 | The Pleasant Comoedie of Patient Grissill |  |
Marquesse.
Looke you so strang my hearts, to see our limbes
Thus suited in a Hunters liuery?
Oh tis a louely habite, when greene youth
Like to the flowry blossome of the spring,
Conformes his outward habite to his minde,
Looke how yon one ey'd wagoner of heauen,
Hath by his horses fiery winged hoofes,
Burst ope the melancholy Iayle of Night,
And with his gilt beames cunning Alchimy,
Turn'd al these cloudes to gold, who (with the winds)
Upon their misty shoulders bring in day:
Then sally not this morning with foule lookes,
But teach your Iocond spirits to ply the Chase,
For hunting is a sport for Emperors.
Pau.
We know it is, and therefore doe not throw
On these your pastimes, a contracted brow,
How swift youths Bias runs to catch delights,
To me is not vnknowne: no brother Gualther,
This day you vowed to wed: but now I see,
Your promises turne all to mockerie.
Lepi.
This day your self appointed to giue answere
To all those neighbour-Princes, who in loue
Offer their Daughters, Sisters and Allies,
In marriage to your hand: yet for all this
The houre being come that calles you to your choyce
You stand prepard for sport and start aside:
To hunt poore deere when you should seeke a Bride.
Marq.
Nay come Mario your opinion too,
H'ad neede of ten men's wit that goes to woe.
Ma.
First satisfie these Princes, who expect
Your gracious answere to their embassies,
Then may you freelie reuell: now you flie
Both from your owne vowes, & their amitie.
Marq.
How much your iudgmens erre: who gets a wife
Must like a huntsman beate vntrodden pathes,
To gaine the flying presence of his loue.
Looke how the yelping beagles spend their mouthes
So Louers doe their sighes: and as the deare,
Out-strips the actiue hound, & oft turnes backe
To note the angrie visage of her foe,
Who greedy to possesse so sweet a pray,
Neuer giues ouer till he ceaze on her,
So fares it with coy dames, who great with scorne
Shew the care-pined hearts, that sue to them
Yet on that feined slight, (Loue conquering them)
They cast an eye of longing backe againe,
As who would say, be not dismaid with frownes,
For though our tongues speake no: our hearts sound yea,
Or if not so, before theile misse their louers,
Their sweet breathes shal perfume the Amorous ayre
And braue them still to run in beauties Chase:
Then can you blame me to be hunter like,
When I must get a wife? but be content,
Your willes shall answere mine, my liking yours,
And that no wrinckle on your cheekes shall ride,
This day the Marquesse vowes to choose a bride.
Pa.
Euen by my honor,
Marq.
Brother be aduis'd,
The importunitie of you and these,
Thrusts my free thoughts into the yoake of loue,
To grone vnder the loade of marriage,
Since then you throwe this burthen on my youth
Sweare to me whome soeuer my fancie choose,
Of what discent, beautie or birth she be,
Her you shall like and loue as you loue me.
Pa.
Now by my birth I sweare, wed whome you please,
And Ile imbrace her with a brothers arme.
Lepi.
Mario and my selfe to your faire choice,
Shall yeeld all dueties and true reuerence.
Marq.
Your protestations please me Iollilie,
Lets ring a hunters peale, and in the eares
Of our swift forrest, Cittizens proclaime,
Defiance to their lightnes: our sports done,
The Uenson that we kill shall feast our bride,
If she proue bad, ile cast all blame on you,
But if sweet peace succeede this amorous strife,
Ile say my wit was best to choose a wife.
Exeunt.
As they goe in, hornes sound & hollowing within: that done, Enter Ianicolo, Grissil, and Babulo, with two baskets begun to be wrought.
Bab.
Olde Master heeres a morning able to make
vs worke tooth and naile (marrie then we must haue
victualls) the Sun hath plaid boe peep in the element
anie time these two houres, as I doe some mornings
whē you cal: what Babulo say you: heere Master say I
and then this eye opens, yet don is the mouse, lie still:
what Babulo sayes Grissil, anone say I, and then this
eye lookes vp, yet downe I snug againe: what Babulo
say you againe, and then I start vp, and see the
Sunne, and then sneeze, and then shake mine eares,
and then rise, and then get my breakfast, and then fal
to worke, and then wash my hands, and by this time
I am ready: heer's your basket, and Grissill heer's
yours.
Ian.
Fetch thine own Babulo, lets ply our busines.
Bab.
God send me good lucke Master.
Gri.
Why Babulo, what's the matter?
Bab.
God forgiue mee, I thinke I shall not eate a
pecke of salt: I shall not liue long sure, I should be a
rich man by right, for they neuer doe good deedes, but
when they see they must dye, and I haue now a monstrous
stomacke to worke, because I thinke I shall
not liue long.
Ian.
Goe foole, cease this vaine talke and fall to
worke.
Bab.
Ile hamper some body if I dye, because I am
a basket maker.
Exit.
Ian.
Come Grissill, worke sweet girle, heere the warme Sunne will shine on vs,
Wee'll coole our sweating browes in yonder shade.
Gri.
Father, me thinkes it doth not fit a maide,
By sitting thus in view, to draw mens eyes
To stare vpon her: might it please your age,
I could be more content to worke within.
Ian.
Indeed my childe, mens eyes do now adaies,
Quickly take fire at the least sparke of beauty,
And if those flames be quencht by chast disdaine,
Then their inuenom'd tongues (alacke) doe strike,
To wound her fame whose beauty they did like.
Gri.
I will auoide their darts and worke within.
Ian.
Thou needst not, in a painted coate goes sin,
Then keepe me companie: how much vnlike
Are thy desires to manie of thy sex?
How manie wantons in Saliuia,
Frowne like the sullen night, when their faire faces
Are hid within doores: but got once abroad,
Like the proud Sun they spred their staring beames.
They shine out to be seene, their loose eyes tell,
That in their bosomes wantonnes doe dwell:
Thou canst not doe so Grissill, for thy Sun,
Is but a Starre, thy Starre, a sparke of fire,
Which hath no power t'inflame doting desire:
Thy silkes are thrid-bare russets: all thy portion
Is but an honest name: that gon thou art dead,
Though dead thou liu'st, that being vnblemished.
Gris.
If to die free from shame be nere to die,
Then Ile be crownd with immortallitie.
Ian.
Pray God thou maist: yet childe my iealous soule
Trembles through feares, so often as mine eyes
Sees our Duke court thee: and when to thine eares
He tunes sweet loue-songs: oh beware my Grissill
He can prepare his way with gifts of golde,
Upon his breath, winged Promotion flies
Oh my deare Girle trust not his sorceries,
Did he not seeke the shipwracke of thy fame?
Whie should he send his tailors to take measure
Of Grissils bodie: but as one should say,
If thou wilt be the Marquesse concubine,
Thou shalt weare rich attires: but they that thinke,
With costly garments, sins blacke face to hide,
Weare naked brauerie and ragged pride.
Gris.
Good father doe not shake your age with feares
Although the Marquesse sometimes visit vs,
Yet all his words and deedes are like his birth,
Steept in true honor: but admit they were not,
Before my soule looke black with speckled sinne,
Ian.
The musick of those words sweetē mine eares
Come girle lets faster worke: time apace weares.
Enter Babulo with his worke.
Gris.
Come Babulo why hast thou staid so long?
Ba.
Nay why are you so short, Masters heeres monie
I tooke (since I went) for a cradle: this yeare I
thinke be leape yeare, for womē doe nothing but buy
cradles, by my troth I thinke the world is at an end,
for as soone as we be borne we marrie: as soone as we
marrie we get children, (by hooke or by crooke gotten
they are) children must haue cradles, and as soone as
they are in them, they hop out of thē, for I haue seene
little girls that yesterday had scarce a hand to make
them ready, the next day had worne wedding rings
on their fingers, so that if the world doe not ende, we
shall not liue one by another: basket making as all other
trades runs to decay, and shortly we shall not be
worth a butten, for non in this cutting age sowe true
stitches, but taylers and shoomakers, & yet now and
then they tread their shooes a wrie too.
Ia.
Let not thy tongue goe so: sit downe to worke
And that our labour may not seeme to long,
Weele cunningly beguile it with a song.
Ba.
Doe master for thats honest cousonage.
The Song.
Song.
Oh sweet content!
Art thou rich yet is thy minde perplexed?
Oh punnishment.
Dost thou laugh to see how fooles are vexed?
To ad to golden numbers, golden numbers.
O sweet content, o sweet &c.
Honest labour beares a louely face,
Then hey noney, noney: hey noney, noney.
O sweet content!
Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sinck'st in thine owne teares,
O punnishment.
Then hee that patiently wants, burden beares,
No burden beares, but is a King, a King,
O sweet content, &c.
Enter Laureo.
Ba.
Weep master, yonder comes your Sonne
Ian.
Laureo my Sonne? oh heauen let thy rich hand
Poure plentious shewers of blessing on his head.
Lau.
Treble the number fall vppon your age,
Sister?
Gri.
Deare brother Laureo welcome home.
Ba.
Master Laureo (Ianiculaes sonne) welcome home,
how doe the nine muses, Pride, couetousnes, enuie, sloth,
wrath, gluttonie and letcherie? you that are Schollers,
read how they doe.
Lau.
Muses: these (foole) are the seauen deadly sins.
Ba.
Are they: Mas me thinkes its better seruing thē,
then your nine muses, for they are starke beggers.
Ian.
Often I haue wisht to see you heere,
Lau.
It grieues me that you see me heere so soone.
Ian.
Why Laureo dost thou grieue to see thy father,
Or dost thou scorne me for my pouertie.
Ba.
He needes not, for he lookes like poore Iohn himselfe,
eight to a necke of Mutten, is not that your commons,
& a Cue of breade?
Lau.
Father I grieue my young yeares to your age,
Should adde more sorrowe.
Why sonne whats the matter?
Lau.
That which to thinke on makes me desperate.
I that haue chargd my friends, and from my father
Puld more then he could spare, I, that haue liud,
These nine yeares at the Uniuersity,
Must now for this worlds deuill: this angell of golde,
Haue all those daies and nights to beggerie solde,
Through want of money, what I want I misse,
Who is more scorn'd then a poore: scholler is?
Bab.
Yes three things: Age, wisdome, & basket makers
Gri.
Brothers what meanes these words?
Lau.
Oh I am mad.
To thinke how much a Scholler vndergoes,
And in th'ende reapes naught but pennurie.
Father I am inforced to leaue my booke,
Because the studie of my booke doth leaue me,
In the leane armes of lancke necessitie.
Hauing no shelter (ah me) but to flie
Into the sanctuarie of your aged armes.
Bab.
A trade, a trade, follow basket-makeing, leaue
bookes and turne block-head.
Ian.
Peace foole, welcome my sonne, thogh I am poore
My loue shall not be so: goe daughter Grissill,
Fetch water from the spring to seeth our fish.
Which yester day I caught: the cheare is meane,
But be content, when I haue solde these Baskets,
The monie shall be spent to bid thee welcome:
Grissill make hast, run and kindle fire.
Exit. Grissill.
Ba.
Goe Grissill Ile make fire, and scoure the kettle,
its a hard world when schollers eate fish vpon flesh daies
Lau.
Ist not a shame for me that am a man,
Nay more, a scholler to endure such neede,
That I must pray on him, whome I should feede?
Ian.
Nay grieue not Sonne, better haue felt worse
Come sit by me while I worke to get bread,
And Grissill spin vs yearne to cloath our backs.
Then what shall we there want, nothing my sonne
For when we cease from worke euen in that while,
My song shall charme griefes eares and care beguile.
Enter Grissill running with a Pitcher.
Gris.
Father as I was runaing to fetch water,
I saw the Marquesse with a gallant traine
Come riding towards vs, O see where they come.
Enter Marquesse, Pauia, Mario, Lepido, two Ladies and some other attendants.
Mar.
See where my Grissill, and her father is,
Me thinkes for beautie shining through those weedes,
Seemes like a bright starre in the sullen night.
How louely pouertie dwels on her backe,
Did but the proud world note her as I doe,
She would cast off rich robes, forsweare rich state,
To cloth them in such poore abiliments,
Father good fortune euer blesse thine age.
Ian.
All happiness attend my gracious Lorde.
Marq.
And what wish you faire Maide?
Gris.
That your high thoughts.
To your contentment may be satisfied.
Mar,
Thou wouldst wish soe, knewst thou for what I come
Brother of Pauia beholde this virgin,
Mario Lepido is she not faire?
Pa.
Brother I haue not seene so meane a creature,
So full of beautie.
