 | A Merrie and Pleasant Comedy : Never before Printed, called A Shoo-maker a Gentleman |  |
ACTVS TERTIVS.
Enter Sir Hugh.Hugh.
My three moneths banishment I have observ'd,
And now the dated limit gives me leave to re-aproach my
Interdicted Saint; once more sweet love I doe invoke thy
Power, to blesse my poore unspotted Sacrifice, the offering
Of a loving loyall heart: This is the customary retirement
Where daily she frequents, this speakes her name, and speakes
Her vertues in a bubling murmur, which many ages after her
Ascent up to that glorious Asterisme above, shall keepe
And tell to long Posterities, within this liquid Oracle shall be
Read, heaven wrought a miracle for Winifred, heere Ile
Lies downe.
Awaite, and while my tongue takes rest, solace my thought.
Enter Winifred, with a booke and a servant.
Win.
Returne and give notice to Amphiabell, that I am walk't
Abroad, as he intreated.
Ser.
I will Madam.
Win,
His company is sweet fellowship; wanton folly, thou hast
No harbour in Amphiabell, but high and holy meditations,
Rare vertues in a Prince, the example's good, and I will follow
It; yea if thou goest into the Militant Field of Martyrdome.
Ha, who's that? this is not the company that my desires doe wish.
Hugh.
Nay stay sweet Virgin, rather let me leave the place,
Whose presence offends the place; yet, if you vouchsafe,
Offend I may by your construction, but not by willing heart.
Win.
I feare your method sir, would I might erre in false
Supposition, speake and Ile tell you.
Hugh.
My three moneths exile is expired.
Win.
And you have well observ'd it?
Hugh.
Then give me leave to re-atempt my suite, which I have
Win.
'Twas your owne tyranny to adde to my injunction, I crav'd
But one moneth, and you would proffer three.
Hugh.
'Twas folly in my duty.
Win.
Which still you doe persist in, for since you left me
I am contract and wedded.
Hugh.
Am I out rivald?
Win.
War not with heaven sir, to that is ty'd my Nuptiall
Gordion, within yon house of starres the Bride-groome sits,
And there the Spousall chamber is prepard, you are the
Golden Himeneall flames, whose spherick Musicke,
Chast Hallelujahs sing, to celebration of my Virgin rights:
Oh labour not then to divorce me thence, since all the fruit
Will be but vaine expence: my love is fixt, and we have
But one love; you seeke for that below that's gone above.
Hugh.
You are too obstinate:
Win.
O chide your selfe sir, 'tis your owne sin, you are too obstinate
To persevere against a decree of Fate: be this the finall answer to
Your suite; if ever mortall man have attribute of Winifreds Husband,
'T shall be Sir Hugh, if it be debt to any 'tis your due.
Hugh.
A desperate debt, hopelesse of recovery.
Win.
And as the test to your faire seeming love, whether it Noble
Were or counterfeit, by its best vertue here I charge you Sir,
To move no further questions at this time, for if you speake
I will not answer you; you may in silence stay:
Thus doe I turne setting the world a part,
Here fixe mine eyes, and with mine eyes my heart.
Hugh.
Thou gilded poyson, my tongue is silent, but my unquiet
Thoughts will still take leave, to thinke of thy perverse
Unkind disdaine; Ile thinke thee peevish, and blame all
Thy Sects for thy selfe sin, for thou wert all to me;
Vanish all State, and Wales bow to the yoke of Tyrants
Servitude, noe defensive stroake shall this Arme lift
To save me from thy thrale: rest there regardlesse honour,
And take a fall before thy pride; hence forth some
Humble meane, that will afford but merit to my paine,
Shall be my lives trafficke, Ile never mind
This, or too fickle, or too cruell kind,
Extreame in both, thou art both best and worst.
Exit Hugh.
Enter Amphiabell.
Win.
Whose there Amphiabell?
Am.
Yes vertuous Lady.
Win.
Thou abidest still.
Am.
To death: Christians tire not till they be out of breath,
Life labours here, at death the wage doth come,
Which Tyrants pay in Crownes of Martyrdome.
