University of Virginia Library

Actus. 5.

Scena. 1.

Phallax alone.
Phal.
I maruell much what worketh so my Lord Promos vnrest,
He fares as if a thousand Deuils, were gnawing in his brest:
There is sure some worme of griefe, that doth his conscience nip,
For since Andrugio lost his head, he hath hung downe the lippe.
And truth to say, his fault is such as well may greue his mynd,
The Deuill himselfe could not haue vsde, a practise more vnkind.
This is once, I loue a woman, for my life, as well as he,
But (fayre dames) with her that loues mee, I deale well with, trust mee.
Well, leaue I now my Lord Promos, his owne deedes to aunswere,
Lamia I know lookes, and double lookes, when I come to supper:
I thought as much: see, to seeke mee, heare coms her Aple squier.

Scena. 2.

Rosko. Phallax.
Ros.
O that I could find Master Phallax, the meat burnes at ye fire:
And by your leaue, Andrugios death, doth make my mistris sweate.

Phal.
Now now Rosko?

Ros.
Ist you syr? my Mistris doth intreate,
That with all speede, your worship will come away to supper:
The meate and all is ready to set vpon the borde syr.

Phal.
Gramercy for thy paynes, I was euen comming to her.

Ros.
You are the welcomst man alyue to her I know,
And trust mee at your commaundement remayneth poore Rosko.

Phal.
It is honestly sayd, but now tell mee,
What quality hast, that I may vse thee?

Ros.
I am a Barbour, and when you please syr,
Call (and spare not) for a cast of rose water.

Phal.
But heare me, canst thou heale a greene wound well?

Ros.
Yea, greene and ould.

Phal.
Then thy best were to dwel,
In some vsuall place or streete, where, through frayes,
Thou mayst be set a worke with wounds alwayes.

Ros.
I thanke my Mistris I haue my hands full,
To trym gentelmen of her acquayntaunce:
And I trust Syr, if that your worship chaunce,
To haue neede of my helpe, I shall earne your mony.
Afore an other.

Phal.
That thou shalt truly:
But syrra, where dwels Lamia?

Ros.
Euen heare syr, enter I pray.

Phal.
That I wyl sure, if that my way be cleare.

Ros.
Yes sir, her doores be open all the yeare.

Exeunt.

Scena. 3.

Polina, (the mayde, that Andrugio lou'd) in a blew gowne.
Po.
Polina curst, what dame a lyue hath cause of griefe lyke thee?
Who (wonne by loue) hast yeeld the spoyle of thy virginity?
And he for to repayre thy fame, to marry thee, that vowde,
Is done to death for first offence, the second mends not lowde.
Great shame redounds to thee, O Loue, in leauing vs in thrall:
Andrugio and Polina both, in honoryng thee did fall.
Thou so dydst witch our wits, as we from reason strayed quight,
Prouockt by thee, we dyd refuse, no vauntage of delight:
Delight, what did I say? nay death, by rash and fowle abuse,
Alas I shame to tell thus much, though loue doe worke excuse.
So that (fayre dames) from such consent, my accydents of harme.
Forewarneth you, to keepe aloofe though loue your harts do arme,
But ah Polina, whether runnes thy words into aduise,
When others harmes, inforst by loue, could neuer make thee wise.
The cause is plaine, for that in loue, no reason stands in steede,
And reason is the onely meane, that others harmes we dreade.
Then, that the world hereafter may, to loue inferre my yll,
Andrugios Tombe with dayly teares, Polina worship wyll.
And further more I vowde, whylst life in mee doth foster breth,
No one shall vaunt of conquered loue, by my Andrugios death,
These shameful weedes, which forst I were that men my fault may know:
Whilst that I liue, shall show I morne for my Andrugio,
I wyll not byde the sharpe assaultes, from sugred words I sent,
I wyll not trust to careles othes, which often wyn consent:
I wyll cut off occasions all, which hope of myrth may moue,
With ceaseles teares yle quench each cause, yt kindleth coles of loue:
And thus tyl death Polina wyll estraunge her selfe from ioy,
Andrugio, to reward thy loue which dyd thy life destroy.