Mar.
Were but Grissils birth,
As worthie as her forme, she might be held
A fit companion for the greatest state.
Lau.
Oh blindnes, so that men may beautie finde,
They nere respect the beauties of the minde,
Father Ianicola whats hee that speake?
Ian.
A poore despised scholler and my Sonne.
Mar.
This is no time to holde dispute with schollers
Tell me in faith olde man what dost thou thinke,
Because the Marquesse visits thee so oft?
Ian.
The will of Princes subiects must not serch,
Let it suffice, your grace is welcome hither.
Marq.
And ile requite that welcome if I liue,
Grissill suppose a man should loue you dearely,
As I know some that doe, would you agree
To quittance true affection with the like.
Gri.
None is so fond to fancie pouertie.
Mar.
I say there is: come Lords stand by my side,
Nay brother you are sped and haue a wife,
Then giue vs leaue that are all Batchelers,
Now Grissil, eye vs well and giue your verdicte,
Which of vs three you holde the proprest man,
Gri.
I haue no skill to iudge proportions.
Marq.
Nay then you iest, women haue eagles eyes,
To prie euen to the heart, and why not you?
Come, we stand fairely, freely speake your minde,
For by my birth, he whome thy choice shall blesse,
Shall be thy husband.
Mar.
What intends your grace?
Lepi.
My Lord I haue vowed to leade a single life,
Marq.
A single life? this cunning cannot serue,
Doe not I know you loue her I haue heard?
Your passions spent for her, your sighes for her,
Mario to the wonder of her beautie,
Compiled a Sonnet.
Mar.
I my Lord write sonnets?
Marq.
You did intreate me to intreate her father,
That you might haue his daughter to his wife.
Lep.
To anie one I willingly resigne,
All interest in her, which doth looke like mine,
Mar.
My Lorde I sweare she nere shall be my bride,
Marq.
Both of you turn'd Apostataes in loue,
Nay then Ile play the cryer: once, twice, thrice,
Speake or shee's gone els: no, since twill not be,
Since you are not for her, yet shee's for me.
Pau.
What meane you Brother?
Marq.
Faith no more but this:
By loues most wondrous Metamorphosis,
To turne this Maide into your Brothers wife,
Nay sweet heart looke not strange I doe not iest,
But to thine eares mine Amorous thoughts impart,
Gualter protests he loues thee with his heart,
Lau.
The admiration of such happines,
Makes me astonisht.
Gris.
Oh my gracious Lord,
Humble not your high state to my lowe birth,
Whome not worthy to be held your slaue,
Much lesse your wife.
Marq.
Grissill that shall suffice,
I count thee worthie: olde Ianicola,
Art thou content that I shall be thy Sonne?
Ian.
I am vnworthy of so great a good.
Marq.
Tush tush talk not of worth, in honest tearmes
Tell me if I shall haue her? for by heauen
Unlesse your free consent alowe my choice,
To win ten kingdomes Ile not call her mine.
Whats thy Sonnes name?
Ian.
Laureo My gracious Lord.
Marq.
Ile haue both your consents: I tell ye Lords,
I haue wooed the virgin long, oh manie an houre,
Haue I bin glad to steale from all your eyes,
To come disguis'd to her: I sweare to you,
Beautie first made me loue, and vertue woe,
I lou'd her lowlynes, but when I tride
What vertues were intempled in her brest,
My chast hart swore that she should be my bride.
Ian.
What to my Lord seemes best to me seemes so
Marq.
Laureo whats your opinion?
Lau.
Thus my Lorde.
If equall thoughts durst both your states conferre,
Her's is to lowe, and you to high for her,
Marq.
What saies faire Grissill now?
Gris.
This doth she say,
As her olde Father yeeldes to your dread will,
So she her fathers pleasure must fulfill.
If olde Ianicola make Grissill yours,
Grissill must not deny, yet had she rather,
Be the poore Daughter still of her poore Father.
Marq.
Ile gild that pouertie, and make it shine,
With beames of dignitie: this base attire,
These Ladies shal teare of, and decke thy beautie
In robes of honour, that the world may say,
Uertue and beautie was my bride to day.
Mar.
This meane choice, will distaine your noblenes
Marq.
No more Mario then it doth disgrace
The Sunne to shine on me.
Lep.
Shee's poore and base.
Marq.
Shee's rich: for vertue beautifies her face.
Pau.
What will ye world say when the trump of fame
Shall sound your high birth with a beggers name?
Marq.
The world still lookes a squint, & I deride
His purblind iudgement; Grissill is my Bride,
Ianicola, and Laureo: father, brother,
You and your Son grac'd with our royall fauour,
Shall liue to outweare time in happines.
Enter Babulo.
Ba.
Master I haue made a good fire: sirha Grissill, the fishe
Ian.
Fall on thy knees thou foole: see heeres our duke
Ba.
I haue not offended him, therefore Ile not ducke
and he were ten Dukes.
Ile kneele to none but God and my Prince.
Lau.
This is thy Prince, be silent Babulo,
Bab.
Silence is a vertue, marie tis a dumbe vertue:
I loue vertue that speakes, and has a long tongue like a
belweather, to leade other vertues after: if he be a Prince,
I hope hee is not Prince ouer my tongue, snailes, wherefore
come all these: Master heeres not fish enough for vs,
Sirha Grissill the fire burnes out.
Marq.
Tell me my loue what pleasant fellow is this?
Gris.
My aged Fathers seruant my gracious Lorde.
Bab.
How, my loue: master a worde to ye wise, scillicet me my loue.
Marq.
Whats his name,
Bab.
Babulo Sir is my name.
Marq.
Why dost thou tremble so? we are al thy friends
Bab.
Its hard sir for this motley Ierkin, to find friendship
with this fine doublet.
Marq.
Ianicola bring him to Court with thee.
Bab.
You may be asham'd to lay such knauish burden
vppon olde ages shoulders: but I see they are stooping a
little, all crie downe with him: He shall not bring me sir,
ile carrie my selfe.
Marq.
I pray thee doe, Ile haue thee liue at court,
Ba.
I haue a better trade sir, basketmaking,
Marq.
Grissill I like thy mans simplicitie,
Still shall he be thy seruant Babulo,
Grissill thy mistresse, now shall be my wife.
Bab.
I thinke sir I am a fitter husband for her.
Marq.
Why shouldst thou think, I wil make her rich
Bab.
Thats al one sir, beggers are fit for beggers, gētlefolkes
for gētlefolkes: I am afraid yt this wōder of ye rich
louing ye poor, wil last but nine daies: old M bid this merrie
gentlemā home to dinner, you shal haue a good dish of
fish sir: & thank him for his good wil to your daughter Gris.
for ile be hāgd if he do not (as manyrichcogging marchāts)
now a daies doe when they haue got what they would,
giue her the belles, let her flye.
Gri.
Oh beare my Lord with his intemperate tongue
Marq.
Grissill I take delight to heare him talke.
Bab.
I, I, y'oare best take mee vp for your foole: are
not you he, that came speaking so? to Grissill heere, doe you
remember how I knockt you once for offering to haue a
licke at her lips.
Marq.
I doe remember it and for thy paines,
A golden recompence ile giue to thee.
Bab.
Why doe, and ile knock you as often as you list.
Marq.
Grissill this merrie fellow shall be mine,
But we forget our selues, the daie growes olde.
Come Lords cheare vp your lookes & with faire smiles,
Grace our intended nuptials: time may come,
When all commaunding loue your hearts subdue,
The Marquesse may performe as much for you.
Exeunt.
Enter Farneze, Vrcenze, and Rice meeting them running.
Far.
Rice how now man? whether art yu gallopping?
Ric.
Faith euen to finde a full maunger: my teeth water
till I be mounching, I haue bin at the Cutlers, to bid
him bring away Sir Owens rapier, and I am ambling
home thus fast, for feare I am driuen to fast.
Vrc.
But Sirha Rice, when's the day? will not thy
master Sir Owen and Signior Emulo fight?
Ric.
No, for Signior Emulo has warn'd my Master to
the court of Conscience, and theres an order set downe,
that the coward shall pay my Master good words weekelie,
till the debt of his choller be runne out.
Far.
Excellent, but did not Emulo write a challenge to Sir Owen.
Rice.
No he sent a terrible one, but hee gaue a sexton
of a Chuch a groate to write it, and hee set his marke to
it, for the gull can neither write nor reade.
Ric.
Ha ha, not write and reade? why I haue seene him
pul out a bundle of sonnets writen, & read them to Ladies.
Far.
He got thē by heart Vrcenze, & so deceiu'd the poor
soules: as a gallant whome I know, cozens others: for
my briske spāgled babie wil come into a Stationers shop,
call for a stoole and a cushion, and then asking for some
greeke Poet, to him he falles, and there he grumbles God
knowes what, but Ile be sworne he knowes not so much
as one Character of the tongue.
Ric.
Why then its greeke to him.
Far.
Ha, ha, Emulo not write and read?
Ric.
Not a letter and you would hang him.
Vrc.
Then heele neuer be saued by his book.
Ric.
No nor by his good workes, for heele doe none.
Signiors both, I commend you to the skies, I commit you to God, adew.
Far.
Nay sweet Rice a little more,
Ric.
A little more will make me a great deale lesse,
house keeping you know is out of fashion: vnlesse I ride
post, I kisse the post: in a worde ile tell you all, challenge
was sent, answered no fight, no kill, all friends, all
fooles, Emulo coward, Sir Owen braue man, farewell,
dinner, hungrie: little cheare, great great stomacke, meate
meat, meate, mouth, mouth, mouth, adue, adue, adue.
Exit.
Vrc.
Ha, ha, adue Rice, Sir Owen belike keepes a leane Kitchin.
Far.
What els man, thats one of the miserable vowes
he makes when hee's dubd: yet he doth but as manie of
his brother knights doe, keepe an ordinarie table for him
and his long coate follower.
Vrc.
That long coate makes the master a little king,
for whersoeuer his piece of a follower comes hopping after
him, hees sure of a double guarde.
Far.
Ile set some of the Pages vpon thy skirts for this
Vrc.
I shall feele them no more then so many fleas,
therefore I care not: but Farneze youle prooue a most accomplisht
coxecombe.
Far.
Oh olde touch lad, this yonker is right Trinidado
pure leafe Tobacco, for indeed hee's nothing purffe, reeke,
and would be tried (not by God and his countrie) but by
fire, the verie soule of his substance and needes would
conuert into smoke.
Vrc.
Hee's Steele to the backe you see, for he writes Challenges.
Far.
True, and Iron to the head, oh theres a rich leaden
minerall amongst his braines, if his skull were well
digd, Sirha Vrcence, this is one of those changeable
Silke gallants, who in a verie scuruie prid, scorne alschollers,
and reade no bookes but a looking glasse, and speake
no language but sweet Lady, and sweet Signior and chew
between their teeth terrible words, as though they would
coniure, as complement and Proiects, and Fastidious, &
Caprichious, and Misprizian, and the Sintheresis, of the
soule, and such like raise veluet tearmes.
Vrc.
What be the accontremēts now of these gallāts?
Far.
Indeed thats one of their fustiā outlādish phrases
to, marrie sir their accontremēts, are al ye fātasticke fashions,
yt can be taken vp, either vpō trust or at second hand.
Vrc.
Whats their quallities?
Far.
None good, these are the best: to make good faces:
to take Tobacco well, to spit well, to laugh like a
wayting Genllewoman, to lie well, to blush for nothing,
to looke big vpon little fellowes, to scoffe with a grace,
though they hane a verie filthie grace in scoffing, and for
a neede to ride prettie and well.
Vrc.
They cannot choose but ride well, because euerie good wit rides them.
Far.
Heere's the difference, that they ride vpon horses,
and when they are ridden they are spur'd for asses, so they
can crie wighee and hollow kicking iade, they care not
if they haue no more learning then a Iade.
Vrc.
No more of these Iadish tricks: heere comes the hobbie horse.
Far.
Oh he would daunce a morrice rarely if hee were
hung with belles.
Vrc.
He would iangle vilanously.
Far.
Peace lets incounter them.
S. O.
By Cod Sir Emuloes, sir Owen is clad out a crie
becaus is friends with her, for Sir Owen sweare, did her
not sweare Rice?
Ric.
Yes forsooth.
Spit out his meate.
S. Ow.
By Cod is sweare terrible to knog her pade,
and fling her spingle legs at plum trees, when her come to
fall to her tagger and fencing trigs, yes faith and to breag
her shins did her not Rice?
Ric.
Yes by my troth Sir.