Enter Bassianus, Lutio, and Romans.
Bass.
We forage unresisted: soft who are these?
Lut.
Ceaze first, and then examine.
Am.
Two, that will neither fly, nor resist your force.
Bass.
Then you will surely dye Amphiabell.
Am.
Yes.
Bass.
And the holy Virgin.
Win.
So, unhappy Tyrant.
Bass.
The Triumphs of our Wars; here persuite shall stay,
In your surprise we have atchiev'd the day.
Win.
Ring out your triumphs loude, 'tis a large boast,
You have gain'd much, and we have nothing lost.
Bass.
Thou art a traytor Capitall to Rome, from whence thy
Knightly honors were deriv'd, 'twas thy seditious
Heresie that wrought the wracke of honor'd Albon, even
This Lady hast thou seduc'd, a mercifull sommons now cals
His last to thee, turne unto Rome, and worship give unto
Our Golden gods.
Am.
No, I will not; when I crave mercy, give it.
Win.
Thou debuty tyrant, this place is hallowed; doe not awake
the thunder, if it strike, the boult will fall downe
Perpendicular, and strike thee under mercy.
Bass.
Ha, ha, ha; what pretty dreames these Christians
Apprehend: They say your well is very Soveraigne to cure the
Virgin water, 'tis good for sore eyes too, ist not? mine
Are some thing Rhumaticke.
Win.
Doe, play with Lightning till it blasts thee.
Lut.
Oh! here's hell, witchcraft, my eyes are lost, this sorcerous
Poole hath tane away my sight: witch Ile find thee out,
And breake thy Magicke, by drawing of thy blood.
Bass.
Has wounded me.
Win.
Lay hold upon him, hee'le doe more mischeife else.
Lut.
Guide me to the divill.
Win.
Thou art going right blind-fold, hold fast his hands, I will be
Charitable unto my persecutors: now see the change,
Vertue, abus'd turnes unto damage more,
By helpe of heaven thus I thine eyes restore.
Lut.
Ha, is't day agen?
Win.
Wilt thou understand from whence thy succour comes?
Lut.
From Apollo, and Iupiter, the gods of Rome,
Who would not see a witch abuse their creature, away with
Her to th'fire till she be burnt and dead, mine eyes
Will stand in feare within my head.
Bass.
Let them be garded unto Verolome, where first they shall
Behold the dreadfull sufferings of revolted Albon,
As you looke on, and see his tortures please, follow destruction.
Win.
Come constant friend, now comes the wished day,
The path to blisse is through a thorny way.
Exeunt.
Enter with a Trumpet, Rutullus, Shoo-maker, and his Wife.
Shoo.
One out of my house my Lord? I am the Princes Shoo-maker,
Will not that excuse me?
Rut.
My Commission's strict, let me see your house-hold.
Shoo.
I know not which to part with beleeve me sir,
But you shall see them all, Ralph, Barnaby, Crispinus,
Crispianus, appeare my boyes?
Enter Ralph and Crispianus.
Shoo.
Looke, here's most of my store.
The worst of these will serve; but here's not all.
Shoo.
Barnaby, where's Barnaby?
Wife.
That knave will still be backward: why Barnaby.
Enter Barnaby, with a Kercher on.
Bar.
Oh, oh, oh.
Shoo.
Why how now Barnaby, what falne sicke o'th' sudden Bar?
Oh Master, I have such a singing in my head. my toes are
Crampt too.
Shoo.
What from head to foot already, where lyes thy paine?
Here, here about my heart Mr. I have an Issue here too,
Bar.
Oh Master, if you did but feele what a breath comes out,
You would stop your nose in't.
Wife.
Come, come, you are a lazy knave, you must be prest for a Souldier.
Bar.
Oh dame, Ile confesse and be hang'd rather then Ile
bee prest.
Cris.
The Drums and Trumpets will revive thee man.
Bar.
Alas, if I heare any noise I'me a dead man.
Shoo.
Ralph, what sayst thou, wilt thou serve the King?