Exit.

Scena. 4.

Rosko alone.
Ros.
A Syr, in fayth, the cafe is altred quight,
My mistris late that liued in wretched plight:
Byds care adue and euery cause of woe,
The feare is fled, which made her sorrow so,
Master Phallax so vnder props her fame,
As none for lyfe dare now her lewdnes blame,
I feare (nay hope) she hath bewicht him so,
As haulfe his brybes, vnto her share will goe:
No force for that, who others doth deceyue,
Deserues himselfe, lyke measure to receyue.
Well, leaue I Lamia, for her selfe to pray,
Better then I can showe, who knowes the way:
It stands me on, for my poore selfe to shyfte,
And I haue founde a helpe at a dead lyfte:
My ould friende Grimbals purce, with pence is full,
And if I empty it not, Dalia wull.
The slauering foole, what he can rap and rend,
(He loues her so) vpon the fylth wyll spend:
But bye your leaue, yle barre her of this match,
My net and all is set, the foole to catch.
Forsooth before his amorous sute he moue,
He must be trimd to make her more to loue.
And in good sooth, the world shal hardly fall,
But that he shalbe washt, pould, shau'd and all:
And see the luck, the foole is fast I know,
In that with Rowke he doth so sadly goe.

Scena. 5.

Grymball, Rowke, Rosko.
Grym.
God bores, as sayst, when somewhat handsome ch'am,
I fayth she wyll come off for very shame:

Row.
Yea without doubt for I sweare by saynt Anne:
My selfe loues you, you are so cleane a youngman.

Grim.
Nay, thou woult say so, when my face is fayre washt,

Ros.
Good luck a Gods name, the wodcocke is masht.

Row.
And who Barbes ye Grimball.

Grim.
A dapper knaue, one Rosko.

Ros.
Well letherface, we shall haue you Asse ere you goe.

Row.
I know him not, is he a deaft barber?

Grim.
O, yea, why he is Mistris Lamias powler.
And looke syrra, yen is the lyttell knaue.
How dost Rosko?

Ros.
Whope, my eye sight God saue,
What ould Grimball, welcome, sit you downe heare,
Boye?

Boy.
Anon.

Boy in the house.
Ros.
Bay leaues in warme water, quick, bring cleane geare,

Boy.
Strayght.

Row.
As thou sayd'st Grymball, this is a feate knaue indeede,

Ros.
How say'syr? oyntments for a scab, do you neede?

Row.
Scab, scuruy Iack, ile set you a worke Syr.

Grym.
Nay gogs foote, good nowe, no more of this stur.

Row.
I fayth Barber, I wyll pyck your teeth straight.

Ros.
Nay, to pick my purse, I feare thou dost wayght,

Row.
Yea, gogs hart,

Grym.
Nay, gogs foote,

Ros.
Nowe come Ruffen.

Grim.
Leaue, if you be men,
Heare ye me nowe? be friendes, and by my trothe,
Chill spende a whole quarte of Ale on you bothe.

Ros.
Well, masse Grimball, I lytle thought I wus,
You woulde a brought a knaue, to vie mee thus.

Grim.
Why, knowest him not? why it is lustie Rowke.

Ros.
A strong theefe, I warrant him by his looke.

Row.
Go to Barber, no more, least Copper you catch.

Grim.
What? wilt giue thy nose awaye? beware that match.
For thy see no Copper, vnlest be theare.

Boy brings water.
Boy.
Master, here is delicate water, & cleane geare.

Exit.
Ros.
Well, to quiet my house, and for Grimbals sake,
If it pleaseth you, as friendes, we handes will shake.

Grim.
I, I, do so:

Row.
And for his sake I agree.

Grim.
Well then, that we may drinke, straight wayes wash mee.

Ros.
Good syr, here's water as sweete as a Rose,
Nowe whyles I wash, your eyes harde you must close.

Grim.
Thus?

Ros.
Harder yet:

Grim.
O, thus:

Ros.
Yea marry, so.
Howe syrra, you knowe what you haue to doe:

Rowke cuttes Grimbals purse.
Ros.
Winke harde, Grimball.

