her boldnesse in the chace.
Lincol.
Why my lord Maior, think you it then a shame,
To ioyne a Lacie with an Otleys name?
L. Maior.
Too meane is my poore girle for his high birth,
Poore Cittizens must not with Courtiers wed,
Who will in silkes, and gay apparrell spend
More in one yeare, then I am worth by farre,
Therefore your honour neede not doubt my girle.
Lincolne.
Take heede my Lord, aduise you what you do,
A verier vnthrift liues not in the world,
Then is my cosen, for Ile tel you what,
To trauell countries for experience,
I furnisht him with coyne, billes of exchange,
Letters of credite, men to waite on him,
Solicited my friends in Italie
Well to respect him: but to see the end:
Scant had he iornied through halfe Germanie,
But all his coyne was spent, his men cast off,
His billes imbezeld, and my iolly coze,
Asham'd to shew his bankerupt presence here,
Became a Shoomaker in Wittenberg,
A goodly science for a gentleman
Of such discent: now iudge the rest by this.
Suppose your daughter haue a thousand pound,
He did consume me more in one halfe yeare,
And make him heyre to all the wealth you haue,
One twelue moneth's rioting wil waste it all,
Then seeke (my Lord) some honest Cittizen
To wed your daughter to.
L. Maior.
I thanke your Lordship,
Wel Foxe, I vnderstand your subtiltie,
As for your nephew, let your lordships eie
But watch his actions, and you neede not feare,
For I haue my daughter farre enough,
And yet your cosen Rowland might do well
Now he hath learn'd an occupation,
And yet I scorne to call him sonne in law.
Lincolne.
I but I haue a better trade for him,
I thanke his grace he hath appointed him,
Chiefe colonell of all those companies
Mustred in London, and the shires about,
To serue his highnesse in those warres of France:
See where he comes: Louel what newes with you?
Louell.
My Lord of Lincolne, tis his highnesse will,
That presently your cosen ship for France
With all his powers, he would not for a million,
But they should land at Deepe within foure daies.
Linc.
Goe certifie his grace it shall be done:
Exit Louell.
Now cosen Lacie, in what forwardnesse
Are all your companies?
Lacie.
All wel prepar'd,
The men of Hartfordshire lie at Mile end,
Suffolke, and Essex, traine in Tuttle fields,
The Londoners, and those of Middlesex,
All gallantly prepar'd in Finsbury,
With frolike spirits, long for their parting hower.
L. Maior.
They haue their imprest, coates, and furniture,
And if it please your cosen Lacie come
To the Guild Hall, he shall receiue his pay,
And twentie pounds besides my brethren
Will freely giue him, to approue our loues
We beare vnto my Lord your vncle here.
Lacie.
I thanke your honour.
Lincolne.
Thankes my good Lord Maior.
L. Ma.
At the Guild Hal we wil expect your comming,
Exit.
Lincolne.
To approue your loues to me? no subtiltie
Nephew: that twentie pound he doth bestow,
For ioy to rid you from his daughter Rose:
But cosens both, now here are none but friends,
I would not haue you cast an amorous eie
Upon so meane a proiect, as the loue
Of a gay wanton painted cittizen,
I know this churle, euen in the height of scorne,
Doth hate the mixture of his bloud with thine,
I pray thee do thou so, remember coze,
Increase the kings loue which so brightly shines,
And gilds thy hopes, I haue no heire but thee:
And yet not thee, if with a wayward spirit,
Thou start from the true byas of my loue.
Lacie.
My Lord, I will (for honor (not desire
Of land or liuings) or to be your heire)
So guide my actions in pursuit of France,
As shall adde glorie to the Lacies name.
Lincolne.
Coze, for those words heres thirtie Portugues
And Nephew Askew, there's a few for you,
Faire Honour in her loftiest eminence
Staies in France for you till you fetch her thence,
Then Nephewes, clap swift wings on your dissignes,
Be gone, be gone, make haste to the Guild Hall,
There presently Ile meete you, do not stay,
Where honour becomes, shame attends delay.
Exit.
Askew.
How gladly would your vncle haue you gone?
Lacie.
True coze, but Ile ore-reach his policies,
I haue some serious businesse for three dayes,
Which nothing but my presence can dispatch,
You therefore cosen with the companies
Shall haste to Douer, there Ile meete with you,
Or if I stay past my prefixed time,
Away for France, weele meete in Normandie,
The twentie pounds my Lord Maior giues to me
You shall receiue, and these ten portugues,
Part of mine vncles thirtie, gentle coze,
Haue care to our great charge, I know your wisedome
Hath tride it selfe in higher consequence.
Askew.
Coze, al my selfe am yours, yet haue this care,
To lodge in London with al secresie,
Our vncle Lincolne hath (besides his owne)
Stares onely to watch meanes for your disgrace.
Lacie.
Stay cosen, who be these?
Enter Symon Eyre, his wife, Hodge, Firk, Iane, & Rafe with a peece.
Eyre.
Leaue whining, leaue whining, away with this
whimpring, this pewling, these blubbring teares, and these
wet eies, Ile get thy husband discharg'd, I warrant thee
sweete Iane: go to.
Hodge.
Master, here be the captaines.
Eyre.
Peace Hodge, husht ye knaue, husht.
Firke.
Here be the caualiers, and the coronels, maister.
Eyre.
Peace Firke, peace my fine Firke, stand by with
your pishery pasherie, away, I am a man of the best presence,
Ile speake to them and they were Popes, gentlemen, captaines,
colonels, commanders: braue men, braue leaders,
may it please you to giue me audience, I am Simon Eyre,
the mad Shoomaker of Towerstreete, this wench with the
mealy mouth that wil neuer tire, is my wife I can tel you,
heres Hodge my man, and my foreman, heres Firke my fine
firking iourneyman, and this is blubbered Iane, al we come
to be suters for this honest Rafe keepe him at home, and as I
am a true shoomaker, and a gentleman of the Gentle Craft,
buy spurs your self, and Ile find ye bootes these seuen yeeres.
Wife.
Seuen yeares husband?
Eyre.
Peace Midriffe, peace, I know what I do, peace.
Firk.
Truly master cormorant, you shal do God good seruice
to let Rafe and his wife stay together, shees a yong new
married woman, if you take her husband away from her a
night, you vndoo her, she may beg in the day time, for hees as
good a workman at a pricke & an awle, as any is in our trade.
Iane.
O let him stay, else I shal be vndone.
Firke.
I truly, she shal be laid atone side like a paire of old
shooes else, and be occupied for no vse.
Truly my friends, it lies not in my power,
The Londoners are prest, paide, and set forth
By the Lord Maior, I cannot change a man.
Hodge.
Why then you were as good be a corporall, as a
colonel, if you cannot discharge one good fellow, and I tell
you true, I thinke you doe more then you can answere, to
presse a man within a yeare and a day of his mariage.
Eyre.
Wel said melancholy Hodge, gramercy my fine
foreman.
Wife.
Truly gentlemen, it were il done, for such as you,
to stand so stiffely against a poore yong wife: considering her
case, she is new married, but let that passe: I pray deale not
roughly with her, her husband is a yong man and but newly
entred, but let that passe.
Eyre.
Away with your pisherie pasherie, your pols and
your edipolls, peace Midaffe, silence Cisly Bumtrincket, let
your head speake.
Firke.
Yea and the hornes too, master.
Eyre.
Too soone, my fine Firk, too soone: peace scoundrels,
see you this man? Captaines, you will not release him, wel
let him go, hee's a proper shot, let him vanish, peace Iane,
drie vp thy teares, theile make his powder dankish, take
him braue men, Hector of Troy was an hackney to him,
Hercules and Termagant scoundrelles, Prince Arthurs
Round table, by the Lord of Ludgate, nere fed such a tall,
such a dapper swordman: by the life of Pharo, a braue resolute
swordman, peace Iane, I say no more, mad knaues.
Firk.
See, see Hodge, how my maister raues in commendation
of Rafe.
Hodge.
Raph, thart a gull by this hand, and thou goest.
Askew
I am glad (good master Ayre) it is my hap
To meete so resolute a souldiour.
Trust me, for your report, and loue to him,
Lacie.
Is thy name Raph?
Raph.
Yes sir.
Lacie.
Giue me thy hand,
Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman:
Woman, be patient, God (no doubt) wil send
Thy husband safe againe, but he must go,
His countries quarrel sayes, it shall be so.
Hodge
Thart a gull by my stirrop, if thou dost not goe, I
wil not haue thee strike thy gimblet into these weake vessels,
pricke thine enemies Rafe.
Enter Dodger
Dodger.
My lord, your vncle on the Tower hill,
Stayes with the lord Mayor, and the Aldermen,
And doth request you with al speede you may
To hasten thither.
exit Dodger.
Askew
Cosin, lets go.
Lacy
Dodger, runne you before, tel them we come,
This Dodger is mine vncles parasite,
The arrantst varlet that e're breathd on earth,
He sets more discord in a noble house,
By one daies broching of his pickethanke tales,
Then can be salu'd againe in twentie yeares,
And he (I feare) shall go with vs to France,
To prie into our actions.
Askew.
Therefore coze,
It shall behooue you to be circumspect,
Lacy.
Feare not good cosen: Raph, hie to your colours.
Raph.
I must, because theres no remedie,
But gentle maister and my louing dame,
As you haue alwaies beene a friend to me,
So in mine absence thinke vpon my wife.
Iane.
Alas my Raph.
Wife.
She cannot speake for weeping.
Peace you crackt groates, you mustard tokens, disquiet
not the braue souldier, goe thy waies Raph.
Iane.
I I, you bid him go, what shal I do when he is gone?
Firk.
Why be doing with me, or my felow Hodge, be not idle.
Eyre.
Let me see thy hand Iane, this fine hand, this white
hand, these prettie fingers must spin, must card, must worke,
worke you bombast cotten-candle-queane, worke for your
liuing with a pox to you: hold thee Raph, heres fiue sixpences
for thee, fight for the honour of the Gentle Craft, for the gentlemen
Shoomakers, the couragious Cordwainers, the flower
of S. Martins, the mad knaues of Bedlem, Fleetstreete,
Towerstreete, and white Chappell, cracke me the crownes
of the French knaues, a poxe on them, cracke them, fight, by
the lord of Ludgate, fight my fine boy.
Firke.
Here Rafe, here's three two pences, two carry into
France, the third shal wash our soules at parting (for sorrow
is drie) for my sake, Firke the Basa mon cues.
Hodge.
Raph, I am heauy at parting, but heres a shilling
for thee, God send thee to cramme thy slops with French
crownes, and thy enemies bellies with bullets.
Raph.
I thanke you maister, and I thanke you all:
Now gentle wife, my louing louely Iane,
Rich men at parting, giue their wiues rich gifts,
Iewels and rings, to grace their lillie hands,
Thou know'st our trade makes rings for womens heeles:
Here take this paire of shooes cut out by Hodge,
Sticht by my fellow Firke, seam'd by my selfe,
Made vp and pinckt, with letters for thy name,
Weare them my deere Iane, for thy husbands sake,
And euerie morning when thou pull'st them on,
Remember me, and pray for my returne,
Make much of them, for I haue made them so,
That I can know them from a thousand mo.
Enter Rose alone making a Garland.
Here sit thou downe vpon this flowry banke,
And make a garland for thy Lacies head,
These pinkes, these roses, and these violets,
These blushing gilliflowers, these marigoldes,
The faire embrodery of his coronet,
Carry not halfe such beauty in their cheekes,
As the sweete countnaunce of my Lacy doth.
O my most vnkinde father! O my starres!
Why lowrde you so at my natiuity,
To make me loue, yet liue robd of my loue?
Here as a theefe am I imprisoned
(For my deere Lacies sake) within those walles,
Which by my fathers cost were builded vp
For better purposes: here must I languish
For him that doth as much lament (I know)
enter Sibil.
Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.
Sibil
Good morrow yong Mistris, I am sure you make
that garland for me, against I shall be Lady of the Haruest.
Rose
Sibil, what news at London?
Sibil
None but good: my lord Mayor your father, and
maister Philpot your vncle, and maister Scot your coosin, and
mistris Frigbottom by Doctors Commons, doe all (by my
troth) send you most hearty commendations.
Rose
Did Lacy send kind greetings to his loue?
Sibil
O yes, out of cry, by my troth, I scant knew him,
here a wore scarffe, and here a scarfe, here a bunch of fethers,
O monstrous! like one of our yellow silke curtains, at home
here in Old-ford house, here in maister Bellymounts chamber,
I stoode at our doore in Cornehill, lookt at him, he at me
indeed, spake to him, but he not to me, not a word, mary gup
thought I with a wanion, he passt by me as prowde, mary
foh, are you growne humorous thought I? and so shut the
doore, and in I came.
Rose
O Sibill, how dost thou my Lacy wrong?
My Rowland is as gentle as a lambe,
No doue was euer halfe so milde as he.
Sibil
Milde? yea, as a bushel of stampt crabs, he lookt vpon
me as sowre as veriuice: goe thy wayes thought I, thou
maist be much in my gaskins, but nothing in my neather-stockes:
this is your fault mistris, to loue him that loues not
you, he thinkes scorne to do as he's done to, but if I were as
you, Ide cry, go by Ieronimo, go by, Ide set mine olde debts
against my new driblets, and the hares foot against the goose
giblets, for if euer I sigh when sleepe I shoulde take, pray
God I may loose my mayden-head when I wake.
