University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Moth.
Moth.
Harrow alas! I swelt here as I go;
Brenning in fire of little Cupido.
I no where hoart yfeele, but on mine head.
Huh, huh, huh, so; ycapred very wele.
I am thine Leeke, thou Chaucer eloquent;
Mine head is white, but o mine taile is green.
This is the Palyes where mine Lady wendeth
Come forth mine Duck, mine Bryd, mine honycomb.
Come forth mine Cinamon.

Enter Mrs Potluck.
Pot.
Who is't that cals?

Mo.
A Knight most Gent.

Pot.
What is your pleasure Sir?

Mo.
Thou art mine pleasure, by dame Venus brent;
So fresh thou art, and therewith so lycand.

Pot.
Alas! I am not any flickering thing:
I cannot boast of that slight-fading gift
You men call beauty; all my handsomnesse
Is my good breeding, and my honesty.
I could plant red, where you now yellow see;
But painting shews an harlot.

Moth.
Harlot, so
Called from one Harlotha Concubine
To deignous Wilhelme, hight the Conqueror.

Pot.
Were he ten Williams, and ten Conquerors
I'd have him know't, I scorn to be his Harlot.
I never yet did take presse-money to
Serve under any one.

Moth.
Then take it now.
Werme kisse! Thine lips ytaste like marrow milk;
Me thinketh that fresh butter runneth on them.
I grant well now, I do enduren woe,
As sharp as doth the Titius in Hell,
Whose stomack fowles do tyren ever more,
That highten Vultures, as do tellen Clerkes.

Pot.
You've spoke my meaning, though I do not know
What 'tis you said. Now see the fortune on't;
We do know one anothers Souls already;
The other must needs follow. Where's your dwelling?

Mo.
Yclose by Aldersgate there dwelleth one
Wights clypen Robert Moth; now Aldersgate
Is hotten so from one that Aldrich hight;
Or else of Elders, that is, ancient men;
Or else of Aldern trees which growden there;
Or else as Heralds say, from Aluredus:
But whence so e'r this Yate ycalled is
There dwelleth Robert Moth thine Paramour.

Pot.
Can you be constant unto me as I
Can be to you?

Moth.
By Woden God of Saxons,
From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday,
Truth is a thing that ever I will keep,
Unto thylke in which I creep into
My Sepulchre; I'l be as faithfull to thee,
As Chaunticleere to Madam Partelot.

Pot.
Here then I give away my heart to you,
As true a heart as ever widow gave.

Moth.
I Robert Moth, this tenth of our King
Give to thee Joan Potluck my biggest crumpe Ring:
And with it my Carcasse entire I bequeathen
Under my foot to Hell, above my head to heaven:
And to witnesse that this is sooth,
I bite thy red lip with my tooth.

Pot.
Though for a while our bodies now must part,
I hope they will be joyn'd hereafter.

Moth.
O!
And must we part? alas, and must we so?
Sin it may be no bet, now gang in peace.
Ex. Potluck
Though soft into mine bed I gin to sink
To sleep long as I'm wont to done, yet all
Will be for naught; I may well lig and wink,
But sleep shall there none in this heart ysink.

Exit