Grim.
Yes, yes, I shall.

Row.
Heare's the toothpick, and all.

Exit.
Ros.
Departe then tyll I call?
Uerie well syr, your face, is gayly cleane,
Were your teeth nowe pickt, you maye kisse a queane.

Grim.
Sayst thou mee so? Good nowe dispatch and awaye?
I euen fyssell, vntyll I smouch Dalia.

Ros.
O doo you so? I am right glad you tell,
I else had thought, tad bene your teethe dyd smell.

Grim.
O Lorde, gogs foote, you picke me to the quicke:

Ros.
Quiet your selfe, your teeth are furred thicke.

Grim.
O, oh no more, O God, I spattell blood.

Ros.
I haue done, spyt out, this doth you much good:
Boye?

Boy.
Anon.

Boy within.
Ros.
Bring the drinke in the Porringer,
To gargalis his teeth.

Boy.
It is here syr.

Exit.
Ros.
Wash your teeth with this, good maister Grimball.

Grim.
I am poysoned, ah, it is bytter gall:

Ros.
Eate these Comfyts, to sweeten your mouth with all.

Grim.
Yea mary syr, these are gay sugred geare.

Ros.
Their sweetnesse straight, wyll make you stinke I feare:

Grim.
UUell nowe, what must I paye, that chy were gone?

Ros.
UUhat you wyll.

Grim.
Sayest me so? O cham vndone.

Ros.
Howe nowe Grimball?

Grim:
O Leard, my Purse is cutte.

Ros.
UUhen? where?

Grim.
Nowe, here.

Ros.
Boye, let the doore be shutte,
If it be here, we wyll straight wayes see,
Where's he, that came with you?

Grim.
I can not tell.

Ros.
What is hee?

Grim.
I knowe not.

Ros.
Where doth he dwell?

Grim.
O Leard, I ken not I.

Ros.
You haue done well.
This knaue, your pence, in his pocket hath purst:
Let's seeke him out.

Grim.
Nay harke, I must neades first:
O Learde, Learde, cham sicke, my belly akes, too, too:

Ros.
Thou lookst yll: well, yle tell thee what to doo.
Since thou art so sicke, straight wayes, get thee home,
To finde this Iacke, my selfe abroade wyll rome.
The rather, for that he playde the knaue with mee.

Gri.
Cham sicke in deede, and therfore ych thanke thee:

Ros.
I see sometime, the blinde man hits a Crowe,
He maye thanke me, that he is plagued soe:

Gri.
Well, well, Dalia, the Loue ych bare to thee,
Hath made me sicke, and pickt my purse from mee.

Exit.
Ros.
A, is he gone? a foole company him,
In good soothe Sir, this match fadged trim:
Well, I wyll trudge, to finde my fellewe Rowke,
To share the price, that my deuise hath tooke.

Exit.

Scena. 6.

Cassandra, in blacke.
Cas.
The heauy chardge, that Nature bindes me too,
I haue perform'd, ingrau'd my Brother is:
O woulde to God (to ease, my ceaseles woo)
My wretched bones, intombed were with his.
But O in vaine, this bootelesse wish, I vse,
I, poore I must lyue in sorrowe, ioynde with shame:
And shall he lyue? that dyd vs both abuse?
And quench through rule, the coles of iust reuenge?
O: no, I wyll nowe hye me to the King:
To whome, I wyll, recount my wretched state,
Lewde Promos rape, my Brothers death and all:
And (though with shame, I maye this tale relate)
To prooue that force, enforced me to fall:
When I haue showne, Lorde Promos fowle misdeedes,
This knife foorthwith, shall ende my woe and shame,
My gored harte, which at his feete then bleedes,
To scorge his faultes, the King wyll more inflame.
In deedes to doo, that I in woordes pretende,
I nowe aduise, my iourney, to the King:
Yet ere I go, as Swans sing at their ende,
In solemne Song, I meane my knell to ryng.
Cassandraes Song.

Exit.