S. Ow.
By Cods vdge me is all true, and to giue her
a great teale of blouddie nose, because Sir Emuloes you
shallenge the prittish Knight, Rice you knowe Sir Owen
shentleman first, and secondly knight, what apox ale you
Rice, is shoke now?
Ric.
No sir I haue my fiue sences and am as wel as any man.
S. O.
Well here is hand, now is mighty friends.
Emu.
Sir Owen
Far.
Now the gallimaufrie of language comes in.
Emu.
I protest to you, the magnitude of my condolement,
hath bin eleuated the higher to see you and my selfe, two gentlemen.
S. Ow.
Nay tis well knowne Sir Owen is good shentleman, is not Rice?
Ric.
He that shall deny it Sir ile make him eate his words.
Emu.
Good friend I am not in the Negatiue, bee not
so Caprichious, you misprize me, my collocution tēdeth to S. Owens dignifiing.
Fra.
Lets step in, God saue you Singnior Emulo.
Vrc.
Well encountred S. Owen.
S. O.
Owe, how do you S. Em. is frends out a cry now
but Emuloes take heede, you match no more loue trigs to
widdow Gwenthyans, by Cod vrdge me, that doe so must
knoge her, see you nowe?
Em
Not so tempestious sweet knight: though to my
disconsolation, I will obliuionize my loue to the welch
widdowe, and doe heere proclaime my delinquishment,
but sweet Signior be not to Diogenicall to me,
Sir O.
Ha ha is knowe not what genicalls meane, but
Sir Owen will genicall her, and her tag her genicalling
Gwenthyan.
Far.
Nay faith weele haue you sound friends indeede,
otherwise you know, Signior Emulo, if you should beare
all the wrongs, you would be our Athlassed.
Emu.
Most true.
Sir O.
By god is out a crie friends, but harg Farneze,
Vrcenze twag a great teale to Emuloes: Ow. is great teale
of frends: ha ha is tell fine admirable shest, by Cod Emuloes,
for feare S. Owen, knog her shines, is tell, Sir Owen
by tozen shentlemen her pooets is put about with lathes,
ha, ha, serge her serge her.
Fa.
No more tell Vrcenze of it: why should you two
fall out for the loue of a woman, considering what store
we haue of them? Sir Emulo I gratulate your peace,
your company you know is precious to vs, and weele bee
merrie, and ride abroad: before god now I talke of riding,
Sir Owen me thinkes has an excellent boote.
Vrc.
His leg graces the boote.
S. Ow.
By God is fine leg and fine poote to: but Emulas
leg is petter, and finer, and shenglier skin to weare.
Emu.
I bought them of a pennurious Cordwainer, &
they are the most incongruent that ere I ware.
S. Own.
Congruent? sploud what leather is congruent,
spanish leather?
Emu.
Ha ha, well Gentlemen I haue other proiects
becken for me, I must disgresse from this bias, and leaue
you: accept I beseech you of this vulgar and domestick
complement.
Whilst they are saluting, Sir Owen gets to Emuloes leg and puls downe his Boote.
Sir. O.
Pray Emuloes let her see her congruence leather
ha ha, owe what a pox is heere: ha, ha, is mag a wall to
her shins, for keep her warme?
Fa.
Whats heer lathes? where's the lime & hair Emulo,
Ric.
Oh rare, is this to saue his shins?
S. Ow.
Ha, ha, Rice goe call Gwenthyan,
Ric.
I will master dahoma, Gewnthyan dahoma?
S. Ow.
A pogs on her goe sedge her and call her within
Ric
I am gone sir.
Fa.
Nay sir Owen what meane you?
S. Ow.
By Cod is meane ta let Gwenthyan see what
bobie foole loue her, apogs on you.
Emu.
Sir Owen and Signiors both, doe not expatiate
my obloquie, my loue shall bee so fast conglutinated to
you.
S. Ow.
Cods plud, you call her gluttons, Gwenthyan,
so ho Gwenthyan?
Emu.
Ile not disgest this pill, Signiors adieu.
You are Fastidious and I banish you.
Exit Emulo.
Enter Gwenthyan.
Fa.
Gods so, heere comes the widdow, but in faith Sir
Owen say nothing of this.
S Ow.
No goe to thē, by Cod Sir Owen beare as praue
minde as Emprour.
Gwe.
Who calles Gwenthyan so great teale of time?
Vrc.
Sweet widdow euen your countrieman heere.
S. Ow.
Belly the ruddo whee: wrage witho, Mandag
eny Mou du ac whellock en wea awh.
Gwe.
Sir Owen gramarrye whee: Gwenthyan Mandage
eny, ac wellock en Thawen en ryn mogh.
Far
Mundage Thlawen, oh my good widdow gabble
that we may vnderstand you, and haue at you.
S. Ow.
Haue at her: nay by Cod is no haue at her to,
Is tawge tn her prittish tongue, for tis fine delicates
tongue, I can tell her. welshe tongue is finer as greeke
tongue.
Far.
A bakte Neates tongue is finer then both.
S. Ow,
But what saies Gwenthyans now? will haue
Sir Owen, Sir Owen is knowne for a wiselie man,
as any since Adam and Eues time, and that is by Gods
vdge me a great teale agoe.
Vrc.
I thinke Salomon was wiser then Sir Owen.
S. Ow.
Salomons had prettie wit: but what say you to
King Tauie: King Tauie is well knowne was as good
musitions, as the pest fidler in aul Italie, and King Tauie
was Sir Owens countrieman, yes truely a prettish shentlemen
porne, and did twinckle, twinckle, twinckle, out
a crie vpon welsh-harpe, and tis knowne Tauie loue Mistris
Persabe, as Sir Owen loues Gwenthyan: will her
haue Sir Owen now?
Far
Faith widdow take him, Sir owen is a tall
man I can tell you.
S. ow.
Tall man, as God vnde mee, her thinke
the prittish shentelman, is faliant as Mars that is the
fine knaues, the poets say the God of pribles & prables,
I hope widdowe you see little more in Sir owen then
in Sir Emuloes, say shal her? haue her now, tis faliant, as
can desire, I warrant her.
Gw.
Sir owen, Sir owen, tis not for faliant, Gwenthyan
care so much, but for honest and fertuous, and louing
and pundall to leade her haue her will.
S. owe.
God vdge mee, tage her away to her husband,
and is led her haue her will owd a crie, yet by God
is pridle her well enoughe.
Gw.
Well S. owen, Gwenthyan is going to her cozen
Gualther the Duke, for you knowe is her neere cozen by
marriage, by tother husband that pring her from Wales.
ow.
By Cod Wales is better countrie then Italies, a
great teale so better.
Gw.
Now if her cozen Gwalther say Gwenthyan tage
ths pritish knight, shall loue her diggon: but must haue
her good will: marg your thad Sir owen.
ow.
Owe whats else: Sir owen marg yt ferrewel,
yet shall tage her downe quiglie inough, come widdowe
will wag to the coward, now to her cozen, and bid her cozen
tell her minde of Sir owen.
Gw.
Youle man Gwenthyan Sir owen?
ow.
Yes by Cod and prauely to, come Shentlemans
you'le tag paines to goe with her?
Far.
Weele follow you presently Sir owen.
S. ow.
Come widdow: Vn lod dis Glane Gwēthyā mondu
Gw.
Gramercie wheeh, Am a Mock honnoh.
Exeunt.
Far.
So this wil be rare: Sirrah Vrcenze, at the marriage
night of these two, insteede of Io Hymen, we shall
heere hey ho Hiemen, their loue will bee like a great fire
made of bay leaues, that yeeldes nothing but cracking
noise, noise.
Vrc.
If she misse his crowne tis no matter for crackking,
Far.
So she soader it againe, it will passe currant.
Enter Onophrio and Iulia walking ouer the Stage.
Vrc.
Peace heere comes our faire mistris.
Far.
Lets haue a fling at her.
Vrc.
So you may, but the hardnes is to hit her.
Ono.
Farewel Farneze you attēd wel vpō your mistris,
Iul.
Nay, nay, their wages shall be of the same colour that their seruice is of.
Far.
Faith mistris would you had trauelled a little sooner
this way, you should haue seene a rare comedy acted by Emulo.
Euerie courteous mouth will be a stage for that,
rather tell her of the welch tragedie that's towards.
Iul.
What Tragedie?
Far.
Sir Owen shall marrie your couzen Gwenthyan,
Iul.
Ist possible: oh they two will beget braue warriours:
for if she scolde heele fight, and if he quarrell sheele
take vp the bucklers: shee's fire and hee's brimstone, must
not there be hot doeings then thinke you?
On.
Theyle prooue Turtles, for their hearts being so
like, they cannot choose but bee louing.
Iul.
Turtles: Turkie-cocks, for Gods louelets intreate
the Duke my brother, to make a lawe, that wheresoeuer
Sir Owen and his Ladie dwell, the next neighbour
may alwaies be Constable, least the peace bee broken, for
theyl'e doe nothing but crye arme, arme, arme.
Far.
I thinke sir Owen would die rather then loose her loue
Iul.
So thinke not I.
On.
I should for Iulia, if I were Iulies husband.
Iul.
Therefore Iulia shal not be Onophries wife, for Ile haue none die for me.
I like not that coloure.
Far.
Yes for your loue you would Iulia.
Iul.
No nor yet for my hate Farneze.
Vrc.
Would you not haue men loue you sweet mistris?
Iul.
No not I, fye vpon it sweet seruant.
On.
Would you wish men to hate you?
Iul.
Yes rather then loue me, of al saints I loue not to serue mistris Venus.
Far.
Then I prceiue you meane to leade apes in hell.
Iul.
That spitefull prouerbe was proclaim'd against
them that are marryed vpon earth, for to be married is to
liue in a kinde of hell.
Far.
I as they doe at barlibreake.
Iul.
Your wife is your ape, and that heauie burthen
wedlocke, your Iacke an Apes clog, therefore ile not bee
tyed too't: Master Farneze, sweet virginitie is that
inuisible God-head that turns into Angells, that makes
vs saints on earth and starres in heauen: heere Uirgins
seeme goodly, but there glorious: In heauen is no wooing
yet all there are louely: in heauen are no weddings yet al
there are louers.
On.
Let vs sweet Madame turne earth into heauen, by being all louers heere to.
Iul.
So we doe to an earthly heauen we turne it.
On.
Nay but deare Iulia, tel vs why so much you hate,
to enter into the lists of this same combat Martimonie?
Iul.
You may well call that a combat, for indeede marriage
is nothing else, but a battaile of loue, a friendly fighting,
a kinde of fauourable terrible warre: but you erre
Onophrio in thinking I hate it I deale by marriage as
some Indians doe the Sunne, adore it, and reuerence
it, but dare not stare on it, for feare I be starke blinde:
you three are batchellers, and being sicke of this maidenhead,
count al thinges bitter, which the phisicke of a single
life minnisters vnto you: you imagine if you could
mak the armes of faire Ladies the spheres of your hearts,
good hearts, then you were in heauen: oh but Batchilers
take heede, you are no sooner in that heauen, but you
straite slip into hell.
Far.
As long as I haue a beautifull Ladie to torment me, I care not.
Vrc.
Nor I the sweetnes of her lookes shall make me rellish any punnishment.
On.
Except the punnishment of the horne Vrcenze, put that in.
Iul.
Nay hee were best put that by: Lord, Lord, see
what vnthrifts this loue makes vs? if he once but get into
our mouthes, hee labours to turne our tongues to clappers,
and to ring all in, at Cupids Church when we were
better to bite off our tōgues, so we may thrust him out,
Cupid is sworne enemie to time, & he that looseth time
I can tell you looseth a friend.
I, a bald friend.
Iu.
Therefore my good seruants if, you weare my liuerie,
cast of this loose vpper coate of loue: bee ashamde
to waite vppon a boy, a wag, a blinde boy, a wanton:
My brother the Duke wants our companies, tis Idlenes
and loue, makes you captaines to this solitarines, followe
me & loue not, & ile teach you how to find libertie.
All.
We obey to follow you, but not to loue you, no renounce
that obedience.
Exeunt
Enter the Marquesse and Furio.
Marq.
Furio.
Fur.
My Lorde.
Marq.
Thy faith I oft haue tride, thy faith I credit
For I haue found it sollid as the rocke:
No babbling eccho sits vpon thy lips,
For silence euen in speach, doth seale them vp,
Wilt thou be trustie Furio to thy Lorde?
Fur.
I will.
Marq.