Rose
Will my loue leaue me then and go to France?
Sibill
I knowe not that, but I am sure I see him stalke
before the souldiers, by my troth he is a propper man, but
he is proper that proper doth, let him goe snicke-vp yong mistris.
Rose
Get thee to London, and learne perfectly,
Whether my Lacy go to France, or no:
Do this, and I wil giue thee for thy paines,
My cambricke apron, and my romish gloues,
My purple stockings, and a stomacher,
Say, wilt thou do this Sibil for my sake?
Sibil
Wil I quoth a? at whose suite? by my troth yes, Ile
go, a cambricke apron, gloues, a paire of purple stockings,
any thing that comes a Gods name, O rich, a Cambricke apron;
faith then haue at vp tailes all, Ile go, Iiggy, Ioggy to
London, and be here in a trice yong mistris.
Exit.
Rose.
Do so good Sibill, meane time wretched I
Will sit and sigh for his lost companie.
Exit.
Enter Rowland Lacy like a Dutch Shooe-maker.
Lacy.
How many shapes haue gods and Kings deuisde,
Thereby to compasse their desired loues?
It is no shame for Rowland Lacy then,
To clothe his cunning with the Gentle Craft,
That thus disguisde, I may vnknowne possesse,
The onely happie presence of my Rose:
For her haue I forsooke my charge in France,
Incurd the Kings displeasure, and stir d vp
Rough hatred in mine vncle Lincolnes brest:
O loue, how powerfull art thou, that canst change
High birth to barenesse, and a noble mind,
To the meane semblance of a shooemaker?
But thus it must be: for her cruell father,
Hating the single vnion of our soules,
Hath secretly conueyd my Rose from London,
To barre me of her presence, but I trust
Fortune and this disguise will furder me
Once more to view her beautie, gaine her sight.
Here in Towerstreete, with Ayre the shooe-maker,
Meane I a while to worke, I know the trade,
I learn't it when I was in Wittenberge:
Then cheere thy hoping sprites, be not dismaide,
Thou canst not want, do fortune what she can,
The Gentle Craft is liuing for a man.
exit.
Enter Eyre making himselfe readie.
Eyre.
Where be these boyes, these girles, these drabbes,
and licke vp the crums of my table, yet wil not rise to see
my walkes cleansed: come out you powder-beefe-queanes,
what Nan, what Madge-mumble-crust, come out you fatte
Midriffe-swag, belly-whores, and sweepe me these kennels,
that the noysome stench offende not the nose of my neighbours:
what Firke I say, what Hodge? open my shop windowes,
what Firke I say.
Enter Firke.
Firke.
O master, ist you that speake bandog and bedlam
this morning, I was in a dreame, and muzed what madde
man was got into the streete so earlie, haue you drunke this
morning that your throate is so cleere?
Eyre.
Ah well saide Firke, well said Firke, to worke my
fine knaue, to worke, wash thy face, and thou't be more blest.
Firke.
Let them wash my face that will eate it, good maister
send for a sowce wife, if youle haue my face cleaner.
enter Hodge.
Eyre.
Away slouen, auaunt scoundrell, good morrow
Hodge, good morrow my fine foreman.
Hodge.
O maister, good morrow, yare an earlie stirrer,
heeres a faire morning, good morrow Firke, I could haue
slept this howre, heeres a braue day towards.
Eyre.
O haste to worke my fine foreman, haste to worke.
Firke.
Maister I am drie as dust, to heare my fellow Roger
talke of faire weather, let vs pray for good leather, and let
clownes and plowboyes, and those that worke in the fieldes,
pray for braue dayes, wee worke in a drie shop, what care
I if it raine?
enter Eyres wife.
Eyre.
How now dame Margery, can you see to rise? trip
and go, call vp the drabs your maides.
Wife.
See to rise? I hope tis time inough, tis earlie inough
for any woman to be seene abroad, I maruaile how manie
wiues in Towerstreet are vp so soon? Gods me, tis not noone,
Eyre.
Peace Margerie, peace, wheres Cisly Bumtrinket
your maide? she has a priuie fault, she fartes in her sleepe,
call the queane vp, if my men want shooethreed, ile swinge
her in a stirrop.
Firke.
Yet thats but a drie beating, heres still a signe of
drought.
enter Lacy singing.
Lacy.
Der was een bore van Gelderland, Frolick si byen,
He was als dronck he cold nyet stand, vpsolce se byen,
Tap eens de canneken drincke scheue mannekin.
Firke.
Maister, for my life yonders a brother of the Gentle
Craft, if he beare not saint Hughes bones, Ile forfeit my
bones, hees some vplandish workman, hire him good master,
that I may learne some gibble, gabble, twill make vs worke
the faster.
Eyre.
Peace Firke, a hard world, let him passe, let him
vanish, we haue iourneymen enow, peace my fine Firke.
Wife.
Nay, nay, y'are best follow your mans councell,
you shal see what wil come on't:we haue not men enow, but
we must entertaine euerie butter-boxe: but let that passe.
Hodge.
Dame, fore God if my maister follow your counsell,
heele consume little beefe, he shal be glad of men and hee
can catch them.
Firke.
I that he shall.
Hodge.
Fore God a proper man, and I warrant a fine
workman: maister farewell, dame adew, if such a man as he
cannot find worke, Hodge is not for you.
offer to goe.
Eyre.
Stay my fine Hodge.
Firke.
Faith, and your foreman goe, dame you must take
a iourney to seeke a new iorneyman, if Roger remoue, Firke
followes, if S. Hughs bones shall not be set a worke, I may
pricke mine awle in the wals, and goe play: fare ye wel master,
God buy dame.
Tarrie my fine Hodge, my briske foreman, stay
Firke, peace pudding broath, by the lord of Ludgate I loue
my men as my life, peace you gallimafrie, Hodge if he want
worke Ile hire him, one of you to him, stay, he comes to vs.
Lacie.
Goeden dach meester, ende v vro oak.
Firke.
Nayls if I should speake after him without drinking,
I shuld choke, and you frind Oake, are you of the Gentle Craft?
Lacie.
Yaw yaw, Ik bin den skomawker.
Firke.
Den skomaker quoth a, and heark you skomaker,
haue you al your tooles, a good rubbing pinne, a good stopper,
a good dresser, your foure sorts of awles, and your two balles
of waxe, your paring knife, your hand and thumb-leathers,
and good S. Hughs bones to smooth vp your worke.
Lacie.
Yaw yaw be niet vorveard, Ik hab all de dingen,
voour mack skoes groot and cleane.
Firke.
Ha ha good maister hire him, heele make me laugh
so that I shal worke more in mirth, then I can in earnest.
Eyre.
Heare ye friend, haue ye any skill in the mistery of
Cordwainers?
Lacie.
Ik weet niet wat yow seg ich vestaw you niet.
Firke.
Why thus man, Ich verste v niet quoth a.
Lacie.
Yaw, yaw, yaw, ick can dat wel doen.
Firke.
Yaw, yaw, he speakes yawing like a Iacke daw,
that gapes to be fed with cheese curdes, O heele giue a villanous
pul at a Can of double Beere, but Hodge and I haue
the vantage, we must drinke first, because wee are the eldest
iourneymen.
Eyre.
What is thy name?
Lacy.
Hans, Hans, Meulter.
Eyre.
Giue me thy hand, th'art welcome, Hodge entertaine
him, Fyrk bid him welcome, come Hans, runne wife,
bid your maids, your Trullibubs, make readie my fine mens
breakefasts: to him Hodge.
Hans, th'art welcome, vse thy selfe friendly, for
we are good fellowes, if not thou shalt be fought with, wert
thou bigger then a Giant.
Fyrk.
Yea and drunke with, wert thou Gargantua, my
maister keepes no cowards, I tel thee: hoe, boy, bring him an
heele-blocke, heers a new iourneyman.
Enter boy.
Lacy.
O ich wersto, you Ich moet een halue dossen Cans
betaelen: here boy nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke.
Exit boy.
Eyre.
Quicke snipper snapper, away Fyrk, scowre thy
throate, thou shalt wash it with Casiilian licour, come my
last of the fiues, giue me a Can, haue to
Enter boy.
thee Hans, here Hodge, here Fyrk, drinke you mad Greeks,
and worke like true Troians, and pray for Simon Eyre the
Shoomaker: here Hans, and th'art welcome.
Fyrk.
Lo dame you would haue lost a good fellow that wil
teach vs to laugh, this beere came hopping in wel.
Wife.
Simon it is almost seuen.
Eyre.
Is't so dame clapper dudgeon, is't seuen a clocke,
and my mens breakefast not readie? trip and goe you sowst
cunger, away, come you madde Hiperboreans, follow me
Hodge, follow me Hans, come after my fine Fyrk, to worke,
to worke a while, and then to breakfast.
Exit.
Fyrk.
Soft, yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master haue
no more wit, but to call you afore mee, I am not so foolish to
go behind you, I being the elder iourneyman.
exeunt.
Hollowing within.
Enter Warner, and Hammon, like hunters.
Hammon.
Cosen, beate euery brake, the game's not far,
This way with winged feete he fled from death,
Whilst the pursuing hounds senting his steps:
Find out his high way to destruction,
He saw him take saile, and he hallowed him,
Affirming him so embost,
That long he could not hold.
Warner.
If it be so,
Tis best we trace these meddowes by old Ford.
A noise of hunters within, enter a boy.
Hammon.
How now boy, wheres the deere? speak, sawst
thou him?
Boy.
O, yea I saw him leape through a hedge, and then
ouer a ditch, then at my Lord Maiors pale, ouer he skipt me
and in he went me, and holla the hunters cride, and there
boy there boy, but there he is a mine honestie.
Ham.
Boy God amercy, cosen lets away,
I hope we shal find better sport to day.
exeunt.
Hunting within, enter Rose, and Sibill.
Rose.
Why Sibill wilt thou proue a forrester?
Sibill.
Upon some no, forrester, go by: no faith mistris,
the deere came running into the barne through the orchard,
and ouer the pale, I wot wel, I lookt as pale as a new cheese
to see him, but whip saies goodman pinne-close, vp with his
flaile, and our Nicke with a prong, and downe he fel, and
they vpon him, and I vpon them, by my troth we had such
sport, and in the end we ended him, his throate we cut, flead
him, vnhornd him, and my lord Maior shal eat of him anon
when he comes.
Hornes sound within.
Rose.
Heark heark, the hunters come, y'are best take heed
Theyle haue a saying to you for this deede.
Enter Hammon, Warner, huntsmen, and boy.
Ham.
God saue you faire ladies.
Sibil.
Ladies, O grosse!
War.
Came not a bucke this way?
No, but two Does.
Ham.
And which way went they? faith weel hunt at those
Sibill.
At those? vpon some no: when, can you tell?
War.
Upon some, I.
Sibill.
Good Lord!
War.
Wounds then farewell.
Ham.
Boy, which way went he?
Boy.
This way sir he ranne.
Ham.
This way he ranne indeede, faire mistris Rose,
Our game was lately in your orchard seene.
War.
Can you aduise which way he tooke his flight?
Sibil.
Followe your nose, his hornes will guide you
right.
VVar.
Thart a mad wench.
Sibill.
O rich!
Rose.
Trust me, not I,
It is not like the wild forrest deere,
Would come so neare to places of resort,
You are deceiu'd, he fled some other way.
VVar.
Which way my suger-candie, can you shew?
Sibill.
Come vp good honnisops, vpon some, no.
Rose.
Why doe you stay, and not pursue your game?
Sibill.
Ile hold my life their hunting nags be lame.
Ham.
A deere, more deere is found within this place.
Rose.
But not the deere (sir) which you had in chace.
Ham.
I chac'd the deere, but this deere chaceth me.
Rose.
The strangest hunting that euer I see,
But wheres your parke?
She offers to goe away.
Ham.
Tis here: O stay.
Rose.
Impale me, and then I will not stray.
VVar.
They wrangle wench, we are more kind then they
Sibill.
What kind of hart is that (deere hart) you seeke?
A hart, deare hart.
Sibil.
Who euer saw the like?
Rose.
To loose your heart, is't possible you can?
Ham.
My heart is lost.
Rose.
Alacke good gentleman.
Ham.
This poore lost hart would I wish you might find.
Rose.
You by such lucke might proue your hart a hind.
Ham.
Why Lucke had hornes, so haue I heard some say.
Rose.
Now God and't be his wil send Luck into your way.
Enter L. Maior, and seruants.
L. Mai.
What M. Hammon, welcome to old Ford.
Sibill.
Gods pittikins, hands off sir, heers my Lord.
L. Maior.
I heare you had ill lucke, and lost your game.
Hammon.
Tis true my Lord.
L. Maior.
I am sorie for the same.
What gentleman is this?
Hammon.
My brother in law.
L. Maior.
Y'are welcome both, sith Fortune offers you
Into my hands, you shal not part from hence,
Until you haue refresht yout wearied limmes:
Go Sibel couer the boord, you shal be guest
To no good cheare, but euen a hunters feast.
Hammon.
I thanke your Lordship: cosen, on my life
For our lost venison, I shal find a wife.
exeunt.
L. Maior.
In gentlemen, Ile not be absent long.
This Hammon is a proper gentleman,
A citizen by birth, fairely allide,
How fit an husband were he for my girle?
Wel, I wil in, and do the best I can,
To match my daughter to this gentleman.
exit.
Enter Lacie, Skipper, Hodge, and Firke.