Ral.
I cannot serve a better Mr. if the King does entertaine me,
Ile doe him the best service that I can.
Cris.
I beseech you sir let me excuse the rest: I have a mind
To meet a foe i'th field, meethinks I could performe
Some worthy act, that at my backe returne,
You should be proud to say my Servant did it.
Shoo.
Yee, saist thou so boy? I like thy forwardnesse,
But I'de be loath to leese thee yet.
Wife,
Alas man the boyes yong, his tender limbes are scarce
Well joynted yet, let Ralph, or Barnaby, undertake that taske,
'Tis sitter for either.
Bar.
Oh a little aqua-compositar: good dame, I have a quaking
Ague come upon me.
Wife.
A feaver lurden have you not? you lazy knave you,
Wilt thou let a boy out dare thee?
Cris.
Good dame perswade him not against his heart, such brave designes
As Souldiers undergoe, should not be forc'd, but free and voluntary.
of his frozen blood, than a full Squadron of the daring'st foes
Surprizing at advantage.
Rut.
A forward spirit,
Such a faire promise cannot want performance:
Thou shalt be my choise; accept thy presse-money, and for the hopes
That I expect from thee, thy Ranke shall not be common.
Wife.
Alack, alack, the Boy is forward, but farre unable; Sir pray
spare him, and take either of these.
Bar.
Oh, I have a stitch in my Elbow here; a little Parmacadius.
Wife.
A false stitch I warrant thee, the Warres will pick it out.
Shoo.
Peace Sisley; Boy, since thou art so forward, I will not stay
The freedome of thy spirit; so I might hinder thee from better hopes
Than my poore substance could endow thee with: goe,
And good Fortune keepe thee company; if thou return'st, thou shalt
Be welcome still. I must be willing though against my will,
To leave thee Boy.
Wife.
And welcome shalt thou be to thy Dame boy; if there come
but a leg on thee back, the worst member thou hast, shall be welcome
to me; lame or blind, if thou comm'st back, thou shalt want no Hospitall-pention
as long as I live.
Shoo.
Gramercy for that Sis; Ile sell all the shooes in my Shop
Before my lame Souldier shall be kept in an Hospitall.
Crispia.
Your loves are Parent-like, not as to a servant, but a child:
The Heavens in safety keepe you; my prayers in duty shall be
Here at home, when my bodie's distant. I beseech you Sir,
Commend me to my Brother: Raph, Barnaby farewell.
Bar.
Farewell good Crispian. I shall never see thee more.
Crispia.
Tush, feare not; nay, if e're I doe returne, Ile bring home
Stories that we'le turne to Meeter, & sing away our work with 'em.
Bar.
Farewell Crispianus.
Crispia.
Master and Dame, once more I bid farewell,
'Tis brave to dye where Trumpets ring the Knell.
Rut.
Come Crispianus.
Wife.
Well, goe thy wayes, and take the kindest youth with thee,
that e're set foot in the stirrup.
Shoo.
How now Barnaby, art any thing better yet?
I am somewhat better than I was Master; I doe begin to feele
my selfe better and better.
Wife.
Oh you are a cunning counterfeit knave sirrah.
Bar.
O Mistresse, there is alwayes policy in Warres as well as
blowes: if it be good sleeping in a whole skinne, it must needs be
bad sleeping in a broken one; and he that cannot sleepe well, it is a
signe he cannot drinke well; and he that does not drinke well, never
digests his meate well; and he that digests not his meate well, 'tis a
signe he h'as not a good stomack; and hee that h'as not a good stomacke,
is not fit for the Warres. I did thinke it better to stay at
home truely Master.
Shoo.
The end is, thou hadst rather worke than fight Boy: I had
rather thou shou'dst too: but I wonder I heare not of Crispinus yet.
Wife.
Truely man I am affraid hee's prest at Canterbury.
Enter Crispinus.
Crisp.