It is enough, those words I will,
Yeelds sweeter musicke then the gilded sounds,
Which chatting parrats long toung'd sicophants,
Send from the organs of their siren voice,
Grissill my wife thou seest beare in her wombe,
The ioy of marriage: Furio I protest,
My loue to her is as the heate to fire,
Her loue to mee as beautie to the Sunne,
(Inseperable adiuncts) in one word,
So dearely loue I Grissill, that my life
Shall end, when she doth ende to be my wife.
Fur.
Tis well done.
Marq.
Yet is my bosome burnt vp with desires,
To trie my Grissils patience, Ile put on
A wrinckled forehead, and turne both mine eyes,
Into two balles of fire, and claspe my hand
But Furio when that hand lifts vp to strike,
It shall flie open to embrace my loue,
Yet Grissill must not knowe this: all my words,
Shall smack of wormewood, all my deeds of gall,
My tongue shall iarre, my hart be musicall,
Yet Grissill must not knowe this?
Enter Grissill.
Fur.
Not for me,
Marq.
Furio My triall is thy secrecie,
Yonder she comes: on goes this maske of frownes,
Tell her I am angrie: men men trie your wiues,
Loue that abides sharpe tempests, sweetely thriues.
Fur.
My Lorde is angry.
Gris.
Angry? the heauēs foresēd: with whō? for what?
Is it with mee?
Fur.
Not me.
Gris.
May I presume,
To touch the vaine of that sad discontent,
Which swels vpon my deare Lords angrie browe?
Marq.
Away away,
Gris.
Oh chide me not away,
Your handmaid Grissill with vnuexed thoughts,
And with an vnrepining soule, will beare
The burden of all sorrowes, of all woe,
Before the smallest griefe should wound you so.
Marq.
I am not beholding to your loue for this,
Woman I loue thee not, thine eyes to mine
Are eyes of Basiliskes, they murder me.
Gris.
Suffer me to part hence, Ile teare them out,
Because they worke such treason to my loue.
Marq.
Talke not of loue I hate thee more thē poyson
That stickes vpon the aires infected winges,
Exhald vp by the hot breath of the Sunne,
Sits like a screech-owle on my honoured brest,
To make my subiects stare and mocke at mee,
They sweare theyle neuer bend their awfull knees,
To the base issue of thy begger wombe,
Tis for thy sake they curse me, raile at me,
Thinkst thou then I can loue thee (oh my soule)
Why didst thou builde this mountaine of my shame,
Why lye my ioyes buried in Grissills name?
Gri.
My gracious Lorde.
Marq.
Call not me gracious Lorde,
See woman heere hangs vp thine auncestrie,
The monuments of thy nobillitie,
This is thy russet gentrie, coate, and crest
Thy earthen honors I will neuer hide,
Because this bridle shall pull in thy pride.
Gris.
Poore Grissill is not proud of these attires,
They are to me but as your liuerie,
And from your humble seruant when you please,
You may take all this outside, which indeede
Is none of Grissills, her best wealth is neede,
Ile cast this gaynesse of, and be content
To weare this russet brauerie of my owne,
For thats more warme then this, I shall looke olde,
No sooner in course freeze then cloth of golde.
Marq.
Spite of my soule sheele triumph ouer mee.
Fur.
Your gloue my Lord,
Marq.
Cast downe my gloue againe,
Stoope you for it, for I will haue you stoope,
And kneele euen to the meanest groome I keepe.
Gris.
Tis but my duetie if youle haue me stoope,
Euen to your meanest groome my Lord ile stoope.
Marq.
Furio how slouenly thou goest attir'd?
Fur.
Why so my lorde?
Marq.
Looke heere thy shooes are both vntide,
Grissill kneele you and tye them.
Pardon me.
Marq.
Quickely I charge you,
Gris.
Friend you doe me wrong,
To let me holde my Lord in wrath so long,
Stand still Ile kneele and tye them: what I doe
Furio tis done to him and not to you.
Tye them.
Fur.
Tis so.
Marq.
Oh strange oh admirall patience,
I feare when Grissills bones sleepe in her graue,
The world a second Grissill nere will haue,
Now get you in.
Gris.
I goe my gracious Lord.
Exit
Marq.
Didst thou not here her sigh, did not one frown
Contract her beautious forehead.
Fur.
I saw none
Marq.
Did not one drop fal downe frō sorrowes eies,
To blame my heart for these her iniuries?
Fur.
Faith not a drop, I feare sheele frowne on mee,
For doeing mee seruice?
Marq.
Furio that ile trie,
My voice may yet ore-take her: Grissill, Grissill?
Enter Grissill.
Fur.
She comes at first call.
Gris.
Did my Lorde call?
Marq.
Woman I cald thee not,
I said this slaue was like to Grissill, Grissill,
And must you therefore come to torture mee?
Nay stay here's a companion fit for you,
Thou vexest me, so doth this villaine to,
But ere the Sun to his highest throne ascend,
My indignation in his death shall end.
Gris.
Oh pardone him my Lord, for mercies wings
Beares round about the world the fame of Kings,
Temper your wrath I beg it on my knee,
Marq.
Thanke her.
Fu.
Thankes Madame.
Marq.
I haue not true power,
To wound thee with deniall, oh my Grissill,
How dearely should I loue thee,
Yea die to doe thee good, but that my subiects
Upbraid me with thy birth, and call it base,
And grieue to see thy Father and thy Brother
Heau'de vp to dignities.
Gris.
Oh cast them downe,
And send poore Grissill poorely home againe,
High Cedars fall, when lowe shrubs safe remaine.
Exit
Enter at the same doore Mario and Lepido.
Mari.
Fetch me a cup of wine.
Fur.
Shees a saint sure.
Marq.
Oh Furio now ile boast that I haue found,
An Angell vpon earth: she shalbe cround
The empresse of all women. Lepido?
Mario? what was she that passed by you?
Both.
Your vertuous wife.
Marq.
Call her not vertuous,
For I abhorre her, did not her swolne eyes
Looke red with hate or scorne? did she not curse
My name or Furioes name?
Mari.
No my deare Lord.
Marq.
For he and I raild at her, spit at her,
Ile burst her heart with sorrow, for I grieue
To see you grieue that I haue wrong'd my state,
By louing one whose basenes now I hate.
Enter Grissill with wine.
Come faster if you can forbeare Mario,
Tis but her office: what she does to mee,
She Shall performe to any of you three,
Ile drinke
I am glad to see her pride thus trampled downe
Marq.
Now serue Mario, then serue Lepido:
And as you bowe to me, so bend to them.
Gris.
Ile not deni't to win a diademe.
Mari.
Your wisdome I commend that haue ye power
To raise or throw downe as you smile or lower.
Gris.
Your patience I commend that can abide,
To heare a flatterer speake yet neuer chide.
Marq.
Hence, hence dare you controule thē whome I grace
Come not within my sight.
Gris.
I will obey,
And if you please, nere more beholde the day.
Exit.
Marq.
Furio?
Fur.
My Lorde,
Marq.
Watch her where she goes,
And marke how in her lookes this tryeall shewes.
Fur.
I will.
Exit.
Marq.
Mario, Lepido, I loath this Grissill,
As sicke men loath the bitterest potion
Which the Phisitions hand holdes out to them,
For Gods sake frowne vpon her when she smiles,
For Gods sake smile for ioy to see her frowne,
For Gods sake scorne her, call her beggers brat,
Torment her with your lookes, your words your deedes,
My heart shall leape for ioy, that her heart bleedes,
Wilt thou doe this Mario?
Mari.
If you say.
Mario, doe this I must in it obey.
Marq.
I know you must, so Lepido must you
Tis well; but counsell me whats best to doe,
How shall I please my subiects? doe but speake,
Ile doe it though Grissils heart in sunder breake.
Lepi.
Your subiects doe repine at nothing more,
Then to beholde Ianicola her Father,
And her base brother lifted vp so high.
Mari.
To banish them from Court were pollicie.
Oh rare, oh profound wisedome, deare Mario,
It foorthwith shall be done, they shall not stay,
Though I may win by them a Kingdomes sway,
Exit
Lep.
Mario laugh at this.
Ma.
Why so I doe.
Hedlong I had rather fall to miserie.
Then see a begger rais'd to dignitie.
Exeunt.
Enter Babulo singing with a boy after him.
Bab.
Boy how sits my rapier: la sol la sol. &c.
Boy.
It hangs as euen as a chandlers beame.
Bab.
Some of them deserue to hang vpon a beame
for that euennes, boy learne to giue euery man his due,
giue the hangman his due, for hee's a necessary member.
Boy.
Thats true, for he cuts of manie wicked mēbers.
Bab.
Hees an excellent barber, he shaues most cleanly
But page how dost thou like the Court?
Boy.
Prettilie and so,
Bab.
Faith so doe I pretlie and so: I am wearie of being a Courtiour Boy.
Boy.
That you cannot bee Master, for you are but a Courtiers man.
Bab.
Thou saist true & thou art the Courtiers mans
boy, so thou art a courtier in decimo sexro in the least
volume, or a courtier at the third hand, or a courtier by reuersion,
or a courtier three descents remoued, or a courtier
in minoritie or an vnder Courtier or a courtier in
posse, and I thie Master in esse:
Boy.
A posse an esse non este argumentum Master,
Bab.
Thou hast to much wit to be so little, but imitation, imitation, is his good Lord and Master.
Enter Ianicola Laureo and Furio.
Banisht from Court, oh what haue wee misdone?
Lau.
What haue wee done, wee must bee thus disgraced?
Fu.
I know not, but you are best packe, tis my Lords
will, and thats law, I must vncase you: your best course
is to fall to your owne trades.
Ba.
Sirra, what art thou a Broker?
Fu.
No, how then, I am a Gentleman.
Ba,
Th'art a Iewe, th'art a Pagan: howe darst thou
leaue them without a cloke for the raine, whē his daughter,
and his sister, and my Mistris is the Kings wife?
Fu.
Goe looke, sirra foole, my condition is to ship you too.
Bab.
There's a ship of fooles ready to hoyst sayle, they
stay but for a good winde and your company: ha ha ha,
I wonder (if all fooles were banisht) where thou wouldst
take shipping.
Ian.
Peace Babulo, we are banisht from the Court.
Bab.
I am glad, it shall ease me of a charge heere, as
long as we haue good cloathes on our backes, tis no matter
for our honesty, wee'll liue any where, and keep Court
in any corner.
Enter Grissill.
Ian.
Oh my deere Grissill.
Gri.
You from me are banisht,
But ere you leaue the Court, oh leaue I pray
Your griefe in Grissils bosome, let my cheekes
Be watred with woes teares, for heere and heere,
And in the error of these wandring eyes,
Began your discontent: had not I been,
By nature painted thus: this had not been,
To leaue the Court and care be patient,
In your olde cottage you shall finde content.
Mourne not because these silkes are tane away,
Fur.
Will you be packing? when?
Lan.
Friend whats thy name?
Fur.
Furio my name is, what of that?
Bab.
Is thy name Furie? thou art halfe hang'd, for
thou hast an ill name.
Lau.
Thy lookes are like thy name, thy name & lookes
Approoue thy nature to be violent.
Gris.
Brother forbeare, hee's seruant to my Lord.
Ba.
To him, M. spare him not an inch.
Lau.
Princes are neuer pleas'd with subiects sinnes,
But pitie those whom they are sworne to smite,
And grieue as tender mothers when they beate,
With kinde correction their vnquiet babes
So should their Officers compassionate,
The misery of any wretches state.
Fur.
I must obey my Master, though indeed
My heart (that seemes hard) at their wrongs doth bleed.
Pray get you gone, I say little, but you knowe my minde.
Bab.
Little said is soone amended, thou say'st but little,
and that little will be mended soone indeed, thats neuer,
and so the Prouerbe stands in his full strength, power
and vertue.
Enter Marquesse, Mario and Lepido, and attendantes.
Fur.
They will not goe my Lord.
Marq.
Will they not goe?
Away with them, expell them from our Court,
Base wretches, is it wrong to aske mine owne?
Thinke you that my affection to my wife,
Is greater then my loue to publicke weale?
Doe not my people murmure euerie houre,
That I haue rais'd you vp to dignities?
Scofe at her birth, and descant on her dower?
Ian.
Alas my Lord, you knew her state before.
Marq.
I did, and from the bounty of my heart,
I rob'd my wardrop of all precious robes,
That she might shine in beautie like the Sunne,
And in exchange, I hung this russet gowne,
And this poore pitcher for a monument,
Amongst my costliest Iemmes: see heere they hang,
Grissill looke heere, this gowne is vnlike to this?
Gris.
My gratious Lord, I know full well it is.