Skip.
Ick sal yow wat seggen Hans, dis skip dat comen
from Candy is al wol, by gots sacrament, van sugar, ciuet,
nempt it Hans, nempt it vor v meester, daer be de bils van
laden, your meester Simon Eyre sal hae good copen, wat
seggen yow Hans?
Firk.
Wat seggen de reggen de copen, slopen, laugh Hodge
laugh.
Lacie.
Mine lieuer broder Firk, bringt meester Eyre lot
den signe vn swannekin, daer sal yow finde dis skipper end
me, wat seggen yow broder Firk? doot it Hodge, come skipper.
exeunt.
Firke.
Bring him qd. you, heers no knauerie, to bring my
master to buy a ship, worth the lading of 2. or 3. huūdred thousand
pounds, alas thats nothing, a trifle, a bable Hodge.
Hod
The truth is Firk, that the marchant owner of the
ship dares not shew his head, and therefore this skipper that
deales for him, for the loue he beares to Hans, offers my master
Eyre a bargaine in the commodities, he shal haue a reasonable
day of payment, he may sel the wares by that time,
and be an huge gainer himselfe.
Firk.
Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twentie
porpentines as an earnest pennie.
Hodge.
Portegues thou wouldst say, here they be Firke,
heark, they gingle in my pocket like S. Mary Queries bels.
enter Eyre and his wife.
Firke.
Mum, here comes my dame and my maister, sheele
scold on my life, for loytering this Monday, but al's one, let
them al say what they can, Monday's our holyday.
Wife.
You sing sir sauce, but I beshrew your heart,
I feare for this your singing we shal smart.
Firke.
Smart for me dame, why dame, why?
Hodg.
Maister I hope yowle not suffer my dame to take
downe your iourneymen.
Firk.
If she take me downe, Ile take her vp, yea and take
Eyre.
Peace Firke, not I Hodge, by the life of Pharao, by
the Lord of Ludgate, by this beard, euery haire whereof I
valew at a kings ransome, shee shal not meddle with you,
peace you bumbast-cotten-candle Queane, away queene of
Clubs, quarrel not with me and my men, with me and my
fine Firke, Ile firke you if you do.
Wife.
Yea, yea man, you may vse me as you please: but
let that passe.
Eyre.
Let it passe, let it vanish away: peace, am I not Simon
Eyre? are not these my braue men? braue shoomakers,
all gentlemen of the gentle craft? prince am I none, yet am
I noblie borne, as beeing the sole sonne of a Shoomaker,
away rubbish, vanish, melt, melt like kitchin
stuffe.
Wife.
Yea, yea, tis wel, I must be cald rubbish, kitchinstuffe,
for a sort of knaues.
Firke.
Nay dame, you shall not weepe and waile in woe
for me: master Ile stay no longer, here's a vennentorie of
my shop tooles: adue master, Hodge farewel.
Hodge.
Nay stay Firke, thou shalt not go alone.
Wife.
I pray let them goe, there be mo maides then mawkin,
more men then Hodge, and more fooles then Firke.
Firke.
Fooles? nailes if I tarry nowe, I would my guts
might be turnd to shoo-thread.
Hodge.
And if I stay, I pray God I may be turnd to a
Turke, and set in Finsbury for boyes to shoot at: come Firk.
Eyre.
Stay my fine knaues, you armes of my trade,
you pillars of my professiō. What, shal a tittle tattles words
make you forsake Simon Eyre? auaunt kitchinstuffe, rip
you brown bread tannikin, out of my sight, moue me not,
haue not I tane you from selling tripes in Eastcheape,
and set you in my shop, and made you haile fellowe with
my Iourneymen? Looke you powder beefe queane on the face
of Hodge, heers a face for a Lord.
Firke.
And heers a face for any Lady in Christendome.
Eyre.
Rip you chitterling, auaunt boy, bid the tapster of
the Bores head fil me a doozen Cannes of beere for my iourneymen.
Firke.
A doozen Cans? O braue, Hodge now Ile stay.
Eyre.
And the knaue fils any more then two, he payes for
them: a doozen Cans of beere for my iourneymen, heare you
mad Mesopotamians, wash your liuers with this liquor,
where be the odde ten? no more Madge, no more, wel saide,
drinke & to work: what worke dost thou Hodge? what work?
Hodge.
I am a making a paire of shooes for my Lord Maiors
daughter, mistresse Rose.
Firke.
And I a paire of shooes for Sybill my Lords maid,
I deale with her.
Eyre.
Sybil? fie, defile not thy fine workemanly fingers
with the feete of Kitchinstuffe, and basting ladles, Ladies of
the Court, fine Ladies, my lads, commit their feete to our apparelling,
put grosse worke to Hans: yarke and seame, yarke
and seame.
Fyrk.
For yarking & seaming let me alone, & I come toot.
Hodge.
Wel maister, al this is from the bias, do you remember
the ship my fellow Hans told you of, the Skipper
and he are both drinking at the swan? here be the Portigues
to giue earnest, if you go through with it, you can not choose
but be a Lord at least.
Firke.
Nay dame, if my master proue not a Lord, and you
a Ladie, hang me.
Wife.
Yea like inough, if you may loiter and tipple thus.
Firke.
Tipple dame? no, we haue beene bargaining with
Skellum Skanderbag: can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of
Enter the boy with a veluet coate, and an Aldermans gowne, Ayre puts it on.
Eire.
Peace Firk, silence tittle tattle: Hodge, Ile go through
with it, heers a seale ring, and I haue sent for a garded gown,
and a damask Casock, see where it comes, looke here Maggy,
help me Firk, apparrel me Hodge, silke and satten you mad
Philistines, silke and satten.
Firk.
Ha, ha, my maister wil be as proud as a dogge in a
dublet, al in beaten damaske and veluet.
Eyre.
Softly Firke, for rearing of the nap, and wearing
thread-bare my garments: how dost thou like mee Firke?
how do I looke, my fine Hodge?
Hodge.
Why now you looke like your self master, I warrant
you, ther's few in the city, but wil giue you the wal, and
come vpon you with the right worshipful.
Firke.
Nailes my master lookes like a thred-bare cloake
new turn'd, and drest: Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment
doth? dame, dame, are you not enamoured?
Eyre.
How saist thou Maggy, am I not brisk? am I not fine?
Wife.
Fine? by my troth sweet hart very fine: by my troth
I neuer likte thee so wel in my life sweete heart. But let that
passe, I warrant there be many women in the citie haue not
such handsome husbands, but only for their apparell, but let
that passe too.
Enter Hans and Skipper.
Hans.
Godden day mester, dis be de skipper dat heb de
skip van marchandice de commodity ben good, nempt it master,
nempt it.
Aire.
Godamercy Hans, welcome skipper, where lies
this ship of marchandice?
Skip.
De skip ben in rouere: dor be van Sugar, Cyuet,
Almonds, Cambricke, and a towsand towsand tings, gotz
sacrament, nempt it mester, yo sal heb good copen.
To him maister, O sweete maister, O sweet wares,
prunes, almons, suger-candy, carrat roots, turnups, O braue
fatting meate, let not a man buye a nutmeg but your selfe.
Eyre.
Peace Firke, come Skipper, Ile go abroade with
you, Hans haue you made him drinke?
Skip.
Yaw, yaw, ic heb veale ge drunck.
Eyre.
Come Hans follow me: Skipper, thou shalt haue
my countenance in the Cittie.
Exeunt.
Firke.
Yaw heb veale ge drunck, quoth a: they may well
be called butter-boxes, when they drinke fat veale, and thick
beare too: but come dame, I hope you'le chide vs no more.
VVife.
No faith Firke, no perdy Hodge, I do feele honour
creepe vpon me, and which is more, a certaine rising in my
flesh, but let that passe.
Firke.
Rising in your flesh do you feele say you? I you may
be with childe, but why should not my maister feele a rising
in his flesh, hauing a gowne and a gold ring on, but you are
such a shrew, youl'e soone pull him downe.
VVi.
Ha, ha, prethee peace, thou mak'st my worshippe
laugh, but let that passe: come Ile go in Hodge, prethee goe
before me, Firke follow me.
Fi.
Firke doth follow, Hodge passe out in state.
Exeunt.
Enter Lincolne and Dodger.
Li.
How now good Dodger, whats the newes in France?
Dodger.
My Lord, vpon the eighteene day of May,
The French and English were preparde to fight,
Each side with eager furie gaue the signe
Of a most hot encounter, fiue long howres
Both armies fought together: at the length,
The lot of victorie fel on our sides,
Twelue thousand of the Frenchmen that day dide,
Foure thousand English, and no man of name,
But Captaine Hyam, and yong Ardington,
Lin.
But Dodger, prethee tell me in this fight,
How did my cozen Lacie beare himselfe?
Dodger.
My Lord, your cosen Lacie was not there.
Linc.
Not there?
Dog.
No, my good Lord.
Lin.
Sure thou mistakest,
I saw him shipt, and a thousand eies beside
Were witnesses of the farewels which he gaue,
When I with weeping eies bid him adew:
Dodger take heede.
Dodger.
My Lord I am aduis'd,
That what I spake is true: to proue it so,
His cosen Askew that supplide his place,
Sent me for him from France, that secretly
He might conuey himselfe hither.
Lin.
Ist euen so.
Dares he so carelessely venture his life,
Upon the indignation of a King?
Hath he despis'd my loue, and spurn'd those fauours,
Which I with prodigall hand powr'd on his head?
He shall repent his rashnes with his soule,
Since of my loue he makes no estimate,
Ile make him wish he had not knowne my hate,
Thou hast no other newes?
Dodger.
None else, my Lord.
Lin.
None worse I know thou hast: procure the king
To crowne his giddie browes with ample honors,
Send him cheefe Colonell, and all my hope
Thus to be dasht? but tis in vaine to grieue,
One euill cannot a worse releeue:
Upon my life I haue found out his plot,
That old dog Loue that fawnd vpon him so,
Loue to that puling girle, his faire cheek't Rose,
And in the fire of that loues lunacie,
Hath he burnt vp himselfe, consum'd his credite,
Lost the kings loue, yea and I feare, his life,
Onely to get a wanton to his wife:
Dodger, it is so.
Dodger.
I feare so, my good Lord.
Lincolne.
It is so, nay sure it cannot be,
I am at my wits end Dodger.
Dodger.
Yea my Lord.
Lin.
Thou art acquainted with my Nephewes haunts,
Spend this gold for thy paines, goe seeke him out,
Watch at my Lord Maiors (there if he liue)
Dodger, thou shalt be sure to meete with him:
Prethee be diligent. Lacie thy name
Liu'd once in honour, now dead in shame:
Be circumspect.
exit.
Dodger.
I warrant you my Lord.
exit.
Enter Lord Maior, and master Scotte.
L. Ma.
Good maister Scot, I haue beene bolde with you,
To be a witnesse to a wedding knot,
Betwixt yong maister Hammon and my daughter,
O stand aside, see where the louers come.
Enter Hammon, and Rose.
Rose
Can it be possible you loue me so?
No, no, within those eie-bals I espie,
Apparant likelihoods of flattery,
Pray now let go my hand.
Hammon.
Sweete mistris Rose,
Misconstrue not my words, nor misconceiue
Of my affection, whose deuoted soule
Sweares that I loue thee dearer then my heart.
Rose.
As deare as your owne heart? I iudge it right.
Hamond.
I loue you, by this hand.
Rose.
Yet hands off now:
If flesh be fraile, how weake and frail's your vowe?
Hamond.
Then by my life I sweare.
Rose.
Then do not brawle,
One quarrell looseth wife and life and all,
Is not your meaning thus?
Hamond.
In faith you iest.
Rose.
Loue loues to sport, therfore leaue loue y'are best.
L. Mai.
What? square they maister Scot?
Scot.
Sir, neuer doubt,
Louers are quickly in, and quickly out.
Ham.
Sweet Rose, be not so strange in fansying me,
Nay neuer turne aside, shunne not my sight,
I am not growne so fond, to fond my loue
On any that shall quit it with disdaine,
If you wil loue me, so, if not, farewell.
L. Ma.
Why how now louers, are you both agreede?
Ham.
Yes faith my Lord.
L. Maior.
Tis well, giue me your hand, giue me yours daughter.
How now, both pull backe, what meanes this, girle?
Rose.
I meane to liue a maide.
Ham.
But not to die one, pawse ere that be said.
aside.
L. Mai.
Wil you stil crosse me? still be obstinate?
Hamond.
Nay chide her not my Lord for doing well,
If she can liue an happie virgins life,
Tis farre more blessed then to be a wife.
Rose.
Say sir I cannot, I haue made a vow,
Who euer be my husband, tis not you.
L. Mai.
Your tongue is quicke, but M. Hamond know,
I bade you welcome to another end.
Ham.
What, would you haue me pule, & pine, and pray,
Pardon your seruant, and the rimer play,
Rayling on Cupid, and his tyrants dart,
Or shal I vndertake some martiall spoile,
Wearing your gloue at turney, and at tilt,
And tel how many gallauts I vnhorst,
Sweete, wil this pleasure you?
Rose.
Yea, when wilt begin?
What louerimes man? fie on that deadly sinne.
L. Maior.
If you wil haue her, Ile make her agree.
Ham.
Enforced loue is worse then hate to me,
There is a wench keepes shop in the old change,
To her wil I, it is not wealth I seeke,
I haue enough, and wil preferre her loue
Before the world: my good lord Maior adew,
Old loue for me, I haue no lucke with new.
