 | [Ralph Roister Doister] |  |
Scæna. iij.
Mage Mumble crust, spinning on the distaffe. Tibet Talk apace, sowyng. Annot Alyface knittyng. R Roister.M. Mumbl.
If thys distaffe were spoonne Margerie Mumblecrust.
Tib Talk.
Where good stale ale is will drinke no water I trust.
M. Mumbl.
Dame Custance hath promised vs good ale and white bread.
If she kepe not promise, I will beshrewe hir head:
But it will be starke nyght before I shall haue done.
R. Royster.
I will stande here a while, and talke with them anon,
I heare them speake of Custance, which doth my heart good,
To heare hir name spoken doth euen comfort my blood.
M. Mumbl.
Sit downe to your worke Tibet like a good girle.
Tib Talk.
Nourse medle you with your spyndle and your whirle,
No haste but good, Madge Mumblecrust, for whip and whurre.
The olde prouerbe doth say, neuer made good furre.
M. Mumbl.
Well, ye wyll sitte downe to your worke anon, I trust.
Tib Talk.
Soft fire maketh sweete malte, good Madge Mumblecrust.
M. Mumbl.
And sweete malte maketh ioly good ale for the nones.
Tib Talk.
Whiche will slide downe the lane without any bones.
Cantet.
Olde browne bread crustes must haue much good mumblyng,
But good ale downe your throte hath good easie tumbling.
But good ale downe your throte hath good easie tumbling.
R. Royster.
The iolyest wenche that ere I hearde, little mouse,
May I not reioyce that she shall dwell in my house?
Tib Talk.
So sirrha, nowe this geare beginneth for to frame.
M. Mumbl.
Thanks to God, though your work stand stil, your tōg is not lame
Tib. Talk.
And though your teeth be gone, both so sharpe & so fine
Yet your tongue can renne on patins as well as mine.
M. Mumbl.
Ye were not for nought named Tyb Talke apace.
Tib Talk.
Doth my talke grieue you? Alack, God saue your grace.
M. Mumbl.
I holde a grote ye will drinke anon for this geare.
Tib Talk.
And I wyll not pray you the stripes for me to beare.
M. Mumbl.
I holde a penny, ye will drinke without a cup.
Tib Talk.
Wherein so ere ye drinke, I wote ye drinke all vp.
An. Alyface
By Cock and well sowed, my good Tibet Talke apace.
Tib Talk.
And een as well knitte my nowne Annot Alyface.
R. Royster.
See what a sort she kepeth that must be my wife.
Shall not I when I haue hir, leade a merrie life?
Tib Talk.
Welcome my good wenche, and sitte here by me iust.
An. Alyface.
And howe doth our olde beldame here, Mage Mumblecrust?
Tib Talk.
Chyde, and finde faultes, and threaten to complaine.
To make vs poore girles shent to hir is small gaine.
M. Mumbl.
I dyd neyther chyde, nor complaine, nor threaten.
R. Royster.
It woulde grieue my heart to see one of them beaten.
M. Mumbl.
I dyd nothyng but byd hir worke and holde hir peace.
Tib Talk.
So would I, if you coulde your clattering ceasse:
But the deuill can not make olde trotte holde hir tong.
An. Alyface.
Let all these matters passe, and we three sing a song,
So shall we pleasantly bothe the tyme beguile now,
And eke dispatche all our workes ere we can tell how.
Tib Talk.
I shrew them that say nay, and that shall not be I.
M. Mumbl.
And I am well content.
Tib. Talk.
Sing on then by and by.
R. Royster.
And I will not away, but listen to their song,
Yet Merygreeke and my folkes tary very long.
Tib, An, and Margerie,
doe singe here.
Pipe mery Annot. &c.
Trilla, Trilla. Trillarie.
Worke Tibet, worke Annot, worke Margerie.
Sewe Tibet, knitte Annot, spinne Margerie.
Let vs see who shall winne the victorie.
Tib Talk.
This sleue is not willyng to be sewed I trowe,
A small thing might make me all in the grounde to throwe.
Then they sing agayne.
[Tib, An, and Margerie.]
Pipe merrie Annot. &c.
Trilla. Trilla. Trillarie.
What Tibet, what Annot, what Margerie.
Ye sleepe, but we doe not, that shall we trie.
Your fingers be nombde, our worke will not lie.
Tib Talk.
If ye doe so againe, well I would aduise you nay.
In good sooth one stoppe more, and I make holy day.
They sing the thirde tyme.
[Tib, An, and Margerie.]
Pipe Mery Annot. &c.
Trilla. Trilla. Trillarie.
Nowe Tibbet, now Annot, nowe Margerie.
But it will not be, our mouth is so drie.
Tib Talk.
Ah, eche finger is a thombe to day me thinke,
I care not to let all alone, choose it swimme or sinke.