Ba.
Grissill was as pretty a Grissill in the one as in
the other.
Marq.
you haue forgot these rags, this water pot.
Gris.
With reuerence of your Highnes I haue not.
Ba.
Nor I, many a good messe of water grewell has
that yeelded vs.
Marq.
Yes, you are proude of these your rich attyres.
Gris.
Neuer did pride keep pace with my desires.
Marq.
Wel, get you on, part brieflie with your father.
Ian.
Our parting shall be short, daughter farewell.
Lau.
Our parting shall be short, sister farewell.
Ba.
Our parting shall be short, Grissill farewell.
Ian.
Remember thou didst liue when thou wert poor,
And now thou dost but liue, come sonne no more.
Marq.
See them without the Pallace Furio.
Fu.
Good, yet tis bad.
Exeunt with Furio.
Ba.
Shall Furio see them out of the Pallace? doe you
turne us out of doores? you turne vs out of doores
then?
Marq.
Hence with that foole, Mario driue him hence.
Ba.
He shall not neede, I am no Oxe nor Asse, I can
goe without driuing, for al his turning, I am glad of one
thing.
Lep.
Whats that Babulo?
Mary that hee shall neuer hit vs ith teeth with
turning vs, for tis not a good turne, follower I must cashere
you: I must giue ouer houskeeping, tis the fashion,
farewell boy.
Boy.
Marie farewell and be hang'd.
Ba.
I am glad thou tak'st thy death so patiently, farewell
my Lord, adue my Lady, great was the wisedome
of that Taylor, that stitcht me in Motley, for hee's a foole
that leaues basket making to turne Courtier: I see my
destiny dogs me: at first I was a foole (for I was borne
an Innocent) then I was a traueller, and then a Basket-maker,
and then a Courtier, and now I most turne basket-maker
and foole againe, the one I am sworne to, but
the foole I bestowe vpon the world, for Stultorum plena
sunt ominia adue, adue.
Exit.
Mar.
Farewell simplicity, part of my shame farewell,
Now Lady what say you of their exile?
Gri.
Whateuer you thinke good, Ile not terme vile,
By this rich burthen in my worthles wombe,
Your hand-maide is so subiect to your will,
That nothing which you doe, to her seemes ill.
Mar.
I am glad you are so patient, get you in,
Exit Gr.
Thy like will neuer be, neuer hath bin.
Mario, Lepido?
Mario, Lepi.
My gratious Lord.
Mar.
The hand of pouerty held downe your states,
As it did Grissils, and as her I rays'd,
To shine in greatnes sphere, so did mine eye,
Through gilt beames of your births, therfore me thinkes
Your soule should simpathize, and you should know,
What passions in my Grissils bosome flowe,
Faith tell me your opinions of my wife?
Lep.
She is as vertuous and as patient,
As innocence, as patience it selfe.
Mari.
She merits much of loue, little of hate,
Onely in birth she is vnfortunate.
I, I, the memory of that mirth doth kill me,
She is with childe you see, her trauaile past,
I am determined she shall leaue the Court,
And liue againe with olde Ianicola.
Both.
Therein you shew true wisedome.
Marq.
Doe I indeed?
Deare friends it shall be done, Ile haue you two
Rumour that presently, to the wide eares
Of that newes-louing-beast the multitude,
Goe tell them for their sakes this shall be done.
Mari.
With wings we flye.
Lep.
Swifter then time we run.
Exeunt.
Marq.
Begone then: oh these times, these impious times,
How swift is mischiefe? with what nimble feete
Doth enuy gallop to doe iniury?
They both confesse my Grissils innocence,
They both admire her wondrous patience,
Yet in their malice and to flatter me,
Head-long they run to this impiety.
Oh whats this world, but a confused throng
Of fooles and mad men, crowding in a thrust
To shoulder out the wise, trip downe the iust.
But I will try by selfe experience,
And shun the vulgar sentence of the base,
If I finde Grissill strong in patience,
These flatterers shall be wounded with disgrace,
And whilst verse liues, the fame shall neuer dye,
Of Grissils patience, and her constancy.
Exit.
Enter Vrcenze and Onophrio at seuerall doores, and Farnezie in the mid'st.
Far.
Onophrio and Vrcenze early met, euery man
take his stand, for there comes a most rich purchase of
mirth: Emulo with his hand in a faire scarfe, and Iulia
with him, she laughes apace, and therefore I am sure hee
lyes apace.
Enter Emulo with Iulia.
Ono.
His arme in a scarfe? has he been fighting?
Far.
Fighting? hang him coward.
Vrc.
Perhaps he does it to shew his scarfe.
Far.
Peace, heere the asse comes, stand aside, and see him curuet.
Iul.
Did my new maried cousen Sir Owen wound you thus?
Emu.
Hee certes, as he is allyed to the illustrious Iulia.
I liue his deuoted, as Signior Emuloes enemy, no adulatory
language can redeeme him from vengeance: if
you please my most accomplisht Mistris, I will make a
most palpable demonstration of our battaile.
Iul.
As palpably as you can good seruant.
Ono.
Oh she gulles him simply.
Far.
She has reason, is he not a simple gull?
Vrc.
Sound an allarum ere his battle begin.
Farn.
Peace, sa, sa, sa.
Emu.
Sir Owen and my selfe encountring, I vailde
my vpper garment, and enriching my head againe with
a fine veluet cap, which I then wore, with a band to it
of Orient Pearle and Golde, and a foolish sprig of some
nine or ten pound price, or so, wee grewe to an emparleance.
Far.
Oh ho ho, this is rare.
Iul.
You did wisely to conferre before you combated.
Emu.
Uerily we did so, but falling into the handes of
bitter words, we retorted a while, and then drew.
Ono.
True, his gloues to saue his hands.
Vrc.
No, his hand-kercher to wipe his face.
Far.
He sweat pittifully for feare, if it were true: if,
I was then encountred with a pure Toledo siluered:
and eleuating mine arme, in the drawing (by Iesu
sweete Madame, my rich cloake loaded with Pearle,
which I wore at your sister Grissils bridall, I made it
then (by God) of meere purpose, to grace the Court, and
so foorth) that foolish garment dropped downe: the
buttons were illustrious and resplendant diamonds, but
its all one.
Far.
Nay, they were all scarce one.
Emu
Diuine Lady as I said, we both lying,
Fa.
Ile be sworne thou dost.
Emu.
I must recognize and confesse very generouslie,
and heroycallie at our ward, the welsh Knight making
a very desperate thrust at my bosome, before God
fairely mist my imbroydered Ierkin that I then wore,
and with my ponyard vapulating and checking his
engine downe, it cut mee a payre of very imperiall
cloth of golde hose, at least thus long thwart the cannon,
at least.
Iul.
And mist your leg?
Fa.
I, and his hose too.
Emu.
And mist my leg (most bright starre) which aduantagious
signe I ( ) this legge (hauing a fayre
carnation silke stocking on) stumbled, my spangled garters
in that imprision fell about my feete, and he fetching
a most valarous and ingenious careere, inuaded my Rapier
hand, entred this gilded fort, and in that passado vulnerated
my hand thus deepe I protest, and contest heauen.
Iul.
No more, its too tragicall.
Emu.
I conclude, I thought (by the Syntheresis of my
soule) I had not been imperished, till the bloud shewing
his red tincture, at the top of a faire enneloped gloue,
sunke along my arme, & spoil'd a rich wastecoate wrought
in silke and golde, a toy &c.
Hee'll strip himselfe out of his shirt anone, for Gods sake step in.
Emu.
My opinion is I shall neuer recuperate the legittimate
office of this member my arme.
All 3.
Signior Emulo.
Emu
Sweet and accomplisht Signiors.
Far.
Ha ha, Madame you had a pitiful hand with this
foole, but see he is recouered.
Iu.
But seruant where is your other hand?
Ono.
See sweet mistris one is my prisoner.
Vrc.
The other I haue tane vp with the fine finger.
Iul.
Looke in his scarfe Farneze for an other, hee has a
third hand, and tis pitifully wounded hee tels me, pitifully,
pitifully.
Far.
Wounded, oh palpable, come a demonstration
of it.
Ono.
Giue him your larded cloake Signior to stop his
mouth, for he will vndoe you with lyes.
Vrc.
Come Signior, one fine lye now to apparrell all
these former, in some light sarcenet robe of truth: none,
none, in this mint?
Iul.
Fye seruant, is your accomplisht Courtship nothing
but lyes?
Ono.
Fye Signior, no musicke in your mouth, but battles,
yet a meere milke-sop.
Vrc.
Fye Emulo, nothing but wardrop, yet heare all
your trunckes of suites?
Far.
Fye Signior, a scarfe about your necke, yet will
not hang your selfe to heare all this?
Iul.
Seruant I discharge you my seruice, Ile entertaine
no braggarts.
Ono.
Signior, we discharge yoy the Court, wee'l haue
no gulles in our company.
Far.
Abram we casheere you our company, wee must
haue no minnions at Court.
Emu.
Oh patience bee thou my fortification: Italy
thou spurnest me for vttering that nutriment, which I
suckt from thee.
Fa.
How Italy? away you ideot: Italy infects you not,
but your owne diseased spirits: Italy? out you froth, you
scumme, because your soule is mud, and that you haue
breathed in Italy, you'll say Italy haue defyled you: away
you bore, thou wilt wallow in mire in the sweetest countrie
in the world.
Emu.
I cannot conceipt this rawnes: Italy farewell, Italians adue.
A vertuous soule abhorres to dwell with you.
Exit.
All.
Ha ha ha:
Laugh.
Enter Marquesse and Sir Owen.
Iu.
Peace seruants, here comes the Duke my brother.
Marq.
Loe cousen heere they be: are yee heere Gentlemen?
And Iulia you too? then Ile call your eyes,
To testifie, that to Sir Meredith,
I doe deliuer heere foure sealed bondes:
Coze haue a care to them, it much behooues you,
For Gentlemen, within this parchment lyes,
Fiue thousand Duckets payable to him,
Iust foureteene daies before next Penticoast,
Coze it concernes you, therefore keep them safe.
Owen.
Fugh, her warrant her shall log them vb from
Sunne and Moone, and seauen starres too I hobe, but
harg you cozen Marquesse.
Marq.
Now, whats the matter?
Ow.
A poxe on it tis scalde matter, well, well pray
cozen Marquesse, vse her Latie Grissill a good teale better,
for as God vdge me, you hurd Sir Owen out a cry by
maging her sad and powd so, see you?
Marq.
Hurt you? what harme or good reape you thereby?
Harme, yes by Gods lid, a poggie teale of
harme, for loog you cozen, and cozen Iulia, & Shentlemen
awl, (for awl is to know her wifes case) you know her
tag to wife the widdow Gwenthyan.
Marq.
True cozen & shee's a vertuous gentlewoman.
On.
One of the patientest Ladies in the world.
Vrc.
Shee's wondrous beautifull & wondrous kinde.
Far.
Shee's the quietest woman that ere I knew, for
good heart, shee'll put vp any thing.
Iul.
Cozen I am proude that you are sped so well.
Ow.
Are you? by God so are not I, ile tel you what cozen
Marquesse, you awl know her wel, you know her face
is liddle faire & smug, but her has a tung goes Iingle iangle,
Iingle iangle, petter and worse then pelles when her
house is a fire: patient? ha ha sir Owen shall tag her heeles
and run to Wales, and her play the tiuell so out a cry terrible
a pogs on her la.
Iul.
Why cozen what are her quallities that you so
commend her?
Ow.
Commend her? no by God not I, ha ha: is know
her quallities petter & petter, fore I commend her: but
Gwenthian is worse and worse out a cry, owe out a cry
worse, out of awl cry, shee's fear'd to be made fool as Grissill
is, & as God vdge me, her mag fine pobbie foole of Sir
Owen, her shide & shide, & prawle & scoulde, by God and
scradge terrible somtime, owe & haid her wil doe what her
can, ha ha ha, and sir Owen were hansome pacheler agen,
pray cozen Marquesse tag some order in Grissill, or tedge
sir Owen to mag Gwenthians quiet and tame her.
Marq.
To tame her? that Ile teach you presently,
You had no sooner spake the word of Taming,
But mine eye met a speedy remedie,
See cozen heere's a plot where Osiers grow,
The ground belongs to olde Ianicula
(My Grissils father) come Sir Meredith,
Take out your knife cut three and so will I,
These three (thus wound together) Ile preserue.
Ow.
What shal her doe now with these? peate and
knog her Gwenthian.
Enter Mario.
Marq.