Exit.
L. Ma.
Now mammet you haue wel behau'd your selfe,
But you shal curse your coynes if I liue,
Whose within there? see you conuay your mistris
Straight to th'old Forde, Ile keepe you straight enough,
Fore God I would haue sworne the puling girle,
Would willingly accepted Hammons loue,
But banish him my thoughts, go minion in,
exit Rose.
Now tel me master Scot would you haue thought,
That master Simon Eyre the shoomaker,
Had beene of wealth to buy such marchandize?
Scot.
Twas wel my Lord, your honour, and my selfe,
Grew partners with him for your bils of lading,
Shew that Eyres gaines in one commoditie,
Rise at the least to ful three thousand pound,
Besides like gaine in other marchandize.
L. Maior.
Wel he shal spend some of his thousands now
enter Eyre.
See where he comes: good morrow master Eyre.
Eyre.
Poore Simon Eyre, my Lord, your shoomaker.
L. Maior.
Wel wel, it likes your selfe to terme you so,
Now M. Dodger, whats the news with you?
Enter Dodger.
Dodger.
Ide gladly speake in priuate to your honour.
L. Maior.
You shal, you shal: master Eyre, and M. Scot,
I haue some businesse with this gentleman,
I pray let me intreate you to walke before
To the Guild Hal, Ile follow presently,
Master Eyre, I hope ere noone to call you Shiriffe.
Eyre.
I would not care (my Lord) if you might cal me
king of Spaine, come master Scot.
L. Maior.
Now maister Dodger, whats the newes you
bring?
Dod.
The Earle of Lincolne by me greets your lordship
And earnestly requests you (if you can)
Informe him where his Nephew Lacie keepes.
L. Maior.
Is not his Nephew Lacie now in France?
Dodger.
No I assure your lordship, but disguisde
Lurkes here in London.
L. Maior.
London? ist euen so?
It may be, but vpon my faith and soule,
I know not where he liues, or whether he liues,
So tel my Lord of Lincolne, lurch in London?
Well master Dodger, you perhaps may start him,
Be but the meanes to rid him into France,
Ile giue you a dozen angels for your paines,
So much I loue his honour, hate his Nephew,
And prethee so informe thy lord from me.
Dodger.
I take my leaue.
exit. Dodger.
L. Maior.
Farewell good master Dodger.
My daughter knowes thereof, and for that cause,
Denide yong M. Hammon in his loue,
Wel I am glad I sent her to old Forde,
Gods lord tis late, to Guild Hall I must hie,
I know my brethren stay my companie.
exit.
Enter Firke, Eyres wife, Hans, and Roger.
Wife.
Thou goest too fast for me Roger.
Firke.
I forsooth.
Wife.
I pray thee runne (doe you heare) runne to Guild
Hall, and learne if my husband master Eyre wil take that
worshipfull vocation of M. Shiriffe vpon him, hie thee good
Firke.
Firke.
Take it? well I goe, and he should not take it, Firk
sweares to forsweare him, yes forsooth I goe to Guild Hall.
Wife.
Nay when? thou art too compendious, and tedious.
Firke.
O rare, your excellence is full of eloquence, how
like a new cart wheele my dame speakes, and she lookes like
an old musty ale-bottle going to scalding.
Wife.
Nay when? thou wilt make me melancholy.
Firke.
God forbid your worship should fall into that humour,
I runne.
exit.
Wife.
Let me see now Roger and Hans.
H.
I forsooth dame (mistris I should say) but the old terme
so stickes to the roofe of my mouth, I can hardly lick it off.
Wife.
Euen what thou wilt good Roger, dame is a faire
name for any honest christian, but let that passe, how dost
thou Hans?
Hans.
Mee tanck you vro.
Wife.
Wel Hans and Roger you see God hath blest your
master, and perdie if euer he comes to be M. Shiriffe of
London (as we are al mortal) you shal see I wil haue some
odde thing or other in a corner for you: I wil not be your
shooe.
Hans.
Yaw ic sal vro.
Wife
Roger, thou knowst the length of my foote, as it is
none of the biggest, so I thanke God it is handsome enough,
prethee let me haue a paire of shooes made, corke good Roger,
woodden heele too.
Hodge.
You shall.
Wife.
Art thou acquainted with neuer a fardingale-maker,
nor a French-hoode maker, I must enlarge my bumme,
ha, ha, how shall I looke in a hoode I wonder? perdie odly I
thinke.
Roger.
As a catte out of a pillorie, verie wel I warrant
you mistresse.
Wife.
Indeede all flesh is grasse, and Roger, canst thou tel
where I may buye a good haire?
Roger.
Yes forsooth, at the poulterers in Gracious street.
VVi.
Thou art an vngratious wag, perdy, I meane a
false haire for my periwig.
Roger.
Why mistris, the next time I cut my beard, you
shall haue the shauings of it, but they are all true haires.
VVi.
It is verie hot, I must get me a fan or else a maske.
Rog.
So you had neede, to hide your wicked face.
VVi.
Fie vpon it, how costly this world's calling is, perdy,
but that it is one of the wonderfull works of God, I
would not deale with it: is not Firke come yet? Hans, bee
not so sad, let it passe and vanish, as my husbands worshippe
saies.
Hans.
Ick bin vrolicke, lot see yow soo.
Roger.
Mistris, wil you drinke a pipe of Tobacco?
VVife.
O fie vppon it Roger, perdy, these filthie Tobacco
pipes are the most idle slauering bables that euer I felt: out
vppon it, God blesse vs, men looke not like men that vse thē.
Roger.
What fellow Rafe? Mistres looke here, Ianes
husband, why how, lame? Hans make much of him, hees
a brother of our trade, a good workeman, and a tall souldier.
Hans.
You be welcome broder.
Wife.
Pardie I knew him not, how dost thou good Rafe?
I am glad to see thee wel.
Rafe.
I would God you saw me dame as wel,
As when I went from London into France.
Wife.
Trust mee I am sorie Rafe to see thee impotent,
Lord how the warres haue made him Sunburnt: the left
leg is not wel: t was a faire gift of God the infirmitie tooke
not hold a litle higher, considering thou camest from France:
but let that passe.
Rafe.
I am glad to see you wel, and I reioyce
To heare that God hath blest my master so
Since my departure.
Wife.
Yea truly Rafe, I thanke my maker: but let that
passe.
Rog.
And sirra Rafe, what newes, what newes in France?
Rafe.
Tel mee good Roger first, what newes in England?
Now does my Iane? when didst thou see my wife?
Where liues my poore heart? sheel be poore indeed
Now I want limbs to get whereon to feed.
Roger.
Limbs? hast thou not hands man? thou shalt neuer
see a shoomaker want bread, though he haue but three fingers
on a hand.
Rafe.
Yet all this while I heare not of my Iane.
Wife.
O Rafe your wife, perdie we knowe not whats
become of her: she was here a while, and because she was
married grewe more stately then became her, I checkt her,
and so forth, away she flung, neuer returned, nor saide bih
tell ye. Roger is not Firke come yet?
Roger.
No forsooth.
Wife.
And so indeede we heard not of her, but I heare
shee liues in London: but let that passe. If she had wanted,
shee might haue opened her case to me or my husband, or
to any of my men, I am sure theres not any of them perdie,
but would haue done her good to his power. Hans looke if
Firke be come.
Exit Hans.
Hans.
Yaw it sal vro.
Wife.
And so as I saide: but Rafe, why dost thou weepe?
thou knowest that naked wee came out of our mothers
wombe, and naked we must returne, and therefore thanke
God for al things.
Roger.
No faith Iane is a straunger heere, but Rafe
pull vp a good heart, I knowe thou hast one, thy wife man,
is in London, one tolde mee hee sawe her a while agoe verie
braue and neate, weele ferret her out, and London holde
her.
Wife.
Alas, poore soule, hees ouercome with sorrowe,
he does but as I doe, weepe for the losse of any good thing:
but Rafe, get thee in, call for some meate and drinke, thou
shalt find me worshipful towards thee.
Rafe.
I thanke you dame, siuce I want lims and lands,
Ile to God, my good friends, and to these my hands.
exit.
Enter Hans, and Firke running.
Fyrke.
Runne good Hans, O Hodge, O mistres, Hodge
heaue vp thine eares, mistresse smugge vp your lookes, on
called, nay condemn'd by the crie of the countrie to be shiriffe
of the Citie, for this famous yeare nowe to come: and time
now being, a great many men in blacke gownes were askt
for their voyces, and their hands, and my master had al their
fists about his eares presently, and they cried I, I, I, I, and
so I came away, wherefore without all other grieue, I doe
salute you mistresse shrieue.
Hans.
Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieue.
Roger.
Did not I tell you mistris? nowe I may boldly
say, good morrow to your worship.
Wife.
Good morrow good Roger, I thanke you my good
people all. Firke, hold vp thy hand, heer's a three-peny peece
for thy tidings.
Fyrk.
Tis but three halfe pence, I thinke: yes, tis three
pence, I smel the Rose.
Roger.
But mistresse, be rulde by me, and doe not speake
so pulingly.
Firke.
Tis her worship speakes so, and not she, no faith
mistresse, speake mee in the olde key, too it Firke, there good
Firke, plie your businesse Hodge, Hodge, with a full mouth:
Ile fill your bellies with good cheare til they crie twang.
Enter Simon Eire wearing a gold chaine.
Hans.
See myn lieuer broder, heer compt my meester.
Wife.
Welcome home maister shrieue, I pray God continue
you in health and wealth.
Eyre.
See here my Maggy, a chaine, a gold chaine for
Simon Eyre, I shal make thee a Lady, heer's a French hood
for thee, on with it, on with it, dresse thy browes with this
flap of a shoulder of mutton, to make thee looke louely: where
be my fine men? Roger, Ile make ouer my shop and tooles
to thee: Firke, thou shalt be the foreman: Hans, thou shalt
maister Sim Eyre hath bin, & you shall liue to be Sheriues
of London: how dost thou like me Margerie? Prince am I
none, yet am I princely borne, Firke, Hodge, and Hans.
Al 3.
I forsooth, what saies your worship mistris Sherife?
Eyre.
Worship and honour you Babilonion knaues, for
the Gentle Craft: but I forgot my selfe, I am hidden by my
Lord Maior to dinner to old Foord, hees gone before, I must
after: come Madge, on with your trinkets: nowe my true
Troians, my fine Firke, my dapper Hodge, my honest
Hans, some deuice, some odde crochets, some morris, or such
like, for the honour of the gentle shooemakers, meete me at
old Foord, you know my minde: come Madge, away, shutte
vp the shop knaues, and make holiday.
exeunt.
Firke.
O rare, O braue, come Hodge, follow me Hans,
Weele be with them for a morris daunce.
exeunt.
Enter Lord Maior, Eyre, his wife, Sibill in a French hood, and other seruants.
L. Maior.
Trust mee you are as welcome to old Foord,
as I my selfe.
Wife.
Truely I thanke your Lordship.
L. Ma.
Would our bad cheere were worth the thanks
you giue.
Eyre.
Good cheere my Lord Maior, fine cheere, a fine
house, fine walles, all fine and neat.
L. Maior.
Now by my troth Ile tel thee maister Eyre,
It does me good and al my brethren,
That such a madcap fellow as thy selfe
Is entred into our societie.
Wife.
I but my Lord, hee must learne nowe to putte on
grauitie.
Eyre.
Peace Maggy, a fig for grauitie, when I go to Guildhal
in my scarlet gowne, Ile look as demurely as a saint, and
old Foord, at my good Lord Maiors house, let it go by, vanish
Maggy, Ile be merrie, away with flip flap, these fooleries,
these gulleries: what hunnie? prince am I none, yet am I
princly borne: what sayes my Lord Maior?
L. Maior.
Ha, ha, ha, I had rather then a thousand pound,
I had an heart but halfe so light as yours.
Eyre.
Why what should I do my Lord? a pound of care
paies not a dram of debt: hum, lets be merry whiles we are
yong, olde age, sacke and sugar will steale vpon vs ere we be
aware.
L. Ma.
Its wel done mistris Eyre, pray giue good counsell
to my daughter.
Wife.
I hope mistris Rose wil haue the grace to take nothing
thats bad.
L. Ma.
Pray God she do, for ifaith mistris Eyre,
I would bestow vpon that peeuish girle
A thousand Marks more then I meane to giue her,
Upon condition sheed be rulde by me,
The Ape still crosseth me: there came of late,
A proper Gentleman of faire reuenewes,
Whom gladly I would call sonne in law:
But my fine cockney would haue none of him.
You'le proue a cockscombe for it ere you die,
A courtier, or no man must please your eie.
Eyre.
Be rulde sweete Rose, th'art ripe for a man: marrie
not with a boy, that has no more haire on his face then thou
hast on thy cheekes: a courtier, wash, go by, stand not vppon
pisherie pasherie: those silken fellowes are but painted Images,
outsides, outsides Rose, their inner linings are torne:
no my fine mouse, marry me with a Gentleman Grocer like
my Lord Maior your Father, a Grocer is a sweete trade,
Plums, Plums: had I a sonne or Daughter should marrie
should packe: what, the Gentle trade is a liuing for a man
through Europe, through the world.
A noyse within of a Taber and a Pipe.
Maior.
What noyse is this?
Eyre.
O my Lord Maior, a crue of good fellowes that
for loue to your honour, are come hither with a morrisdance,
come in my Mesopotamians cheerely.