All the way 'twixt this and Canterbury will not afford me
An excuse sufficient for tarrying so long out of my Masters house:
The truth I dare not tell, 'twere better lye than confesse my
Lying with the Emperors Daughter, though the case be honest,
Being my Wife: Well, somewhat it must be, I know not what yet;
If I endure a rough chiding for my paines, it is but sawce to sweete
Meates.
Shoo.
Looke, looke Wife, hee's come: why how now Crispinus,
How comes it you have stayd so long?
Wife.
O you are a fine loytering youth, what, lye out of your Masters
house!
Crisp.
Your pardon once good Dame, I was in no bad company.
Wife.
Who knows that sir? you frighted both your Master & me;
We thought you had beene prest for a Souldier, as your Brother is.
Crisp.
So now my Dame h'as helpt me to an excuse:
Why truely Dame that was my feare; I was faine to shroud my selfe
in the Court all night for feare of the presse.
Shoo.
Nay then 'twas wel done Boy, I wou'd not have lost thee too.
Wife.
I, I, the flower's pluckt, but the weed remaines; thy brother
that's gone, would not have serv'd me so.
Shoo.
Peace good Eve, no more words, the excuse is honest.
Wife.
I, I, you'le marre 'em all: but he had better beene a sleepe
Cris.
Nay, not so Dame; I had better lodging by your leave.
Bar.
Ey, ey; he had better beene sick in his bed as I was,
Than anger my Dame I warrant him.
Shoo.
Why how now Barnaby, throw pitch i'th' fire? no more words:
I say, Ile be his baile, he shall offend no more so.
Cris.
Doe not Master, I shal damnifie my baile, and do so agen I'me affraid.
Wife.
Thou shalt doe under-worke for't; thou shalt make nothing
but childrens shooes this halfe yeere.
Cris.
I beleeve I have made worke for Childrens shooes already.
Shoo.
Medle with my Shop Avant, cadua, huc spectit tua cura mundare
cacabum; Goe looke to your Kitchin, let me alone with my
Prentises.
Wife.
I, let you alone, and your bond servants will be all laxative
one of these daies, if you let'em loose in this fashion. What will you
say if this young Rogue has beene a wenching to night? Some overdone
thing or other makes velvet of his black browes.
Bar.
I beleeve so too Dame; for the old Gentlewoman that waits
upon my Lady, will have no body now adaies to pull on her shooes
but hee.
Shoo.
Yet agen Barnaby? Why Lady D'Oliva, who's controuler of
my Houshold? have I not paid for my breeches, are they not mine
owne, and shall I not ware 'em? My Boy Crispinus shall arest his
Dame Sisley for an action of slander: he goe awenching?
Cris.
No by my faith, 'tis past that Master.; Master and Dame, let me
Excuse my selfe, not to glosse o're the fault I have committed,
But with a promise to offend no more; nor if your patience
Might censure me, could I be much blam'd for it,
Seeing it was the Princesse pleasure that inforc't my stay,
Who likewise hath enjoyn'd me to returne agen to night.
Enter Sir Hugh.
Shoo.
No more, thy peace is made: how now, what's he?
Hugh.
A poore man Sir, one that would be proud to call you Master.
Shoo.
Ey, canst thou be poore and proud too? thou art no shooe-maker then?
Hugh.
Not yet Sir; I would be glad to learne.
Bar.
No Sir, an you be poore and proud too, you are fitter for a
Tayler than a Shooe-maker.
Wife.
Had you come a little sooner sir, you might have had entertainment,
his Warres: thou art well-limb'd.
Hugh.
Alas, that were to throw me backe to woe I have but lately
scap't from: 'twas the Warres that thus hath ruin'd me, and for I
I know those dangerous quick-sands, I had rather saile in some freer
Sea-roome, any paines that might afford me pension for my life, I
would doe double labour for my hire if I might have imployment.
Shoo.
What Countreyman?
Hugh.
Wales is my Countrey, my name is Hugh.
Bar.
I have some Cozens in your Countrey: you know Penvenmower,
Blew Morrice Laugathin, Aberginenni Terdawhce, Saint Davis
Harpe, and the great Organ at Wricksom?
Hugh.