You shal not take such counsaile from my lips,
How now Mario? what newes brings thee hither in such quicke haste?
Mari.
Your wife (my gratious Lord)
Is now deliuered of two beautious twins,
A sonne and daughter.
Marq.
Take that for thy paines,
Not for the ioy that I conceiue thereby,
For Grissill is not gratious in the eye
Of those that loue me, therefore I must hate
Those that doe make my life vnfortunate.
And thats my children: must I not Mario?
Thou bowest thy knee, well, well I know thy minde,
Uertue in villaines can no succour finde,
A sonne and daughter? I by them will prooue,
My Grissils patience better, and her loue:
Come Iulia, come Onophrio, coze farewell,
Reserue those wandes, these three Ile beare away,
When I require them backe, then will I shew
How easily a man may tame a shrew.
Exeunt.
Ow.
Ha ha ha, tame a shrew, owe tis out a cry terrible
hard, and more worse then tame a mad pull, but whad
meane her cozen to mag her cut her wands? ha ha, God
vdge me tis fine knag, I see her knauery now, tis to pang
Gwenthyans podie and she mag a noise & prabble: Is not
so? by Gods lid so, & Gwenthian, sir Owen will knog you
before her abide such horrible doe.
Gods lid here her comes. Terdawgh Gwenthian Terdawgh.
Gwe.
Terdawgh whee, Sir Owen Terdawgh whee.
Owen.
Owe, looge heere, fine wandes Gwenthyan, is not?
Rees tag them and preag them in peeces.
Ric.
What say you forsooth?
Gwe.
What say you forsooth? you saucie knaue, must
her tell her once, and twice, and thrice, and foure times,
what to doe? preag these wands.
Ow.
Rees is petter preake Rees his pate: heere Rees carry her home.
Ri.
Would I were at gallowes, so I were not heere:
Gwen.
Doe and her tare, doe and her tare, see you
now, what shall her doe with wands? peate Gwenthyan?
podie and mag Gwenthyan put her finger in me hole:
ha, by God by God, is scradge her eies out that tudge her,
that tawg to her, that loog on her, marg you that Sir
Owen?
owen.
Yes, her marg her, Rees pray marg her Ladie?
Ri.
Not I sir shee'll set her markes on me then.
Gwen.
Is prade? is prade? goe too Rees, Ile Rees her,
you tawg you.
Owen.
Pray Gwenthien bee patient, as her cozen
Grissill is.
Gwe.
Grissill owe? owe? Grissill? no no, no, no. her shall
not mag Gwenthian such ninny pobbie foole as Grissill,
I say preage her wandes.
owen.
Cods plude is pought her to peate dust out of
her cloag and parrels.
Gwe.
Peate her cloag and parrels? fie, fie, fie, tis lye
Sir Owen tis lye.
Ri.
Your worship may stab her, she giues you the lye.
Ow.
Peace Rees, goe to, I pought them indeede to
mag her horse run and goe a mightie teale of pace, pray
let Rees tag her in good Gwenthian?
Gwen.
Rees beare in her wandes because Sir Owen
beg so gently.
owen.
Goe Rees, goe locke them vp in a pox or shest,
goe.
Ri.
You shal not need to bid me goe, for Ile run.
Exit.
I pought them for her horse indeede, for heere
was her cozen Marquesse and prought her pondes and
scriblings heere for her money: Gwenthyan pray keepe
her pondes and keep her wisely: Sirra Gwenthyan is
tell her praue newes, Grissill is prought to bed of liddle
shentleman and shentlewoman: (is glad out a cry speag
her faire) yes truely Grissill is prought a bed.
Gwen.
Grissils no podie but Grissils? what care I for
Grissill: I say if Sir Owen loue Gwenthyan, shal not loue
Grissill nor Marquesse so, see you now?
Ow.
God vdge me, not loue her cozen? is shealous?
owe is fine trig, not loue her cozen? God vdge me her wil,
and hang her selfe, see you now?
Gwe.
Hang her selfe, owe, owe, owe, Gwenthyans tother
husband is scawrne to say hang her selfe: hang her
selfe? owe owe, owe owe.
Ow.
Gods plude, what cannot get by prawles, is get
by owe, owe owe, is terrible Ladie, pray be peace, and
cry no more owe, owe, owe, Tawsone Gwenthyans, God
vdge me is very furie.
Gwen.
O mon Iago, mon due, hang Gwenthyans?
Ow.
Adologo whee Gwenthyan bethogh, en Thonigh,
en moyen due.
Gw.
Ne vetho en Thonigh, Gna wathe gethla Tee, hang
Gwenthyans?
Owen.
Sir Owen shall say no more hang her selfe, be
out a cry still and her shall pye her new card to ride in, &
two new fine horses, and more plew coates and padges
ta follow her heeles, see you now?
Gwen.
But will her say no more hang her selfe?
Enter Rice.
Ow.
Oh no more, as God vdge mee no more, pray
leaue, owe, owe, owe.
Ri.
Tannekin the Froe hath brought your Rebato, it
comes to three pound.
Ow.
What a pestilence is this for Gwenthyan?
For her neg, is cald repatoes, Gwenthian weare
it heere, ist not praue?
owen.
Praue? yes is praue, tis repatoes I warrant
her: I patoes money out a crie, yes tis praue, Rees the
preece? Rees the preece?
Ri.
The Froe sir saies fiue pound.
owen.
Ha ha ha, pound, Gwenthyan pray doe not
pye it.
Gwen.
By God vdge me her shall pye it.
owen.
God vdge me her shall not.
Gwen.
Shall not? Rees tag her away, I say her shall
and weare it pye and pye.
owen.
Then mag a pobbie foole of Sir Owen indeed:
Gods plude shall? I say shal not: fiue pound for puble, for
patoes: here there, so tag it now, weare it now powte her
neg, shall pridle sir Owen ha?
Ri.
Oh rare sir Owen, oh pretious Kninght, oh rare Sir Owen.
Gwe.
Out you raskals, you prade and prade, ile prade
your neaces.
Ri.
Oh rare Madame, oh pretious Madame, O God,
O God, O God, O.
Exit.
Gwe.
Is domineere now, you teare her ruffes and repatoes,
you preake her ponds? Ile teare as good pondes,
and petter too, and petter too.
Ow.
Owe Gwenthyan, Cods plude is fiue thousand
duckets, hold hold hold, a pogs on her pride, what has her done?
Gw.
Goe loog, is now paide for her repatoes, ile haue
her willes & desires, ile teadge her pridle her Lady: Catho
crogge, Ne vetho, en Thlonigh gna wathee Gnathla tee.
Exit
owen.
A breath vawer or no Tee: pridle her, sir owen
is pridled I warrant: widdows (were petter Gods plude
marry whoore) were petter be hang'd and quarter, then
marry widowes as God vdge me: Sir owen fall on her
knees, & pray God to tag her to her mercy, or else put petter
minde in her Lady: awl prittish Shentlemans tag
heede how her marry fixen widowe.
Sir owen ap Meredith can rightly tell,
A shrewes sharpe tongue is terrible as hell.
Exit.
Enter Marquesse and Furio with an infant in his armes.
Marq.
Did she not see thee when thou took'st it vp?
Fur.
No, she was fast a sleepe.
Marq.
Giue me this blessed burthen, pretty foole
With what an amiable looke it sleepes,
And in that slumber how it sweetly smiles,
And in that smile how my heart leapes for ioy:
Furio Ile turne this circle to a cradle,
To rocke my deare babe: A great Romaine Lord,
Taught his young Sonne to ride a Hodby-horse.
Then why should I thinke scorne to dandle mine:
Furio beholde it well, to whom ist like?
Fur.
You, there's your nose and blacke eye-browes.
Enter Mario.
Marq.
Thou dost but flatter me, heere comes Mario,
I know Mario will not flatter me,
Mario, thy opinion, view this childe,
Doth not his lips, his nose, his fore-head,
And euery other part resemble mine?
Mari.
So like my Lord, that the nice difference,
Would stay the iudgement of the curioust eye.
Marq.
And yet me thinkes I am not halfe so browne.
Mari.
Indeed your cheekes beare a more liuely colour.
Marq.
Furio, play thou the nurse, handle it softly.
Fur.
One were better get a dossen then nurse one.
Marq.
Mario step to Grissill shee's a sleepe,
Her white hand is the piller to those cares,
Which I vngently lodg'e within her head,
Steale thou the other childe and bring it hither,
If Grissill be awake and striue with thee,
Hath rob'd her of this other, haste Mario.
Mari.
I flie my gratious Lord.
Exit.
Marq.
Run flatterie, because I did blaspheme and cal it browne,
This Parrasite cride (like an Eccho) browne.
Fur.
The childe is faire my Lord, you were nere so faire
Marq.
I know tis faire, I know tis wondrous faire,
Deare prettie infant let me with a kisse,
Take that dishonor off, which the foule breath
Of a prophane slaue, laide vpon thy cheekes;
Had but I said my boy's a Blackamoore,
He would haue damn'd himselfe and so haue swore.
Enter Grissill and Mario with a childe.
Gris.
Giue me mine infant, where's my other babe?
You cannot plaie the nurse, your horred eyes
Will fright my little ones, and make them crie,
Your tongue's too ruffe to chime a lullabie:
Tis not the pleasure of my Lord I know,
To loade me with such wrong.
Mari.
No, I vnloade you.
Scoffingly.
Marq.
Giue her her childe Mario and yet staie,
Furio holde thou them both, Grissill forbeare,
You are but nurse to them, they are not thine.
Gri.
I know my gratious Lord they are not mine,
I am but their poore nurse I must confesse,
Alas let not a nurse be pittilesse.
To see the colde ayre make them looke thus bleake,
Makes me shed teares because they cannot speake.
Marq.
If they could speake, what thinke you they would say?
Gri.
That I in all things will your wil obay.
Marq.
Obay it then in silence: shall not I
Deliuer me these brats: come presse me downe,
With weightie infamie: heere is a loade
Of shame, of speckled shame: O God how heauie
An armefull of dishonour is? heeres two,
Grissill for this ile thanke none els but you,
Which way so ere I turne I meete a face,
That makes my cheekes blush at mine owne disgrace.
This way or this way, neuer shall mine eye
Looke thus, or thus: but (oh me) presentlie,
(Take them for Gods sake Furio) presentlie
I shall spend childish teares: true teares indeed,
That thus I wrong my babes and make her bleede,
Goe Grissill get you in.
Gri.
I goe my Lorde.
Farewell sweet sweet deare babes, so you were free,
Would all the worlds cares might be throwne on me.
Mar.
Ha, ha, why this is pleasing harmonie.
Fu.
My Lord they'le wrawle, what shall I doe with them?
Marq.
Tell her thou must prouide a nurse for them
Comes she not backe Mario?
Mari.
No my Lord.
Marq.
Tush, tush, it cannot be but sheele returne,
I know her bosome beares no marble heart,
I knowe, a tender Mother cannot part,
With such a patient soule, from such sweet soules,
She stands and watches sure, and sure she weepes,
To see my seeming flintie breast, Mario
Withdraw with me: Furio stay thou heere still,
If she returne, seeme childish, and denie
To let her kisse or touch them.
Exeunt
Fur.
Faith not I: I haue not such a heart, and shee
aske to touch them. Ile deny it because ile obey my Lord,
yet she shall kisse and touch them to, because Ile please
my Ladie: alas, alas, prettie fooles I loue you well but
I would you had a better Nurse.
Gris.
A better Nurse: seek'st thou a better Nurse?
A better Nurse then whome?
Fu.
Then you, away.
Gris.
I am their Mother I must not away,
Looke, looke, good Furio looke they smile on mee,
I know poore hearts they feare to smile on thee,
I prithee let me haue them.
Fu.
Touch them not.
Gri.
I prie thee let me touch them.
Fu.
No: Hands off.
Gri.
I prie thee gentle Furio let me kisse them.
Fu.
Not one kisse for a Kings crowne:
Gris.
Must I not kisse my babes: must I not touch them?
Alas what sin so vile hath Grissil done
That thus she should be vex'd? not kisse my infants?
Who taught thee to be cruell gentle churle,
What must thou doe with them?
Fu.
Get them a nurse.
Gris.
A Nurse alacke, what Nurse? where must shee dwell
Fu.
I must not tell you: till I know my selfe,
Gri.
For Gods sake who must Nurse them doe but name her,
And I will sweare those firie eyes doe smile,
And I will sweare that which none els will sweare,
That thy grim browes, doe mercies liuerie weare,
Fu.
Choose you.
Enter Marquesse, standing aside.
Gris.