Enter Hodge, Hans, Raph, Firke, and other shooe-makers in a morris: after a little dauncing the Lord Maior speakes.
Maior.
Maister Eyre, are al these shoe-makers?
Eyre
Al Cordwainers my good Lord Maior.
Rose.
How like my Lacie lookes yond shooe-maker.
Haunce.
O that I durst but speake vnto my loue!
Maior.
Sibil, go fetch some wine to make these drinke,
You are al welcome.
All.
We thanke your Lordship.
Rose takes a cup of wine and goes to Haunce.
Rose.
For his sake whose faire shape thou representst,
Good friend I drinke to thee.
Hans.
It be dancke good frister.
Eyres Wife.
I see mistris Rose you do not want iudgement,
you haue drunke to the properest man I keepe.
Firke.
Here bee some haue done their parts to be as proper
as he.
Maior.
Wel, vrgent busines cals me backe to London:
Good fellowes, first go in and taste our cheare,
And to make merrie as you homeward go,
Spend these two angels in beere at Stratford Boe.
Eyre.
To these two (my madde lads) Sim Eyre ads another,
the honour of shoemakers.
All goe dauncing out.
M.
Come maister Eyre, lets haue your companie.
exeunt.
Rose.
Sibil What shal I do?
Sibill.
Why whats the matter?
Rose.
That Haunce the shoemaker is my loue Lacie,
Disguisde in that attire to find me out,
How should I find the meanes to speake with him?
Sibill.
What mistris, neuer feare, I dare venter my maidenhead
to nothing, and thats great oddes, that Haunce the
Dutchman when we come to London, shal not onely see and
speake with you, but in spight of al your Fathers pollicies,
steale you away and marrie you, will not this please you?
Rose.
Do this, and euer be assured of my loue.
Sibil.
Away then and follow your father to London, lest
your absence cause him to suspect something:
Ile binde you prentise to the gentle trade.
Enter Iane in a Semsters shop working, and Hamond muffled at another doore, he stands aloofe.
Hamond.
Yonders the shop, and there my faire loue sits,
Shees faire and louely, but she is not mine,
O would she were, thrise haue I courted her,
Thrise hath my hand beene moistned with her hand,
Whilst my poore famisht eies do feed on that
Which made them famish: I am infortunate,
I stil loue one, yet no body loues me,
I muse in other men what women see,
And this too curious, oh no, she is chaste,
And for she thinkes me wanton, she denies
To cheare my cold heart with her sunnie eies:
How prettily she workes, oh prettie hand!
Oh happie worke, it doth me good to stand
Unseene to see her, thus I oft haue stood,
In frostie euenings, a light burning by her,
Enduring biting cold, only to eie her,
One onely looke hath seem'd as rich to me
As a kings crowne, such is loues lunacie:
Muffeled Ile passe along, and by that trie
Whether she know me.
Iane.
Sir, what ist you buy?
What ist you lacke sir? callico, or lawne,
Fine cambricke shirts, or bands, what will you buy?
Ham.
That which thou wilt not sell, faith yet Ile trie:
How do you sell this handkercher?
Iane.
Good cheape.
Ham.
And how these ruffes?
Iane.
Cheape too.
Ham.
And how this band?
Iane.
Cheape too.
Ham.
All cheape, how sell you then this hand?
Iane.
My handes are not to be solde.
Ham.
To be giuen then: nay faith I come to buy.
Iane.
But none knowes when.
Ham.
Good sweete, leaue worke a little while, lets play.
Iane.
I cannot liue by keeping holliday.
Ham.
Ile pay you for the time which shall be lost.
Iane.
With me you shall not be at so much cost.
Ham.
Look how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.
Iane.
It may be so.
Tis so.
Iane.
What remedie?
Ham.
Nay faith you are too coy.
Iane.
Let goe my hand.
Ham.
I will do any task at your command,
I would let goe this beautie, were I not
In mind to disobey you by a power
That controlles kings: I loue you.
Iane.
So, now part.
Ham.
With hands I may, but neuer with my heart,
In faith I loue you.
Iane.
I beleeue you doe.
Ham.
Shall a true loue in me breede hate in you?
Iane.
I hate you not.
Ham.
Then you must loue.
Iane.
I doe, what are you better now? I loue not you.
Ham.
All this I hope is but a womans fray,
That means, come to me, when she cries, away:
In earnest mistris I do not iest,
A true chaste loue hath entred in my brest,
I loue you dearely as I loue my life,
I loue you as a husband loues a wife.
That, and no other loue my loue requires,
Thy wealth I know is little, my desires
Thirst not for gold, sweete beauteous Iane whats mine,
Shall (if thou make my selfe thine) all be thine,
Say, iudge, what is thy sentence, life, or death?
Mercie or crueltie lies in thy breath.
Iane.
Good sir, I do beleeue you loue me well:
For tis a seely conquest, seely pride,
For one like you (I meane a gentleman)
To boast, that by his loue tricks he hath brought,
Such and such women to his amorous lure:
And make it euen a very trade to wooe,
I could be coy, as many women be,
Feede you with sunne-shine smiles, and wanton lookes,
But I detest witchcraft, say that I
Doe constantly beleeue you, constant haue.
Ham.
Why dost thou not beleeue me?
Iane.
I beleeue you,
But yet good sir, because I will not greeue you,
With hopes to taste fruite, which will neuer fall,
In simple truth this is the summe of all,
My husband liues, at least I hope he liues,
Prest was he to these bitter warres in France,
Bitter they are to me by wanting him,
I haue but one heart, and that hearts his due,
How can I then bestow the same on you?
Whilst he liues, his I liue, be it nere so poore,
And rather be his wife, then a kings whore.
Ham.
Chaste and deare woman, I will not abuse thee,
Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me,
Thy husband prest for France, what was his name?
Iane.
Rafe Damport.
Ham.
Damport, heres a letter sent
From France to me, from a deare friend of mine,
A gentleman of place, here he doth write,
Their names that haue bin slaine in euery fight.
Iane.
I hope deaths scroll containes not my loues name
Ham.
Cannot you reade?
Iane.
I can.
Ham.
Peruse the same,
To my remembrance such a name I read
Amongst the rest: see here.
Iane.
Aye me, hees dead:
Ham.
Haue patience, deare loue.
Iane.
Hence, hence.
Ham.
Nay sweete Iane,
Make not poore sorrow prowd with these rich teares,
I mourne thy husbands death because thou mournst.
Iane.
That bil is forgde, tis signde by forgerie.
Ham.
Ile bring thee letters sent besides to many
Carrying the like report: Iane tis too true,
Come, weepe not: mourning though it rise from loue
Helpes not the mourned, yet hurtes them that mourne.
Iane.
For Gods sake leaue me.
Ham.
Whither dost thou turne?
Forget the deede, loue them that are aliue,
His loue is faded, trie how mine wil thriue.
Iane.
Tis now no time for me to thinke on loue,
Ham.
Tis now best time for you to thinke on loue, because
your loue liues not.
Iane.
Thogh he be dead, my loue to him shal not be buried:
For Gods sake leaue me to my selfe alone.
Ham.
T would kil my soule to leaue thee drownd in mone:
Answere me to my sute, and I am gone,
Say to me, yea, or no.
Iane.
No.
Ham.
Then farewell, one farewel wil not serue, I come
again, come drie these wet cheekes, tel me faith sweete Iane,
yea, or no, once more.
Iane.
Once more I say no, once more be gone I pray, else
wil I goe.
Ham.
Nay then I wil grow rude by this white hand,
Until you change that colde no, here ile stand,
Til by your hard heart
Iane.
Nay, for Gods loue peace,
Not that you thus are present, but al griefe
Desires to be alone, therefore in briefe
Thus much I say, and saying bid adew,
If euer I wed man it shall be you.
Ham.
Oh blessed voyce, deare Iane Ile vrge no more,
Thy breath hath made me rich.
Iane.
Death makes me poore.
exeunt.
Enter Hodge at his shop boord, Rafe, Firk, Hans, and a boy at work.
All.
Hey downe, a downe, downe derie.
Hodge.
Well said my hearts, plie your worke to day, we
loytred yesterday, to it pell mel, that we may liue to be Lord
Maiors, or Aldermen at least.
Firke.
Hey downe a downe derie.
Hodge.
Well said yfaith, how saist thou Hauns, doth not
Firke tickle it?
Hauns.
Yaw mester.
Firke.
Not so neither, my organe pipe squeaks this morning
for want of licoring: hey downe a downe derie.
Hans.
Forward Firk, tow best vn iolly yongster hort I mester
it bid yo cut me vn pair vāpres vor mester ieffres bootes.
Hodge.
Thou shalt Hauns.
Firke.
Master.
Hodge.
How now, boy?
Firke
Pray, now you are in the cutting vaine, cut mee
out a paire of counterfeits, or else my worke will not passe
currant, hey downe a downe.
Hodge
Tell me sirs, are my coosin M. Priscillaes shooes
done?
Firke
Your coosin? no maister, one of your auntes, hang
her, let them alone.
Rafe
I am in hand with them, she gaue charge that none
Firke
Thou do for her? then twill be a lame doing, and
that she loues not: Rafe, thou mightst have sent her to me,
in faith I would haue yearkt and firkt your Priscilla, hey
downe a downe derry, this geere will not holde.
Hodge
How saist thou Firke? were we not merry at old
Ford?
Firke
How merry? why our buttockes went Iiggy ioggy
like a quagmyre: wel sir Roger Oatemeale, if I thought
all meale of that nature, I would eate nothing but bagpuddings.
Rafe
Of all good fortunes, my fellow Hance had the best.
Firke
Tis true, because mistris Rose dranke to him.
Hodge
Wel, wel, worke apace, they say seuen of the Aldermen
be dead, or very sicke.
Firke
I care not, Ile be none.
Rafe
No nor I, but then my M. Eyre wil come quickly
to be L. Mayor.
Enter Sibil.
Firke
Whoop, yonder comes Sibil.
Hodge
Sibil, welcome yfaith, and how dost thou madde
wench?
Firke
Sib whoore, welcome to London.
Sibil
Godamercy sweete Firke: good Lord Hodge, what
a delitious shop you haue got, you tickle it yfaith.
Rafe
Godamercy Sibil for our good cheere at old Ford.
Sibil
That you shal haue Rafe.
Firke
Nay by the masse, we hadde tickling cheere Sibil,
and how the plague dost thou and mistris Rose, and my L.
Mayor? I put the women in first.
Sibil
Wel Godamercy: but Gods me, I forget my self,
wheres Haunce the Fleming?
Firke
Hearke butter-boxe, nowe you must yelp out some
spreken.
Uat begaie gon vat vod gon Frister.
Sibill.
Marrie you must come to my yong mistris, to pull
on her shooes you made last.
Hans.
Uare ben your egle fro, vare ben your mistris?
Sibill.
Marrie here at our London house in Cornewaile
Firke.
Will no bodie serue her turne but Hans?
Sibill.
No sir, come Hans, I stand vpon needles.
Hodg.
Why then Sibil, take heede of pricking.
Sibill.
For that let me alone, I haue a tricke in my budget,
come Hans.
Hans.
Yaw, yaw, ic sall meete yo gane.
Exit Hans and Sibill.
Hodge.
Go Hans, make haste againe: come, who lacks
worke?
Firke.
I maister, for I lacke my breakfast, tis munching
time, and past
Hodge
Ist so? why then leaue worke Raph, to breakfast,
boy looke to the tooles, come Raph, come Firke.
Exeunt.
Enter a Seruingman.
Ser.
Let me see now, the signe of the last in Towerstreet,
mas yonders the house: what haw, whoes within?
Enter Raph.
Raph.
Who calles there, what want you sir?
Seru.
Marrie I would haue a paire of shooes made for a
Gentlewoman against to morrow morning, what can you
do them?
Raph.
Yes sir, you shall haue them, but what lengths her
foote?
Seru.
Why you must make them in all parts like this
shoe, but at any hand faile not to do them, for the Gentlewoman
is to be married very early in the morning.
How? by this shoe must it be made? by this, are you
sure sir by this?
Seru.
How, by this am I sure, by this? art thou in thy wits?
I tell thee I must haue a paire of shooes, dost thou marke
me? a paire of shooes, two shooes, made by this verie shoe, this
same shoe, against to morrow morning by foure a clock, dost
vnderstand me, canst thou do't?
Raph.
Yes sir, yes, I, I, I can do't, by this shoe you say: I
should knowe this shoe, yes sir, yes, by this shoe, I can do't,
foure a clocke, well, whither shall I bring them?
Seru.
To the signe of the golden ball in Watlingstreete,
enquire for one maister Hamon a gentleman, my maister.
Raph.
Yea sir, by this shoe you say.
Seru.
I say maister Hammon at the golden ball, hee's the
Bridegroome, and those shooes are for his bride.
Raph.
They shal be done by this shoe: wel, well, Maister
Hammon at the golden shoe, I would say the golden Ball,
verie well, verie well, but I pray you sir where must maister
Hammon be married?
Seru.
At Saint Faiths Church vnder Paules: but whats
that to thee? prethee dispatch those shooes, and so farewel.
exit.
Raph.
By this shoe said he, how am I amasde
At this strange accident? vpon my life,
This was the verie shoe I gaue my wife
When I was prest for France, since when alas,
I neuer could heare of her: it is the same,
And Hammons Bride no other but my Iane.
Enter Firke.