They sing the fourth tyme.
[Tib, An, and Margerie.]
Pipe Mery Annot. &c.
Trilla. Trilla. Trillarie.
Lette hir caste downe hir worke.
When Tibet, when Annot, when Margerie.
I will not, I can not, no more can I.
Then giue we all ouer, and there let it lye.
Tib Talk.
There it lieth, the worste is but a curried cote,
Tut I am vsed therto, I care not a grote.
An. Alyface.
Haue we done singyng since? then will I in againe,
Here I founde you, and here I leaue both twaine.
Exeat.
M. Mumbl.
And I will not be long after: Tib Talke apace.
Tib Talk.
What is ye matter?
M. Mumb.
Yond stode a man al this space
And hath hearde all that euer we spake togyther.
Tib Talk.
Mary the more loute he for his comming hither.
And the lesse good he can to listen maidens talke.
I care not and I go byd him hence for to walke:
It were well done to knowe what he maketh here away.
R. Royster.
Nowe myght I speake to them, if I wist what to say.
M. Mumbl.
Nay we will go both off, and see what he is.
R. Royster.
One that hath hearde all your talke and singyng ywis.
Tib Talk.
The more to blame you, a good thriftie husbande
Woulde elsewhere haue had some better matters in hande.
R. Royster.
I dyd it for no harme, but for good loue I beare,
To your dame mistresse Custance, I did your talke heare.
And Mistresse nource I will kisse you for acquaintance.
M. Mumbl.
I come anon sir.
Tib. T.
Faith I would our dame Custance
Sawe this geare.
M. M.
I must first wipe al cleane, yea I must.
Tib Talk.
Ill chieue it dotyng foole, but it must be cust.
M. Mumbl.
God yelde you sir, chad not so much ichotte not whan,
Nere since chwas bore chwine, of such a gay gentleman.
I will kisse you too mayden for the good will I beare you.
Tib Talk.
No forsoth, by your leaue ye shall not kisse me.
R. Royster.
Yes be not afearde, I doe not disdayne you a whit.
Tib Talk.
Why shoulde I feare you? I haue not so little wit,
Ye are but a man I knowe very well.
R. R.
Why then?
Tib Talk.
Forsooth for I wyll not, I vse not to kisse men.
R. Royster.
I would faine kisse you too good maiden, if I myght.
Tib Talk.
What shold that neede?
R. R.
But to honor you by this light.
I vse to kisse all them that I loue to God I vowe.
Tib Talk.
Yea sir? I pray you when dyd ye last kisse your cowe.
R. Royster.
Ye might be proude to kisse me, if ye were wise.
Tib Talk.
What promotion were therin?
R. R.
Nourse is not so nice.
Tib Talk.
Well I haue not bene taught to kissing and licking.
R. Royster.
Yet I thanke you mistresse Nourse, ye made no sticking.
M. Mumbl.
I will not sticke for a kosse with such a man as you.
Tib Talk.
They that lust: I will againe to my sewyng now.
An. Alyfac.
Tidings hough, tidings, dame Custance greeteth you well.
R. Royster.
Whome me?
An. Al.
You sir? no sir? I do no suche tale tell.
R. Royster.
But and she knewe me here.
An. Al.
Tybet Talke apace,
Your mistresse Custance and mine, must speake with your grace
Tib Talk.
With me?
An. Aly.
Ye muste come in to hir out of all doutes.
Tib Talk.
And my work not half done? A mischief on all loutes.
Ex. am.
R. Royster.
Ah good sweet nourse.
M. Mumb.
A good sweete gentlemā.
R. R.
what?
M. Mumbl.
Nay I can not tel sir, but what thing would you?
R. Royster.
Howe dothe sweete Custance, my heart of gold, tell me how?
M. Mumbl.
She dothe very well sir, and commaunde me to you.
R. Royster.
To me?
M. M.
Yea to you sir.
R. R.
To me? nurse tel me plain
To me?
M. Mumb.
Ye.
R. R.
That word maketh me aliue again.
M. Mumbl.
She commaunde me to one last day who ere it was.
R. Royster.
That was een to me and none other by the Masse.
M. Mumbl.
I can not tell you surely, but one it was.
R. Royster.
It was I and none other: this commeth to good passe.
I promise thee nourse I fauour hir.
M. Mumb.
Een so sir.
R. Royster.
Bid hir sue to me for mariage.
M. Mumbl.
Een so sir.
And surely for thy sake she shall speede.
M. Mumb.
Een so sir.
R. Royster.
I shall be contented to take hir.
M. Mumb.
Een so sir.
R. Royster.
But at thy request and for thy sake.
M. Mumb.
Een so sir.
And come hearke in thine eare what to say.
M. Mumb.
Een so sir.
Here lette him tell hir a great long tale in hir eare.
| [Ralph Roister Doister] | |