Oh God, oh God, might Grissill haue her choice
My babes should not be scard with thy diuils voice.
Thou get a Nurse for them? they can abide,
To taste no milke but mine, come, come Ile chide,
In faith you cruell man, Ile chide indeede,
If I growe angrie.
Fu.
Do do I care not.
Marq.
To chide & curse thy Lord thou hast more need
Wilt thou not tell me who shall be their Nurse?
Fu.
No.
Gris.
Wilt thou not let me kisse them?
Fu
No I say.
Gris.
I prithee let my teares, let my bow'd knees,
Bend thy obdurate hart, see heer's a fountaine,
Which heauen into this Alablaster bowels,
Instil'd to nourish them: man theyle crie,
And blame thee that this ronnes so lauishly,
Heres milke for both my babes two brests for two.
Marq.
Poore babes I weep to see what wrong I doe.
Gris.
I pray thee let them suck I am most meete,
To play their Nurse: theyle smile and say tis sweet,
Which streames frō hence, if thou dost beare them hēce,
My angrie breasts will swell, and as mine eyes
Lets fall salt drops, with these white Necter teares,
They will be mixt: this sweet will then be brine,
Theyle crie Ile chide and say the sinne is thine.
Fu.
Mine armes ake mightily.
And my heart akes.
Marq.
And so doth mine: sweet sounds this discord makes.
Fu.
Heere Madame take one, I am weary of both,
touch it and kisse it to, its a sweet childe, I would I were
rid of my miserie, for I shall drowne my heart, with my
teares that fall in ward.
Gris.
Oh this is gentlie done this is my boy,
My first borne care: thy feete that neuere felt ground,
Haue traueld longest in this land of woe,
This worlds wildernes, and hast most neede,
Of my most comfort: oh I thanke thee Furio,
I know I should transforme thee with my teares,
And melt thy adamantiue heart like waxe,
What wrong shall these haue to be tane from mee,
Mildely intreate their Nurse to touch them mildely,
For my soule tels me, that my honoured Lord,
Hees full of mercie iustice, full of loue.
Marq.
My cheekes doe glow with shame to heere her speake,
Should I not weepe for ioy my heart would breake,
And yet a little more Ile stretch my tryall.
Enter Mario and Lepido.
Mario, Lepido?
Both
My gracious Lord?
Marq.
You shall be witnesse of this open wrong.
I gaue strait charge, she should not touch these brats,
Yet has she tempted with lasciuious teares,
The heart of Furio, see she dandles them,
Take that childe from her: stay, stay, ile commend,
That pittie in thee which Ile reprepend.
Fu.
Doe.
Marq.
Dare you thus contradict our strait commaund
But heeres a trustie groome, out hipocrite,
I shall doe Iustice wrong to let thee breath,
For disobaying me.
Gris.
My gracious Lord,
Marq.
Tempt me not Syren, since you are so louing,
Hold you take both your children, get you gon,
Disrobe her of these rich abiliments,
Take downe her hat, her pitcher and her gowne,
And as she came to me in beggerie,
So driue her to her fathers.
Mari.
My deare Lorde.
Marq.
Uex me not good Mario if you woe me,
(Or if you shed one teare) to pittie her,
Or if by any drift you succour her,
You loose my fauour euerlastingly,
Both.
We must obey since there's no remedye,
Marq.
You must be villaines theres no remedie,
Mario, Lepido, you two shall helpe,
To beare her children home.
It shall not neede I can beare more.
Marq.
Thou bearest too much indeed.
Gri.
Come, come sweet lambes wee'll laugh and liue content
Though from the Court we liue in banishment,
These rich attyres are for your mother fit,
But not your nurse, therefore Ile off with it.
Marq
Away with her I say.
Gris.
Away, away?
Nothing but that colde comfort wee'll obay,
Heauen smile vpon my Lord with gratious eye,
Marq.
Driue her hence Lepido.
Lep.
Good Madame hence.
Gri.
Thus tyranny oppresseth innocence,
Thy lookes seeme heauy, but thy heart is light,
For villaines laugh when wrong oppresseth right.
Run to him
Must we then be driuen hence: Oh see my Lord,
Sweet prettie fooles they both smil'd at that word.
They smile as who should say indeede indeede,
Your tongue cryes hence, but your heart's not agree'd,
Can you thus part from them? in truth I know,
Your true loue cannot let these infants goe.
Marq.
Shee'll tryumph ouer me doe what I can.
Turnes from her.
Mari.
Good Madame hence.
Gri.
Oh send one gratious smile
Before we leaue this place: turne not away,
Doe but looke backe, let vs but once more see
Those eyes, whose beames shall breath new soules in three.
It is enough now weele depart in ioy,
Nay be not you so cruell, should you two
Be thus driuen hence, trust me Ide pitty you.
Marq.
Disrobe her presently.
Both.
It shall be done.
Grissi.
To worke some good deede thus you would not runne.
Exeunt.
Marq.
Oh Grissill in large Carracters of golde,
Tell me thy iudgement Furio of my wife?
Fur.
I thinke my Lord shee's a true woman, for shee
loues her children, a rare wife, for shee loues you, (I beleeue
you'll hardly finde her match) and I thinke shee's
more then a woman, because shee conqueres all wrongs
by patience.
Mar.
Yet once more will I trye her, presently
Ile haue thee goe to olde Ianicolaes,
And take her children from her, breed some doubt,
(By speeches) in her, that her eyes shall neuer
Beholde them more: beare them to Pauia,
Commend vs to our brother, say from vs,
That we desire him with all kinde respect,
To nurse the infants, and withall conceale,
Their parentage from any mortall eare,
I charge thee on thy life reueale not this,
I charge thee on thy life, be like thy name,
(When thou comst to her) rough and furious.
Fur.
Well, I will: It's far from Saluce to Pauia, the
children will cry, I haue no teates you know, twere good
you thought vpon it.
Marq.
There's golde.
Fu.
That's good.
Marq.
Prouide them nurses.
Fu.
That's better, I will and I can.
Exit Furio.
Marq.
Away, though I dare trust thy secrecy,
Yet will I follow thee in some disguise,
And try thy faith, and Grissils constancy:
If thou abide vnblemisht, then I sweare,
A haue found two wonders that are sildome rife,
A trusty seruant, and a patient wife.
Exit.
Enter Ianicola and Laureo, with burdens of Osiers.
Lau.
Father how fare you?
Ian.
Uery well my sonne,
The Marquesse hath to me been mercifull,
In sending me from Courtly delicates,
To taste the quiet of this country life.
Lau.
Call him not mercifull, his tyranny
Exceedes the most inhumaine.
Ian.
Peace my sonne,
I thought by learning thou hadst been made wise,
But I perceiue it puffeth vp thy soule,
Thou takst a pleasure to be counted iust,
And kicke against the faults of mighty men:
Oh tis in vaine, the earth may euen as well
Challenge the potter to be partiall,
For forming it to sundry offices:
Alas the errour of ambitious fooles,
How fraile are all their thoughts, how faint, how weake?
Those that doe striue to iustle with the great,
Are certaine to be bruz'd, or soone to breake.
Come, come mell with our Osiers, heere let's rest,
This is olde homely home, & that's still best.
Enter Babulo with a bundle of Osiers in one arme and a childe in another, Grissill after him with another childe.
Bab.
Hush, hush, hush, hush, and I daunce mine own
childe, and I dance mine owne childe, &c: ha ha, whoop
olde Master, so ho ho, looke heere, and I dance mine own
childe, &c: heere's sixteene pence a weeke, and sixteene
pence a weeke, eight groates, sope and candle, I met her
in Osier groue, crying hush, hush, hush, hush: I thought
it had been some begger woman, because of her pitcher, for
you know they beare such houshold stuffe, to put drinke
and porrage together, and I dance mine, &c.
Lau.
Oh father now forsweare all patience,
Grissill comes home to you in poore array,
Grissill is made a drudge, a cast-away.
Ian.
Grissill is welcome home to pouerty,
Ba.
And I dance myne owne childe: art thou there? art thou there?
Ian.
Why art thou thus come home, who sent thee hyther?
Gri.
It is the pleasure of my princely Lord,
Who taking some offence, to me vnknowne,
Hath banisht me from care to quietnes.
Ba.
A fig for care, olde Master, but now olde graundsire,
take this little Pope Innocent, wee'll giue ouer basket
making and turne nurses, shee has vnckled Laureo:
Its no matter, you shall goe make a fire, Grandsire you
shall dandle them, Grissill shall goe make Pap, and Ile
licke the skillet, but first Ile fetch a cradle, its a signe tis
not a deare yeare, when they come by two at once, heer's
a couple quoth Iacke dawe, art thou there? sing Grandsire.
Exit.
Ian.
What said the Marquesse when he banisht thee?
Gri.
He gaue me gentle language, kist my cheeke,
For Gods sake therfore speake not ill of him,
Teares trickling from his eyes, and sorrowes hand
Stopping his mouth, thus did he bid adue,
Whilst many a deep fetcht sigh from his brest flew.
Therefore for Gods sake speake not ill of him.
Good Lord how many a kisse he gaue my babes,
And with wet eyes bad me be patient,
And by my truth (if I haue any truth)
I came from Court more quiet and content,
By many a thousand part then when I went:
Therefore for Gods loue speake not ill of him.
Lau.
O vile deiection of too base a soule,
Hast thou beheld the Paradice of Court,
Fed of rich seuerall meates, bath'd in sweet streames,
Slept on the bed of pleasure, sate inthroned,
Whilst troopes of Saint-like haue adored thee:
And being now throwne downe by violence,
Gri.
Far be it from my heart from enuying my Lord
In thought, much lesse eyther in deed or word.
Lau.
Then hast thou no true soule, for I would curse
From the Sunnes arising to his westerne fall,
The Marquesse and his flattering minions.
Gri.
By day and night, kinde heauen protect them all,
What wrong haue they done me? what hate to you?
Haue I not fed vpon the Princes cost?
Been cloath'd in rich attyres, liu'd on his charge?
Looke heere my russet gowne is yet vnworne,
And many a winter more may serue my turne,
By the preseruing it so many monthes:
My Pitcher is vnhurt, see it is fill'd
With christall water of the crisped spring.
If you remember on my wedding day,
You sent me with this pitcher to the well,
And I came empty home, because I met
The gratious Marquesse and his company.
Now hath he sent you this cup full of teares,
You'll say the comfort's colde, well be it so,
Yet euery little comfort helpes in woe.
Ian.
True modle of true vertue, welcome childe,
Thou and these tender babes to me are welcome.
Wee'll worke to finde them foode, come kisse them soone,
And let's forget these wrongs as neuer done.
Enter Babulo with a cradle.
Ba.
Come, where be these infidels? heere's the cradle
of security, and my pillow of idlenes for them, and their
Grandsires cleake (not of hypocrisie) but honesty to couer
them.
Ian.
Laureo fetch you my lute, rocke thou the cradle.
Couer the poore fooles arme, ile charme their eyes,
To take a sleepe by sweet tunde lullabyes.
Smiles awake you when you rise:
Sleepe pretty wantons doe not cry,
And I will sing a lullabie,
Rocke them rocke them lullabie.
You are care and care must keep you:
Sleepe pretty wantons doe not cry,
And I will sing a lullabie,
Rocke them rocke them lullabie.
Enter Furio and Marquesse aloofe disguised with baskets.
Fur.
Leaue singing.
Ba.
We may choose, Grandsire sol fa once more, we'll
alla mire him, and he we waile in woe, and who can hinder
vs?
Fur.
Sirra Scholler read there, it's a commission for
mee to take away these children.
Ba.
Nay then y'are welcome, there's foure groates,
and heere's foure more.
Gri.
To take away my children gentle Furio,
Why must my babes beare this vngentle doome?
Fur.
Goe looke.
Lau.
O misery, O most accursed time,
When to be foes to guilt is helde a crime,
Sister this fiend must beare your infants hence.
Ia.
Good Grissil beare al wrongs wt patience.
Weepes
Gri.
Good father let true patience cure all woe,
You bid me be content, oh be you so.
Lau.
Father why doe you weepe?
Ian.
What can I doe,
Though her he punish, he might pitty you.
Lau.
Let's fret and curse the Marquesse cruelly.
I by my troth that's a good way, we may well do
it, now we are out of his hearing.
Gri.
Must I then be diuorc'd? and loose this treasure,
I must and am content, since tis his pleasure,
I prie thee tell we whither they must goe?
Fu.
No.
Gri.
Art thou commaunded to conceale the place?
Fur.
I.
Gri.