Firke.
Snailes Raph thou hast lost thy part of three pots,
a countrieman of mine gaue me to breakfast.
I care not, I haue found a better thing.
Firke
A thing? away, is it a mans thing, or a womans thing?
Rafe
Firke, dost thou know this shooe?
Firke
No by my troth, neither doth that know me? I
haue no acquaintance with it, tis a meere stranger to me.
Rafe
Why then I do, this shooe I durst be sworne
Once couered the instep of my Iane:
This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my loue,
These true loue knots I prickt, I hold my life,
By this old shooe I shall finde out my wife.
Firke
Ha ha old shoo, that wert new, how a murren came
this ague fit of foolishnes vpon thee?
Rafe
Thus Firke, euen now here came a seruingman,
By this shooe would he haue a new paire made
Against to morrow morning for his mistris,
Thats to be married to a Gentleman,
And why may not this be my sweete Iane?
Firke
And why maist not thou be my sweete Asse? ha, ha.
Rafe
Wel, laugh, and spare not: but the trueth is this.
Against to morrow morning Ile prouide,
A lustie crue of honest shoomakers,
To watch the going of the bride to church,
If she proue Iane, Ile take her in dispite,
From Hammon and the diuel, were he by,
If it be not my Iane, what remedy?
Hereof am I sure, I shall liue till I die,
Although I neuer with a woman lie.
exit.
Fir.
Thou lie with a woman to builde nothing but Cripple-gates!
Well, God sends fooles fortune, and it may be he
may light vpon his matrimony by such a deuice, for wedding
and hanging goes by destiny.
exit.
Hans.
How happie am I by embracing thee,
Oh I did feare such crosse mishaps did raigne,
That I should neuer see my Rose againe.
Rose.
Sweete Lacie, since faire Oportunitie
Offers her selfe to furder our escape,
Let not too ouer-fond esteeme of me
Hinder that happie hower, inuent the meanes,
And Rose will follow thee through all the world.
Hans.
Oh how I surfeit with excesse of ioy,
Made happie by thy rich perfection,
But since thou paist sweete intrest to my hopes,
Redoubling loue on loue, let me once more,
Like to a bold facde debter craue of thee,
This night to steale abroade, and at Eyres house,
Who now by death of certaine Aldermen,
Is Maior of London, and my master once,
Meete thou thy Lacie where in spite of change,
Your fathers anger, and mine vncles hate,
Our happie nuptialls will me consummate.
Enter Sibill.
Sib.
Oh God, what will you doe mistris? shift for your
selfe, your father is at hand, hees comming, hees comming,
master Lacie hide your selfe in my mistris, for Gods sake
shift for your selues.
Hans
Your father come, sweete Rose, what shall I doe?
Where shall I hide me? how shall I escape?
Rose.
A man and want wit in extremitie,
Come, come, be Hauns still, play the shoomaker,
Pull on my shooe.
Enter Lord Maior.
Hans
Mas, and thats well remembred.
Sib
Here comes your father.
Forware metresse, tis vn good skow, it sal vel dute,
or ye sal neit betallen.
Rose.
Oh God it pincheth me, what wil you do?
Hans.
Your fathers presence pincheth, not the shoo.
L. Mai.
Well done, fit my daughter well, and shee shall
please thee well.
Hans.
Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well, for ware tis vn good
skoo, tis gi mait van neits leither, se ener mine here.
Enter a prentice.
L. Mai.
I do beleeue it, whats the newes with you?
Prent.
Please you, the Earle of Lincolne at the gate is
newly lighted, and would speake with you.
L. Mai.
The Earle of Lincolne come speake with me?
Well, well, I know his errand: daughter Rose,
Send hence your shoomaker, dispatch, haue done:
Sib, make things handsome: sir boy follow me.
Exit.
Hans.
Mine vncle come, oh what may this portend?
Sweete Rose, this of our loue threatens an end.
Rose.
Be not dismaid at this what ere befall,
Rose is thine owne, to witnes I speake truth,
Where thou appoints the place Ile meete with thee,
I will not fixe a day to follow thee,
But presently steale hence, do not replie.
Loue which gaue strength to beare my fathers hate,
Shall now adde wings to further our escape.
exeunt.
Enter L. Maior, and Lincolne.
L. Mai.
Beleeue me, on my credite I speake truth,
Since first your nephew Lacie went to France,
I haue not seene him. It seemd strange to me,
When Dodger told me that he staide behinde,
Linc.
Trust me (sir Roger Otly) I did thinke
Your counsell had giuen head to this attempt,
Drawne to it by the loue he beares your child.
Here I did hope to find him in your house,
But now I see mine error, and confesse
My iudgement wrongd you by conceuing so.
L. Maior.
Lodge in my house, say you? trust me my Lord,
I loue your Nephew Lacie too too dearely
So much to wrong his honor, and he hath done so,
That first gaue him aduise to stay from France.
To witnesse I speake truth, I let you know
How carefull I haue beene to keepe my daughter
Free from all conference, or speech of him,
Not that I skorne your Nephew, but in loue
I beare your honour, least your noble bloud,
Should by my meane worth be dishonoured.
Lin.
How far the churles tongue wanders from his hart,
Well, well sir Roger Otley I beleeue you,
With more then many thankes for the kind loue,
So much you seeme to beare me: but my Lord,
Let me request your helpe to seeke my Nephew,
Whom if I find, Ile straight embarke for France,
So shal my Rose be free, your thoughts at rest,
And much care die which now dies in my brest.
Enter Sibill.
Sibill.
Oh Lord, help for Gods sake, my mistris, oh my
yong mistris.
L. Ma.
Where is thy mistris? whats become of her?
Sibill.
Shees gone, shee's fled.
L. Maior.
Gone? whither is she fled?
Sibill.
I know not forsooth, shee's fled out of doores with
Hauns the Shoomaker, I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace,
apace.
Which way? what Iohn, where be my men?
which way?
Sibil
I know not, and it please your worship.
L. maior
Fled with a shoomaker, can this be true?
Sibil
Oh Lord sir, as true as Gods in heauen.
Linc.
Her loue turnd shoomaker? I am glad of this.
L. Ma.
A fleming butter boxe, a shoomaker,
Will she forget her birth? requite my care
With such ingratitude? skornd she yong Hammon,
To loue a honnikin, a needie knaue?
Wel let her flie, Ile not flie after her,
Let her starue if she wil, shees none of mine.
Linc.
Be not so cruell sir.
Enter Firke with shooes.
Sibil
I am glad shees scapt.
L. Ma.
Ile not account of her as of my child:
Was there no better obiect for her eies,
But a foule drunken lubber, swill bellie,
A shoomaker, thats braue.
Firke.
Yea forsooth, tis a very braue shooe, and as fit as a
pudding.
L. Ma.
How now, what knaue is this, from whence comest
thou?
Firke
No knaue sir, I am Firke the shoomaker, lusty Rogers
cheefe lustie iorneyman, and I come hither to take vp
the prettie legge of sweete mistris Rose, and thus hoping
your worshippe is in as good health as I was at the making
hereof, I bid you farewell, yours Firke.
L. Ma.
Stay stay sir knaue.
Linc.
Come hither shoomaker.
Firke
Tis happie the knaue is put before the shoomaker,
or else I would not haue vouchsafed to come backe to you, I
am moued, for I stirre.
My Lorde, this villaine calles vs knaues by
craft.
Firk.
Then tis by the Gentle Craft, and to cal one knaue
gently, is no harme: sit your worship merie: Sib your yong
mistris Ile so bob then, now my maister M. Eyre is Lorde
Maior of London.
L. Ma.
Tell me sirra, whoes man are you?
Firke
I am glad to see your worship so merrie, I haue no
maw to this geere, no stomacke as yet to a red peticote.
Pointing to Sibil.
Lin
He meanes not sir to wooe you to his maid,
But onely doth demand whose man you are.
Firke
I sing now to the tune of Rogero, Roger my felow
is now my master.
Lin
Sirra, knowst thou one Hauns a shoomaker?
Firk
Hauns shoomaker, oh yes, stay, yes I haue him, I
tel you what, I speake it in secret, mistris Rose, and he are by
this time: no not so, but shortly are to come ouer one another
with, Can you dance the shaking of the sheetes? it is that
Hauns, Ile so gull these diggers.
L. Ma.
Knowst thou then where he is?
Firke
Yes forsooth, yea marry.
Lin
Canst thou in sadnesse?
Firke
No forsooth, no marrie.
L. Ma.
Tell me good honest fellow where he is,
And thou shalt see what Ile bestow of thee.
Firke
Honest fellow, no sir, not so sir, my profession is the
Gentle Craft, I care not for seeing, I loue feeling, let me
feele it here, aurium tenus, ten peeces of gold, genuum tenus, ten
peeces of siluer, and then Firke is your man in a new paire of
strechers.
Here is an Angel, part of thy reward,
Which I will giue thee, tell me where he is.
Firke.
No point: shal I betray my brother? no, shal I proue
Iudas to Hans? no, shall I crie treason to my corporation?
no, I shall be firkt and yerkt then, but giue me your angell,
your angell shall tel you.
Lin
Doe so good fellow, tis no hurt to thee.
Firke
Send simpering Sib away.
L. Ma
Huswife, get you in.
exit Sib.
Firke.
Pitchers haue eares, and maides haue wide
mouthes: but for Hauns prauns, vpon my word to morrow
morning, he and yong mistris is Rose goe to this geere, they
shall be married together, by this rush, or else tourne
Firke to a firkin of butter to tanne leather withall.
L. Ma.
But art thou sure of this?
Firke
Am I sure that Paules steeple is a handfull higher
then London stone? or that the pissing conduit leakes
nothing but pure mother Bunch? am I sure I am lustie
Firke, Gods nailes doe you thinke I am so base to gull
you?
Linc.
Where are they married? dost thou know the
church?
Firke
I neuer goe to church, but I know the name of it,
it is a swearing church, stay a while, tis: I by the mas, no,
no, tis I by my troth, no nor that, tis I by my faith, that that,
tis I by my Faithes church vnder Paules crosse, there they
shall be knit like a paire of stockings in matrimonie, there
theile be in conie.
Lin.
Upon my life, my Nephew Lacie walkes
In the disguise of this Dutch shoomaker.
Yes forsooth.
Linc.
Doth he not honest fellow?
Firke
No forsooth, I thinke Hauns is no bodie, but Hans
no spirite.
L. Ma.
My mind misgiues me now tis so indeede.
Lin.
My cosen speakes the language, knowes the trade.
L. Ma.
Let me request your companie my Lord,
Your honourable presence may, no doubt,
Refraine their head-strong rashnesse, when my selfe
Going alone perchance may be oreborne,
Shall I request this fauour?
Linc.
This, or what else.
Firke
Then you must rise betimes, for they meane to fal
to their hey passe, and repasse, pindy pandy, which hand will
you haue, very earely.
L. Ma.
My care shal euery way equal their haste,
This night accept your lodging in my house,
The earlier shal we stir, and at Saint Faithes
Preuent this giddy hare-braind nuptiall,
This trafficke of hot loue shal yeeld cold gaines,
They ban our loues, and weele forbid their baines.
exeunt.
Linc.
At Saint Faithes church thou saist.
Firke
Yes, by their troth.
Linc.
Be secret on thy life.
Firke
Yes, when I kisse your wife, ha, ha, heres no craft
in the Gentle Craft, I came hither of purpose with shooes to
sir Rogers worship, whilst Rose his daughter be coniecatcht
by Hauns: soft nowe, these two gulles will be at Saint
Faithes church to morrow morning, to take master Bridegroome,
and mistris Bride napping, and they in the meane
time shal chop vp the matter at the Sauoy: but the best sport
is, sir Roger Otly wil find my felow lame, Rafes wife going
daughter; oh braue, there wil be fine tickling sport: soft now,
what haue I to doe? oh I know now a messe of shoo makers
meate at the wooll sack in Ivie lane, to cozen my gentleman
of lame Rafes wife, thats true, alacke, alacke girles, holde
out tacke, for nowe smockes for this iumbling shall goe to
wracke.
exit
Enter Ayre, his Wife, hauns, and Rose.
Eyre
This is the morning then, stay my bully, my honest
Hauns, is it not?
Hans
This is the morning that must make vs two happy,
or miserable, therefore if you—
Eyre
Away with these iffes and ands Hauns, and these
etcæteraes, by mine honor Rowland Lacie none but the king
shall wrong thee: come, feare nothing, am not I Sim Eyre?
Is not Sim Eyre Lord mayor of London? feare nothing
Rose, let them al say what they can, dainty come thou to me:
laughest thou?
Wife
Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing you
may.
Eyre
Why my sweete lady Madgy, thincke you Simon
Eyre can forget his fine dutch Iourneyman? No vah. Fie
I scorne it, it shall neuer be cast in my teeth, that I was vnthankeful.
Lady Madgy, thou hadst neuer couerd thy Saracens
head with this french flappe, nor loaden thy bumme
with this farthingale, tis trash, trumpery, vanity, Simon
Eyre had neuer walkte in a redde petticoate, nor wore a
chaine of golde, but for my fine Iourneymans portigues,
and shall I leaue him? No: Prince am I none, yet beare a
princely minde.
Hans
My Lorde, tis time for vs to part from hence.