There's not a cragge beyond the Severne flood,
But I have held against the Roman Foes, till odds
And losse of blood expell'd me thence: nor was I ever first
Forsooke the field; but I doe vaine to boast.
Shoo.
Thou art a Christian then?
Hugh.
It was my quarrell Sir.
Bar.
And you are a Gentleman I'me sure.
Hugh.
I am a Welch-man Sir.
Bar,
Nay then thou canst not choose but be a Gentleman.
Shoo.
And how dare you thou a Gentleman sirrah?
Bar.
Yes, a poore Gentleman alwayes, so long as he dares not take
exceptions. Pray you Master entertaine him, that wee may have a
Gentleman of our Trade: he may (Lord blesse us) live to be Major
of Feversham.
Wife.
I sir, you are ready still to heape on more charges.
Shoo.
More Lawyers weapons, more Tongue-worke: Sisley, thou
shalt entertaine him. Thou Gentleman, as thou art a Souldier, and
good fellow, when th'art a Shooemaker I bid thee welcome to Feversham:
Crispianus is gone, and thou shalt be his heire.
Crisp.
Twere worth a Kingdome if he had his due then.
Wife.
By the faith of my upper bodies, and the honesty of my neather
skirts, but he shall not stay there a while; his Brother Crispinus
shall have that place.
Cris.
I thanke you Dame, if he dye issuelesse, 'tis my inheritance.
Hugh.
I will be so obedient unto all, that every servant
Shall be my second Master.
Well Cozen Hugh, I will doe my best to instruct thee:
But you must take heed there be no Turky-cocks in your worke.
Hugh.
When I understand the English Sir, Ile observe you.
Bar.
Your Turky-cock is as much as to say, Coble, coble, coble;
You must take heed of cobling.
Shoo.
Come on good fellow, Ile teech thee a good Trade:
A Gentleman, if he want better meanes, may live well by it;
And this Ile promise thee after some tearme of yeeres to make thee free:
Or if thou dye, and that's a Christians best
Ile see thy bones laid quietly to rest.
Exeunt.
Enter Dioclesian, the Eagle borne before him at one doore, at the other, Huldrick and Rodrick, Kings of the Goths and Vandalls, with their Army.
Diocle.
Advance the Roman Eagle, and command
Our armed Legions to troope close, and stand.
Rod.
The Romans are in sight, Drummes beate a parley.
Diocle.
Death blurre their parley, wee'le not answer
The thunder of their Drummes: our Eagle shall not nesell by base
Ravens, but to peck out their eyes; our Swords shall answer
The Thunder of their Drummes, the Roman Cæsar holds scorne
To parley with such servile Nations, as you the barbarous Vandalls
And Goths, poore frozen Snakes, that from the Northerne cold
Creepe to the warmth of the Sunnes Westerne fires,
Troubling our fertile Lands, and like starv'd sheepe,
You spoyle the Countries with a line you keepe in Regions beggerly.
Hul.
Dioclesian, heare me.
Diocle.
What croakes the Raven?
Hul.
Proud Roman this: if here thou longer stay,
Hee'le peck thine Eagles eyes out, make thee a prey
To his sterne Gripe, whose dismall beake now sings the sudden ruine
Diocle.
Of two barbarous Kings.
Rod.
Insulting Tyrant, stop thy scandalous breath,
Thy blood shall finde us Kings and Souldiers both:
We are a swelling Sea, and our owne Barkes,
Not large enough to bound us, are broke forth
In blood all Nations that withstand us.
Thou seest already Germany is ours; so shall faire France be,
At least those parts that lye upon the Rhine, and fertile Burgundy:
Which if thou grant before the Battailes joyne,
We will retire, and league with thee and Rome.
Diocle.
Ha, ha, ha; must Lyons be inforc'd to league with Wolves?
Hul.
If thou deny it,
By the glorious Sunne, and all the Deities our men adore,
Wee'le forage up to Rome and Italy, and sit
In tryumph in your Capitol: the Vandals and the Goaths shall carve
Their fames as deepe as now the Romans doe their Names:
Raise up as many Trophies, and as high,
In brazen pillars of their victory.