Lady Madgy, lady Madgy, take two or three of my
pie-crust eaters, my buffe-ierkin varlets, that doe walke in
blacke gownes at Simon Eyres heeles, take them good lady
Madgy, trippe and goe, my browne Queene of Perriwigs,
with my delicate Rose, and my iolly Rowland to
the Sauoy, see them linckte, countenaunce the marriage,
and when it is done, cling, cling together, you Hamborow
Turtle Doues, Ile beare you out, come to Simon Eyre,
come dwell with me Hauns, thou shalt eate mincde pies,
and marchpane. Rose, away cricket, trippe and goe, my
Lady Madgy to the Sauoy, Hauns, wed, and to bed, kisse
and away, go, vanish.
Wife
Farewel my lord.
Rose
Make haste sweete loue.
Wife
Sheede faine the deede were done.
Hauns
Come my sweete Rose, faster than Deere weele
runne.
They goe out.
Eyre
Goe, vanish, vanish, auaunt I say: by the lorde of
Ludgate, its a madde life to be a lorde Mayor, its a stirring
life, a fine life, a veluet life, a carefull life. Well
Simon Eyre, yet set a good face on it, in the honor of sainct
Hugh. Soft, the king this day comes to dine with me, to
see my new buildings, his maiesty is welcome, he shal haue
good cheere, delicate cheere, princely cheere. This day my felow
prentises of London come to dine with me too, they shall
haue fine cheere, gentlemanlike cheere. I promised the mad
Cappidosians, when we all serued at the Conduit together,
that if euer I came to be Mayor of London, I woould feast
them al, and Ile doot, Ile doot by the life of Pharaoh, by this
beard Sim Eire wil be no flincher. Besides, I haue procurd,
that vpon
fine dapper Assyrian lads, shall clap vp their shop windows,
and away, this is the day, and this day they shall doot, they
shall doot: boyes, that day are you free, let masters care, and
prentises shall pray for Simon Eyre.
exit.
Enter Hodge, Firke, Rafe, and fiue or sixe shoomakers, all with cudgels, or such weapons.
Hodge
Come Rafe, stand to it Firke: my masters, as we
are the braue bloods of the shooemakers, heires apparant to
saint Hugh, and perpetuall benefactors to all good fellowes:
thou shalt haue no wrong, were Hammon a king of spades,
he should not delue in thy close without thy sufferaunce: but
tell me Rafe, art thou sure tis thy wife?
Rafe
Am I sure this is Firke? This morning when I
strokte on her shooes, I lookte vpon her, and she vpon me, and
sighed, askte me if euer I knew one Rafe. Yes sayde I: for
his sake saide she (teares standing in her eyes) and for thou
art somewhat like him, spend this peece of golde: I tooke it:
my lame leg, and my trauel beyond sea made me vnknown,
all is one for that, I know shees mine.
Firke
Did she giue thee this gold? O glorious glittering
gold; shees thine owne, tis thy wife, and she loues thee, for
Ile stand toot, theres no woman wil giue golds to any man,
but she thinkes better of him than she thinkes of them shee
giues siluer to: and for Hamon, neither Hamon nor Hangman
shall wrong thee in London: Is not our olde maister
Eire lord Mayor? Speake my hearts.
All
Yes, and Hamon shall know it to his cost.
Enter hamon, his man, Iane, and others.
Hodge
Peace my bullies, yonder they come.
Rafe,
Stand toot my hearts, Firke, let me speake first.
Hodge
No Rafe, let me: Hammon, whither away so
earely?
Unmannerly rude slaue, whats that to thee?
Firke
To him sir? yes sir, and to me, and others: good morrow
Iane, how doost thou? good Lord, how the world is changed
with you, God be thanked.
Hamon
Uillaines, handes off, howe dare you touch my
loue?
All
villaines? downe with them, cry clubs for prentises.
Hod.
Hold, my hearts: touch her Hamon? yea and more
than that, weele carry her away with vs. My maisters and
gentlemen, neuer draw your bird spittes, shooemakers are
steele to the backe, men euery inch of them, al spirite.
All of Hamons side
Wel, and what of all this?
Hodge
Ile shew you: Iane, dost thou know this man?
tis Rafe I can tell thee: nay, 'tis he in faith, though he be
lamde by the warres, yet looke not strange, but run to him,
fold him about the necke and kisse him.
Iane
Liues then my husband? oh God let me go,
Let me embrace my Rafe.
Hamon
What meanes my Iane?
Iane
Nay, what meant yon to tell me he was slaine?
Ham.
Pardon me deare loue for being misled,
Twas rumord here in London thou wert dead.
Firke
Thou seest he liues: Lasse, goe packe home with
him: now M. Hamon, wheres your mistris your wife?
Seru.
Swounds M. fight for her, will you thus lose her?
All
Downe with that creature, clubs, downe with him.
Hodge
Hold, hold.
Ham.
Hold foole, sirs he shal do no wrong,
Wil my Iane leaue me thus, and breake her faith?
Firke
Yea sir, she must sir, she shal sir, what then? mend it.
Hodge
Hearke fellow Rafe, folowe my counsel, set the
wench in the midst, and let her chuse her man, and let her be
his woman.
Whom should I choose? whom should my thoughts affect?
But him whom heauen hath made to be my loue,
Thou art my husband and these humble weedes,
Makes thee more beautiful then all his wealth,
Therefore I wil but put off his attire,
Returning it into the owners hand,
And after euer be thy constant wife.
Hodge.
Not a ragge Iane, the law's on our side, he that
sowes in another mans ground forfets his haruest, get thee
home Rafe, follow him Iane, he shall not haue so much as a
buske point from thee.
Firke
Stand to that Rafe, the appurtenances are thine
owne, Hammon, looke not at her.
Seru.
O swounds no.
Firke
Blew coate be quiet, weele giue you a new liuerie
else, weele make Shroue Tuesday Saint Georges day for
you: looke not Hammon, leare not, Ile Firke you, for thy
head now, one glance, one sheepes eie, any thing at her,
touch not a ragge, least I and my brethren beate you to
clowtes.
S.
Come master Hammon, theres no striuing here.
Ham.
Good fellowes, heare me speake: and honest Rafe,
Whom I haue iniured most by louing Iane,
Marke what I offer thee: here in faire gold
Is twentie pound, Ile giue it for thy Iane,
If this content thee not, thou shalt haue more.
Hodge
Sell not thy wife Rafe, make her not a whore.
Ham.
Say, wilt thou freely cease thy claime in her,
And let her be my wife?
All
No, do not Rafe.
Rafe
Sirra Hammon Hammon, dost thou thinke a
Shooe-maker is so base, to bee a bawde to his owne
wife for commoditie, take thy golde, choake with it, were
Firke
A shoomaker sell his flesh and bloud, oh indignitie!
Hod.
Sirra, take vp your pelfe, and be packing.
Ham
I wil not touch one pennie, but in liew
Of that great wrong I offered thy Iane,
To Iane and thee I giue that twentie pound,
Since I haue faild of her, during my life
I vow no woman else shall be my wife:
Farewell good fellowes of the Gentle trade,
Your mornings mirth my mourning day hath made.
exeunt
Firke
Touch the gold creature if you dare, ya're best be
trudging: here Iane take thou it, now lets home my hearts.
Hod.
Stay, who comes here? Iane, on againe with thy
maske.
Enter Lincolne, L. Maior, and seruants.
Linc.
Yonders the lying varlet mockt vs so.
L. Ma.
Come hither sirra.
Firke
I sir, I am sirra, you meane me, do you not?
Linc.
Where is my Nephew married?
Firke
Is he married? God giue him ioy, I am glad of it:
they haue a faire day, and the signe is in a good planet, Mars
in Uenus.
L. Ma
Uillaine, thou toldst me that my daughter Rose,
This morning should be married at Saint Faithes,
We haue watcht there these three houres at the least,
Yet see we no such thing.
Firke
Truly I am sorie for't, a Bride's a prettie thing.
Hodge
Come to the purpose, yonder's the Bride and
Bridegroome you looke for I hope: though you be Lordes,
you are not to barre, by your authoritie, men from women,
are you?
L. Ma
See see my daughters maskt.
Linc.
True, and my Nephew,
Firke.
Yea truely god helpe the poore couple, they are lame and blind.
L. Maior
Ile ease her blindnes.
Lin.
Ile his lamenes cure.
Firke
Lie downe sirs, and laugh, my felow Rafe is taken
for Rowland Lacy, and Iane for mistris damaske rose, this
is al my knauery.
L. Maior
What, haue I found you minion?
Linc.
O base wretch,
Nay hide thy face, the horror of thy guilt,
Can hardly be washt off: where are thy powers?
What battels haue you made? O yes I see
Thou foughtst with Shame, and shame hath conquerd thee.
This lamenesse wil not serue.
L. Ma.
Unmaske your selfe.
Lin.
Leade home your daughter.
L. Ma.
Take your Nephew hence.
Rafe.
Hence, swounds, what meane you? are you mad? I
hope you cannot inforce my wife from me, wheres Hamon?
L. Ma.
Your wife.
Lin.
What Hammon?
Rafe
Yea my wife, and therfore the prowdest of you that
laies hands on her first, Ile lay my crutch crosse his pate.
Firke
To him lame Rafe, heres braue sport.
Rafe.
Rose call you her? why her name is Iane, looke
here else, do you know her now?
Lin.
Is this your daughter?
L. Ma.
No, nor this your nephew:
My Lord of Lincolne, we are both abusde
By this base craftie varlet.
Firk
Yea forsooth no varlet, forsooth no base, forsooth I am
but meane, no craftie neither, but of the Gentle Craft.
L. Ma.
Where is my daughter Rose? where is my child?
Where is my nephew Lacie married?
Firke
Why here is good laide mutton as I promist you.
Lin.
Uillaine, Ile haue thee punisht for this wrong.
Firke
Punish the iornyman villaine, but not the iorneyman
shoomaker.
Enter Dodger.
Dodger.
My Lord I come to bring vnwelcome newes,
Your Nephew Lacie, and your daughter Rose,
Earely this morning wedded at the Sauoy,
None being present but the Ladie Mairesse:
Besides I learnt among the officers,
The Lord Maior vowes to stand in their defence,
Gainst any that shal seeke to crosse the match.
Lin.
Dares Eyre the shoomaker vphold the deede?
Firk
Yes sir, shoomakers dare stand in a womans quarrel
I warrant you, as deepe as another, and deeper too.
Dod.
Besides, his grace, to day dines with the Maior,
Who on his knees humbly intends to fall,
And beg a pardon for your Nephewes fault.
Lin.
But Ile preuent him: come sir Roger Oteley,
The king wil doe vs iustice in this cause,
How ere their hands haue made them man and wife,
I wil disioyne the match, or loose my life.
exeunt.
Firke
Adue monsieur Dodger, farewel fooles, ha ha,
Oh if they had staide I would haue so lambde them with
floutes, O heart, my codpeece point is readie to flie in peeces
euery time I thinke vpon mistris Rose, but let that passe, as
my Ladie Mairesse saies.
Hodge
This matter is answerd: come Rafe, home with
thy wife, come my fine shoomakers, lets to our masters the
new lord Maior and there swagger this shroue Tuesday, ile
promise you wine enough, for Madge keepes the seller.
All
O rare! Madge is a good wench.
Firke
And Ile promise you meate enough, for simpring
souldiers, follow your captaine, O braue, hearke, hearke.
Bell ringes.
All
The Pancake bell rings, the pancake bel, tri-lill my
hearts.
Firke
Oh braue, oh sweete bell, O delicate pancakes, open
the doores my hearts, and shut vp the windowes, keepe
in the house, let out the pancakes: oh rare my heartes, lets
march together for the honor of saint Hugh to the great new
hall in Gratious streete corner, which our Maister the newe
lord Maior hath built.
Rafe
O the crew of good fellows that wil dine at my lord
Maiors cost to day!
Hodge
By the lord, my lord Maior is a most braue man,
how shal prentises be bound to pray for him, and the honour
of the gentlemen shoomakers? lets feede and be fat with my
lordes bountye.
Fir.
O musical bel stil! O Hodge, O my brethren! theres
cheere for the heauens, venson pastimes walke vp and down
piping hote, like sergeants, beefe and brewesse comes marching
in drie fattes, fritters and pancakes comes trowling
in in wheele barrowes, hennes and orenges hopping in porters
baskets, colloppes and egges in scuttles, and tartes and
custardes comes quauering in in mault shouels.
Enter more prentises.
All
Whoop, looke here, looke here.
Hodge
How now madde laddes, whither away so fast?
1. Pren.
Whither, why to the great new hall, know you
not why? The lorde Maior hath bidden all the prentises in
London to breakfast this morning.
All
Oh braue shoomaker, oh braue lord of incomprehensible
good fellowship, whoo, hearke you, the pancake bell
rings.
Cast vp caps.
Nay more my hearts, euery Shrouetuesday is our
yeere of Iubile: and when the pancake bel rings, we are as
free as my lord Maior, we may shut vp our shops, and make
holiday: Ile haue it calld, Saint Hughes Holiday.
All
Agreed, agreed, Saint Hughes Holiday.
Hodge
And this shal continue for euer.
All
Oh braue! come come my hearts, away, away.
Firke
O eternall credite to vs of the gentle Craft, march
faire my hearts, oh rare.
exeunt.
Enter King and his traine ouer the stage.
King
Is our lord Maior of London such a gallant?
Noble man
One of the merriest madcaps in your land,
Your Grace wil thinke, when you behold the man,
Hees rather a wilde ruffin than a Maior:
Yet thus much Ile ensure your maiestie,
In al his actions that concerne his state,
He is as serious, prouident, and wise,
As full of grauitie amongst the graue,
As any maior hath beene these many yeares.
King
I am with child til I behold this huffe cap,
But all my doubt is, when we come in presence,
His madnesse wil be dasht cleane out of countenance.
Noble man
It may be so, my Liege.
King
Which to preuent,
Let some one giue him notice, tis our pleasure,
That he put on his woonted merriment:
Set forward.
All
On afore.
exeunt.
Enter Ayre Hodge, Firke, Rafe, and other shoemakers, all with napkins on their shoulders.
Eyre
Come my fine Hodge, my iolly gentlemen shooemakers,
soft, where be these Caniballes, these varlets my officers,
let them al walke and waite vpon my brethren, for my
meaning is, that none but shoomakers, none but the liuery
trencher of my soueraigne.
Firke
O my Lord, it will be rare.
Ayre
No more Firke, come liuely, let your fellowe prentises
want no cheere, let wine be plentiful as beere, and beere
as water, hang these penny pinching fathers, that cramme
wealth in innocent lamb skinnes, rip knaues, auaunt, looke
to my guests
Hodge
My Lord, we are at our wits end for roome, those
hundred tables wil not feast the fourth part of them.
Ayre
Then couer me those hundred tables againe, and
againe, til all my iolly prentises be feasted: auoyde Hodge,
runne Rafe, friske about my numble Firke, carowse me fadome
healths to the honor of the shoomakers: do they drink
liuely Hodge? do they tickle it Firke?
Firke
Tickle it? some of them haue taken their licour standing
so long, that they can stand no longer: but for meate,
they would eate it and they had it.
Ayre
Want they meate? wheres this swag-belly, this
greasie kitchinstuffe cooke, call the varlet to me: want meat!
Firke, Hodge, lame Rafe, runne my tall men, beleager the
shambles, beggar al East-Cheape, serue me whole oxen in
chargers, and let sheepe whine vpon the tables like pigges
for want of good felowes to eate them. Want meate! vanish
Firke, auaunt Hodge.
Hodge
Your lordship mistakes my man Firke, he means
their bellies want meate, not the boords, for they haue drunk
so much they can eate nothing.
Enter hans, Rose, and Wife.
Wife
Where is my Lord.
Ayre
How now lady Madgy.
Wife
The kings most excelent maiesty is new come, hee
sends me for thy honor: one of his most worshipful Peeres,
Eyre
Is my Soueraigne come? vanish my tall shoomakers,
my nimble brethren, looke to my guests the prentises:
yet stay a little, how now Hans, how lookes my little Rose?
Hans
Let me request you to remember me,
I know your honour easily may obtaine,
Free pardon of the king for me and Rose,
And reconcile me to my vncles grace.
Eyre
Haue done my good Hans, my honest iorneyman,
looke cheerely, Ile fall vpon both my knees till they be as
hard as horne, but Ile get thy pardon.
Wife
Good my Lord haue a care what you speake to his
grace.
Eyre
Away you Islington whitepot, hence you happerarse,
you barly pudding ful of magots, you broyld carbonado,
auaunt, auaunt, auoide Mephostophilus: shall Sim
Eyre leaue to speake of you Ladie Madgie? vanish mother
Miniuer cap, vanish, goe, trip and goe, meddle with your
partlets, and your pishery pasherie, your flewes and your
whirligigs, go, rub, out of mine alley: Sim Eyre knowes
how to speake to a Pope, to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine
and he were here: and shal I melt? shal I droope before
my Soueraigne? no, come my Ladie Madgie, follow me
Hauns, about your businesse my frolicke free-booters: Firke,
friske about, and about, and about, for the honour of mad Simon
Eyre Lord Maior of London.
Firke
Hey for the honour of the shoomakers.
exeunt.
A long flourish or two: enter King, Nobles, Eyre, his wife, Lacie, Rose: Lacie and Rose kneele.
King
Well Lacie though the fact was verie foule,
Of your reuolting from our kingly loue,
And your owne duetie, yet we pardon you,
Rise both, and mistris Lacie, thanke my Lord Maior
Eyre
So my deere liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren the
gentlemen shoomakers shal set your sweete maiesties image,
cheeke by iowle by Saint Hugh, for this honour you haue
done poore Simon Eyre. I beseech your grace pardon my
rude behauiour, I am a handicrafts man, yet my heart is
without craft, I would be sory at my soule, that my boldnesse
should offend my king.
King
Nay, I pray thee good lord Maior, be euen as mery
as if thou wert among thy shoomakers,
Eyre
Saist thou me so my sweete Dioclesian? then hump,
Prince am I none, yet am I princely borne, by the Lord
of Ludgate my Liege, Ile be as merrie as a pie.
King
Tel me in faith mad Eyre, how old thou art.
Eyre
My Liege a verie boy, a stripling, a yonker, you
see not a white haire on my head, not a gray in this beard,
euerie haire I assure thy maiestie that stickes in this
beard, Sim Eyre values at the king of Babilons ransome,
Tama Chams beard was a rubbing brush toot: yet Ile
shaue it off, and stuffe tennis balls with it to please my bully
king.
King
But all this while I do not know your age.
Eyre
My liege, I am sixe and fiftie yeare olde, yet I
can crie humpe, with a sound heart for the honour of
Saint Hugh: marke this olde wench, my king, I
dauncde the shaking of the sheetes with her sixe and thirtie
yeares agoe, and yet I hope to get two or three yong
Lorde Maiors ere I die: I am lustie still, Sim Eyre
still: care, and colde lodging brings white haires. My
sweete Maiestie, let care vanish, cast it vppon thy
Nobles, it will make thee looke alwayes young like
Apollo, and crye humpe: Prince am I none, yet am
King
Ha ha: saye Cornewall, didst thou euer see his
like?
Noble man
Not I, my Lorde.
Enter Lincolne, and Lord Maior.
King
Lincolne, what newes with you?
Linc.
My gracious Lord, haue care vnto your selfe,
For there are traytors here.
All
Traytors, where? who?
Eyre
Traitors in my house? God forbid, where be my officers?
Ile spend my soule ere my king feele harme.
King
Where is the traytor? Lincolne.
Linc.
Here he stands.
King
Cornewall, lay hold on Lacie: Lincolne, speake:
What canst thou lay vnto thy Nephewes charge?
Linc.
This my deere liege: your grace to doe me honour,
Heapt on the head of this degenerous boy,
Desertlesse fauours, you made choise of him,
To be commander ouer powers in France,
But he.
King
Good Lincolne prythee pawse a while,
Euen in thine eies I reade what thou wouldst speake,
I know how Lacie did neglect our loue,
Ranne himselfe deepely (in the highest degree)
Into vile treason.
Linc.
Is he not a traytor?
King
Lincolne, he was: now haue we pardned him,
Twas not a base want of true valors fire,
That held him out of France, but loues desire.
Linc.
I wil not beare his shame vpon my backe.
King
Nor shalt thou Lincolne, I forgiue you both.
Then (good my liege) forbid the boy to wed
One, whose meane birth will much disgrace his bed.
King
Are they not married?
Linc.
No my Liege.
Both
We are.
King
Shall I diuorce them then? O be it farre,
That any hand on earth should dare vntie,
The sacred knot knit by Gods maiestie,
I would not for my crowne disioyne their hands,
That are conioynd in holy nuptiall bands,
How saist thou Lacy? wouldst thou loose thy Rose?
Hans
Not for all Indians wealth, my soueraigne.
King
But Rose I am sure her Lacie would forgoe.
Rose
If Rose were askt that question, sheed say, no.
King
You heare them Lincolne.
Linc
Yea my liege, I do.
King
Yet canst thou find ith heart to part these two?
Who seeks, besides you, to diuorce these louers?
L. Ma.
I do (my gracious Lord) I am her father.
King
Sir Roger Oteley, our last Maior I thinke,
Nob
The same my liege.
King
Would you offend Loues lawes?
Wel, you shal haue your wills, you sue to me,
To prohibite the match: Soft, let me see,
You both are married, Lacie, art thou not?
Hans
I am, dread Soueraigne.
King
Then vpon thy life,
I charge thee, not to call this woman wife.
L. Ma.
I thanke your grace.
Rose
O my most gratious Lord!
kneele
King
Nay Rose, neuer wooe me, I tel you true,
Although as yet I am a batchellor,
Yet I beleeue I shal not marry you.
Can you diuide the body from the soule,
Yet make the body liue?
King
Yea, so profound?
I cannot Rose, but you I must diuide:
Faire maide, this bridegroome cannot be your bride.
Are you pleasde Lincolne? Oteley, are you pleasde?
Both
Yes my Lord.
King
Then must my heart be easde,
For credit me, my conscience liues in paine,
Til these whom I deuorcde be ioynd againe:
Lacy, giue me thy hand, Rose, lend me thine.
Be what you would be: kisse now: so, thats fine,
At night (louers) to bed: now let me see,
Which of you all mislikes this harmony?
L. Ma.
Wil you then take from me my child perforce?
King
Why tell me Oteley, shines not Lacies name,
As bright in the worldes eye, as the gay beames
Of any citizen?
Linc.
Yea but my gratious Lord,
I do mislike the match farre more than he,
Her bloud is too too base.
King
Lincolne, no more,
Dost thou not know, that loue respects no bloud?
Cares not for difference of birth, or state,
The maide is yong, wel borne, faire, vertuous,
A worthy bride for any gentleman:
Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoope
To bare necessitie: and as I heare,
Forgetting honors, and all courtly pleasures,
To gaine her loue, became a shooemaker.
As for the honor which he lost in France,
Thus I redeeme it: Lacie, kneele thee downe,
Arise sir Rowland Lacie: tell me now,
Seeing thy Rose a ladie and a bryde.
Lord Maior.
I am content with what your Grace hath
done.
Linc.
And I my liege, since theres no remedie.
King
Come on then, al shake hands, Ile haue you frends,
Where there is much loue, all discord ends,
What sayes my mad Lord Maior to all this loue?
Eyre
O my liege, this honour you haue done to my fine
iourneyman here, Rowland Lacie, and all these fauours
which you haue showne to me this daye in my poore house,
will make Simon Eyre liue longer by one dozen of warme
summers more then he should.
King
Nay, my mad Lord Maior (that shall be thy name)
If any grace of mine can length thy life,
One honour more Ile doe thee, that new building,
Which at thy cost in Cornehill is erected,
Shall take a name from vs, weele haue it cald,
The Leaden hall, because in digging it,
You found the lead that couereth the same.
Eyre
I thanke your Maiestie.
Wife
God blesse your Grace.
King
Lincolne, a word with you.
Enter Hodge, Firke, Rafe, and more shoomakers.
Eyre
How now my mad knaues? Peace, speake softly,
yonder is the king.
King
With the olde troupe which there we keepe in pay,
We wil incorporate a new supply:
Before one summer more passe ore my head,
France shal repent England was iniured.
What are all those?
Hans
All shoomakers, my Liege,
I liude as merry as an empror.
King
My mad lord Mayor, are all these shoomakers?
Eyre
All Shooemakers, my Liege, all gentlemen of the
Gentle Craft, true Troians, couragious Cordwainers, they
all kneele to the shrine of holy saint Hugh.
All
God saue your maiesty all shoomaker.
King
Mad Simon, would they any thing with vs?
Eyre
Mum mad knaues, not a word, Ile doot, I warrant
you. They are all beggars, my Liege, all for themselues: and
I for them all, on both my knees do intreate, that for the honor
of poore Simon Eyre, and the good of his brethren these
mad knaues, your Grace would vouchsafe some priuilege to
my new Leden hall, that it may be lawfull for vs to buy and
sell leather there two dayes a weeke.
King
Mad Sim, I grant your suite, you shall haue patent
To hold two market dayes in Leden hall,
Mondayes and Fridayes, those shal be the times:
Will this content you?
All
Iesus blesse your Grace.
Eyre
In the name of these my poore brethren shoomakers,
I most humbly thanke your Grace. But before I rise, seeing
you are in the Giuing vaine, and we in the Begging,
graunt Sim Eyre one boone more.
King
What is it my Lord Maior?
Eyre
Uouchsafe to taste of a poore banquet that standes
sweetely waiting for your sweete presence.
King
I shall vndo thee Eyre, only with feasts,
Already haue I beene too troublesome,
Say, haue I not?
Eyre
O my deere king, Sim Eyre was taken vnawares
vpon a day of shrouing which I promist long ago to the prentises
of London: for andt please your Highnes, in time past
Sits not a whit the worse upon my backe:
And then vpon a morning some mad boyes,
It was Shrouetuesday eeune as tis now,
Gaue me my breakefast, and I swore then by the stopple of
my tankerd, if euer I came to be Lord Maior of London, I
would feast al the prentises. This day (my liege) I did it, and
the slaues had an hundred tables fiue times couered, they
are gone home and vanisht: yet adde more honour to the
Gentle Trade, taste of Eyres banquet, Simon's happie
made.
King
Eyre, I wil taste of thy banquet, and wil say,
I haue not met more pleasure on a day,
Friends of the Gentle Craft, thankes to you al,
Thankes my kind Ladie Mairesse for our cheere,
Come Lordes, a while lets reuel it at home,
When all our sports, and banquetings are done,
Warres must right wrongs which Frenchmen haue begun.
Exeunt.
| The Shomakers Holiday. Or The Gentle Craft | |