Diocle.
Poore Flies, behold the Eagle, and give o're;
Strive not to cope with strength beyond your power,
For us she spreads her wings as farre and bright,
As in a Day the Sunne rides with his light,
And that's the universall Globe of Earth:
Europes proud throat we tread on:
Affrick and Asia our Eagles talents gripe,
The Lords of Rome fadome both Land and Deepe.
Rod.
New Lords new Lawes renew,
As you of others, wee'le be Lords of you.
Diocle.
Wee'le heare no more; call up the Brittaine Souldiers
Our Brother Maximinus sent unto our aide, let 'em begin the battell,
Fight like Romans: Remember this, your enemies are base;
Let your Swords worke like Sithes confound these swarmes,
And sweepe these Locusts hence with conquering Armes.
Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter Roderick and Huldrick with Souldiers at one doore, at the other, Crispianus and Brittaines, fight and drive off the Vandals.
Enter Roderick and Huldrick.
Rod.
These Romans fight like devils.
Hul.
Spirits infernall could not charge so hotly;
Disgrac't i'th' on set: Counsell Roderick, what's to be done?
Rod.
Knit all our Nerves in one;
Renowned Huldricke hye to thy Troopes,
And with thy valiant Goths assaile the Romans
In their hinmost Flankes, and breake into their maine Battalia;
Whilst here I stay, and hold the Brittaines play.
Hul.
I like it well; divided Armes thrive best,
This day weele climbe the lofty Eagles nest.
Exit.
Enter Dioclesian.
Dioc.
Turne thee base Uandal.
Rod.
Roman 'tis thee I seeke.
Dioc.
And thou hast found mee;
Ile teach thee speake the Roman Language.
Rod.
And thou shalt learne from me the Art of Warre,
And Discipline of Armes the Vandals teach.
Dioc.
A Fencer tis agreed.
The Schoole tricke thou shalt learne at first blow.
Alarum.
Rodericke hath Dioclesian downe: Crispianus fights with Rodericke and rescues him; and beates off Rodericke.
Dioc.
What art thou that hast saved me?
Cris.
A Souldier: What art thou so saved?
Dioc.
An Emperour.
Cris.
Thou art saved then by a Warlike Brittaine souldier:
And had I as many lives as drops of blood,
I'de spend them all to doe great Cæsar good.
Dioc.
I thanke thee: follow thy fortunes, and goe on;
The gods of Rome sit on thy weapon still:
The battaile ended, see me in my Tent.
Cris.
I will.
Exit.
Dioc.
Immortall gods!
How crept a Kingly spirit into a breast so low!
How now, how goes the day?
Enter a Roman.
Rom.
Bloody and dismell; Huldrick K. of Goths entred our Ranks,
And like a Whirlewinde, sweepes, and beates downe our maine
Battalia, seizing by force the Roman Eagle.
Dioc.
How Traitor?
Rom.
Beleeve it sir 'tis lost, and now in triumphe
With ecchoing shout of present victory.
Dioc.
The Roman gods forbid: Let a Trumpet call up the
Britains to recover it.
Exit.
Enter Huldricke King of Gothes.
Hul.
Yeeld thee proud Roman, the sable Ravens plume
Hath strooke thy Eagle blinde, and blasted Rome.
Dioc.
Hand of thou barbarous slave;
I still can boast my state's Imperiall.
Hul.
Tut, that Title's lost, thou art now
Within my power: flye to King Rodericke,
And glad his eares with newes of what you see,
And with our Drummes proclaime the victory.
Enter Crispianus with Eagle and Souldiers.
Cris.
Base Goth looke up, and see here hovers Eagle
Winged victory, recoverd from thy troopes.
Hul.
S'death lost agen.
Dioc.
Fight Warlike Brittaines, free your Emperour.
Cris.
We shall, or dye:
This holds the Goths death; this thy liberty.
Alarum: Crispianus fights with his sword in one hand, and the Eagle in the other: he kills Huldricke, and frees Dioclesian.
Dioc.
Twice is my life indebted to thy valour:
Admired Souldier, if I winne the day,
Never had Brittaine Souldier such a pay
As thou shalt have.
Cris.
Talke not of debts, or pay, let's hence and fight;
As long as I have breath Ile hold your right.
Souldiers troope close, our taske is not yet done;
Ile keepe your Eagle till the battaile's wonne.
Dioc.
Keepe it with fame.
Crisp.
Even to my latest breath.
Exit.
Dioc.
The glory's thine, thou hast sav'd me twice from death.
Alarum: a shout within: Enter Rodericke and Vandals.
Rod.
This Brittaines are all Divells,
And amongst them there's one master Divell,
Yet on his hornes he tosseth up our Vandals.
Now, what Newes?
Enter a Captaine.
Cap.
Rodericke flye, and save thy life;
Huldrick the King of Goths is slaine.
Rod.
I out goe him in life, he me in fame:
In spight weele after him with glorious wings,
A bloody field is a brave Tombe for Kings.
Cap.
Hazard not all at one cast, since you see
The Dice runnes high against yee; but give way,
Set not the board when you see fortune play:
Winning the maine no safety 'tis to fight.
Rod.
How then?
Cap.
Over the Rhine my Lord make speedy flight;
The wheele of Chance may turne, and the dice runne
For us to get, what now our foes have wonne.
A shout within: Enter Crispianus and the rest, driving off the Vandals: he takes Rodericke prisoner; a retreat sounded: Enter Dioclesian with victory.
Crisp.
Now to the Royall hand of Cæsar I resigne
The high Imperiall Ensigne of great Rome;
And with it, this wilde tusked Boare, the stubborne Vandall,
Snar'd in the toyles, and conquerd by this sword;
I could have serv'd his head up at your board:
But since for glory, more than blood we strive,
I'de rather have a Lyon tane alive.
Dioc.
Noble thou art, as valiant,
And this day thy onely sword the greater halfe
Hath wonne, and we must pay thy merits.
What's thy name?
Crisp.
Crispianus sir.
Dioc.
Of what birth or fortunes.
Crisp.
You may reade them here, writ on my bosome sir:
A common Souldier, yet were my Parents
Good and generous, they dead, and I downe sinking in my state,
As others doe, I swore to crosse the Fate
I got my living by an honest trade:
A Shooe-maker my Lord, where merrily,
With frolicke mates, I spent my dayes, till when,
Being prest to warres amongst my Countrey-men,
Hither I came, and here my prize is playd,
For Brittaines honour, and my Masters trade:
This Vandall is my Prisoner: frowne not sir,
Great lookes can nere put downe a Shooe-maker.
Rod.
Your fortune rises sir, and I must bow:
I was nere i'th Shooemakers stockes till now.
Dioc.
Renowned Crispianus, royall thankes shall to our brother
Maximinus flye, for sending such a Souldier.
Kneele downe, and rise a Brittaine Knight;
Hence forth beare Armes and Shield;
Thou hast won thy honour truely in the field.
Besides our gift, the ransome of this King
I freely give; and that thy fame may sing a lofty note,
Backe to thy Countrey lead these Brittaine Souldiers,
Over whom I make thee head; and to the Emperour
Maximinus thou shalt beare such Letters from our selfe,
As he shall reare and swell thine honours,
And when we in France have laid
These Whirle-windes that now shake the State,
Weele crosse the seas to Brittaine after thee.
Crisp.
The gods with Garlands crowne thy victory.
Rod.
What ransome you set downe Ile truely pay,
And drow my forces backe to Germany,
There to confine our selves; the Uandals knee
Now humbly bowes to th'Roman Emperie.
Dioc.
And that obedience Roderick weele imbrace.
Lead Crispianus to receive the Ransome:
Vandall and Goths; nay, Rome her selfe shall sweare,
She never met so brave a Shooe-maker.
A Flourish. Exeunt.
| A Merrie and Pleasant Comedy : Never before Printed, called A Shoo-maker a Gentleman | |