Then will not I inquire, thou dost but iest
I know thou must not rob me, tis to try
If I loue them: no, no, heere I read,
That which strikes blinde mine eyes, makes my heart bleede,
Farewell, farewell, deare soules, adue adue,
Your father sendes and I must part from you,
I must oh God I must, must is for Kings,
And loe obedience, for loe vnderlings.
Lau.
He shall not hale them thus, keep them perforce,
This slaue lookes on them with a murdring eye.
Ba.
No, he shal not haue them, knocke out his braines,
and saue the little hop a my thombes.
Fa.
Doe if you dare.
Marq.
How now my hearts, what's the matter?
Fu.
What car'st thou.
Lau.
This is poore Grissil, wife vnto our Duke,
And these her children, thus he sendes her home,
And thus he sends a serpent to deuour,
Their pretious liues, he brings commission,
To hale them hence, but whyther none can tell.
Gris.
Forbeare, forbeare.
Marq.
Take them from him perforce,
Are these his children?
Ba.
So she saies.
Marq.
Two sweet Duckes, and is this his wife?
Ba.
Yes, he has lyne with her.
Mar.
A pretty soule, sirra thou wilt be hang'd for this.
Fu.
Hang thy selfe.
Beate him, but first take these two from his armes,
I am a basket maker, and I sweare
Ile dye before he beare away the babes,
Ba.
Oh rare, cry prentises and clubs, the corporation
cannot be ( ) sirra set downe thy baskets and to't
pell mell.
Fu.
Would I were rid of my office?
Gri.
What will you doe, driue this rashe fellowe hence?
Marq.
The Marquesse is a tyrant and does worng.
Gri.
I would not for the world that hee should heare thee.
Mar.
I would not for ten worlds but heare my Grissil.
Gri.
A tyrant, no he's mercy euen her selfe,
Iustice in triumph rides in his two eyes,
Take heede how thou prophanest high deityes:
Goe Furio, get thee gone: good father helpe me
To guard my deare Lords seruant from this place,
I know hee'll doe my pretty babes no harme,
For see Furio lookes gently: oh get thee gone,
Pitty sits on thy cheekes, but God can tell,
My heart saies my tongue lyes, farewell farewell.
Marq.
Stay sirra take thy purse.
Fur.
I let none fall.
Ba.
Halfe part.
Ia.
A purse of golde Furio is falne from thee.
Fu.
Its none of mine, sirra basket-maker, if my armes
were not full, thou should haue thy handes full: farewel
Grissill, if thou neuer see thy children more, curse mee, if
thou dost see them againe, thanke God, adue.
Exit.
Ba.
Farewell and be hang'd.
Gri.
I will thanke God for all, why should I grieue,
To loose my children? no no, I ought rather
Reioyce, because they are borne to their Father.
Ia.
Daughter, heere's nothing in this purse but golde.
Ba.
So much the better, Master we'll quickely turne
it into siluer.
Ia.
This purse that fellow did let fall, run run,
Carry it him againe, run Babulo,
Away with it, tis laide to doe vs wrong.
Lau.
Try all their golden baites, stay neuer run,
They can doe no more wrong then they haue done.
Ia.
What ayles my Grissill? comfort my childe.
Ba.
Ile fetch Rosa solis.
Marq.
Poore soule her griefe burnes inward, yet her tung
Is loath to giue it freedome: I doe wrong,
Oh Grissill I doe wrong thee and, lament,
That for my sake thou feel'st this languishment.
I came to try a seruant and a wife,
Both haue I prooued true, that purse of golde I brought,
And let it fall of purpose to relieue her,
Well may I giue her golde that so much grieue her,
As I came in by stealth, so Ile away,
Ioy has a tongue, but knowes not what to say.
Exit.
Gri.
So father I am well, I am well indeed,
I should doe wondrous ill, should I repine,
At my babes losse for they are none of mine.
Ia.
I am glad thou tak'st this wound so patiently.
Ba.
Whoope whether is my brother basket-maker
gone: ha let me see, I smell a rat, sneakt hence and neuer
take leaue, eyther hee's a craftie knaue, or else hee dogs
Furio to byte him, for when a quarrell enters into a trade
it serues seauen yeares before it be free.
Ia.
Let him be whome he will, he seem'd our friend,
Grissill lay vp this golde tis Furioes sure,
Or it may be thy Lord did giue it him,
To let it fall for thee, but keep it safe,
If he disdaine to loue thee as a wife,
His golde shall not buy foode to nourish thee,
Grissill come in, time swiftly runs away,
The greatest sorrow hath an ending day.
Exeunt.
Gwen.
Rees, lay her table, and set out her fittailes, and
preades, and wines, and ale, and peare, and salt for her
guesse.
Ri.
Yes forsooth my Lady but what shal I do with all
yonder beggers?
Gwe.
Send out the peggers into her Lady, goe.
Ri.
How? the beggers in, wee shall haue a louzie feast
Madame.
Exit Rees.
Gwen.
You rascals prate no more, but fetch them in:
shall pridle Sir Owen a good teale well enough, is warrant
her. Sir Owen is gone to bid her cozen Marquesse
and a meiny to dyne at her house, but Gwenthyan shall
kiue her dinner I warrant her, for peggers shall haue all
her meate.
Enter Rees with a company of beggers: a Table is set with meate.
Ri.
Come my hearts, troope, troope, euery man follow
his leader, heere's my Lady.
All.
God blesse your Ladiship, God blesse your Ladiship.
Gwen.
I thang you my good peggers, Rees pring
stooles, sid awl downe, Rees pring more meate.
Ri.
Heere Madame, Ile set it on, tak't off who will.
Beg.
Let vs alone for that, my Lady shall we scramble
or eate mannerly?
Gwen.
Peggers I hobe haue no manners, but first
heare me pray you now, and then fall to out a crie.
Beg.
Peace heare my Lady, Iacke-mumble-crust
steale no penny loaues.
Gwen.
Peggers, awl you know Sir Owen?
All.
Passing well, passing well, God blesse his worship.
Madame, we know him as well as a begger
knowes his dish.
Gwe.
Awl these fittels is made for Cozen Marquesse:
Sir Owen is gone to fedge him, but Sir owen has anger
her Ladie.
1 Beg.
More shame for him, hee's not a Knight, but
a knitter of caps for it.
Gwe.
Sir Owen has anger her Lady, and therfore her
Lady is anger Sir Owen.
1 Beg.
Make him a cuckolde Madame, and vpon
that I drinke to you: helter skelter here roagues, top and
top gallant, pell mell, huftie tuftie, hem, God saue the
Duke, and a fig for the hangman.
Gwen.
Rees fedge wine and peares enough, and fall
to pegger, and eate awl her sheere, and tomineere, see you
now, pray doe.
A drunken feast, they quarrel and grow drunke, and pocket vp the meate, the dealing of Cannes like a set at Mawe. Exit Rees.
Gwe.
Nay I pray peggers be quiet, tag your meates,
you haue trinkes enough I see, and get you home nowe
good peggers.
1 Beg.
Come you roagues, lets goe tag and rag, cut
and long taile, I am victualed for a month, God bo'y
Madame, pray God Sir owen and you may fall out euery
day: Is there any harme in this now? hey tri-lill, giue
the dog a loafe, fill the tother pot you whoore & God saue
the Duke.
Exeunt.
Gwe.
I thang you good peggers, ha ha, this is fine
spord, by God is haue peggers eate her fittales all day
long.
Enter Sir Owen and Rees.
Ow.
Where is the sheere Rees? Cods plude where?
Ri.
I beseech you sir be patient, I tell you the beggers
haue it.
Owen.
Wad a pogs is doe with peggers? wad is peggers
do at Knights house? Is peggers Sir Owens guesse
Rees?
Ri.
No Sir Owen they were my Ladies guesse.
Ow.
Ha? you hungry rascalles, where's her Ladie
Gwenthyan? Cods plude peggers eate her sheere and cozen
Marquesse come.
Ri.
I know not where my Lady is, but there's a begger
woman, aske her, for my Lady dealt her almes amongst
them her selfe.
Ow.
A pogs on you pegger whore, where's ther pread
and sheere? Cod vdge me Ile pegger you for fittels.
Gwe.
Hawld, hawld, hawld, what is mad now? here
is her Lady: is her Lady pegger you rascals?
Ri.
No sweet Madame, you are my Lady, a man is a
man though he haue but a hose on his head, and you are
my Lady though you want a hood.
Ow.
How now? how now? ha ha, her Ladie in tawny
coate, and tags and rags so? where is her meate Gwenthian?
where is her sheere? her cozen Marquesse is heere and
great teale of Shentlefolkes and Laties and Lawrdes
pie and pie.
Gwe.
What care her for Laties or cozen too, fittels is
awl gone.
Ow.
Owe, gone? is her Ladie mad?
Gwen.
No, our Lord is mad, you teare her ruffes and
repatoes, and pridle her, is her pridled now? is her repatoed
now? is her teare in peeces now? Ile tedge her pridle
her Lady againe, her cozen Marquesse shall eate no
pread and meate heere, and her Ladie Gwenthians will
goe in tags and rags, and like pegger to vexe and chafe sir
Owen, see you now?
Owen.
A pogs see her, Cods plude, what is doe now
Rees?
Ri.
Speake her faire Master for shee lookes wildely.
Owen.
Is looke wildely indeede, Gwenthian pray goe
in, and put prauerie vpon her packe and pelly, Cod vdge
me is pie new repatoes and ruffes for her Lady, pray doe
so, pray good Ladyes.
Ri.
Doe good Madame.
Gw.
Cartho crogge, Cartho crogge, Gwenthian scornes
her flatteries, her Lady goe no petter, Sir Owen hang her
selfe.
Ow.
O mon Iago, her Pritish plude is not indure it by
God: a pogs on her, put on her fine coates is pest, put on,
goe to, put on.
Ri.
Put off Sir Owen and shee'll put on.
Gwe.
A pogs on her, is put on none, but goe like pegger.
Ow.
Rees goe mag more fire, and let her haue more
sheere.
Gwen.
Rees mag fire, and Ile scalde her like pigge, see
you now?
Ri
I shall be peppered how ere the market goes.
Ow.
Mag great teale of fires, or Sir Owen shall knog
your eares.
Gwen.
Make litle teale of fire, or Gwenthian shall cut
off your eares: and pob you, & pob you Rees, see you now?
Ri.
Holde good Madame, I see you and feele you too,
y'are able to set stones together by th'eares: I beseech you
be quiet both, Ile make a fire Sir Owen to please you.
Ow.
Doe Rees Ile pridle her Ladies well enough.
Gwen.
Will you, you rascals?
Ri.
Nay but heare you sweet Madame, Ile make a
fire to please Sir Owen, and when it burnes, Ile quench
it to please you.
Exit.
Enter Farnezie apace.
Far.
Ha ha ha, why how now Sir Owen, your Cozen
the Marquesse and all your guestes are at hand, and I see
no meate towards.
Ow.
Is no meate toward, but her Laty is ferre vntoward.
Far.
What bagadge is this stands laughing thus?
Ow.
A pogs on her, tis our Laty bagadge, tis Gwenthian.
How my Lady Gwenthian? ha ha ha.
Enter Marquesse, Iulio, Onophria, Vrcenze, Mario.
Marq.
You see Sir Owen we are soone inuited,
Where is your wife the Lady Gwenthian?
owen.
Is come pie and pie, Cod vdge me Gwenthian
pray put on your prauerie and fine knags, and shame not
Sir Owen, yes truely Gwenthian is come out pie and pie,
Man gras worthe whee cozen Marguesse, Man gas worthe
whee cozen Iulia, is welcome awl.
Fa.
Ha ha welcome, come come Madame appeare in
your likenes, or rather in the likenes of another, my Lord
y'are best send backe to your owne Cookes, if you meane
to set your teeth a worke to day.
Marq.
Why Farneze what's the matter?
Fa.
Nay there's no matter in it, the fire's quencht, the
victuals giuen to beggers, Sir Owens Kitchin lookes like
the first Chaos, or like a Brokers stall, full of odde endes:
or like the end of some terrible battle, for vpon euery dresser
lyes legges and feathers, and heads of poore Capons
and wilde foule that haue bin drawne and quartred, and
now mourne that their carkasses are carried away: his
are not rewmaticke, for there's no spitting heere lye fish
in a pittifull pickle, there standes the coffins of pyes,
wherein the dead bodies of birdes should haue been buried,
but their ghostes haue forsaken their graues & walkt
abroad: the best sport is to see the scullians, some laughing,
some crying, & whilst they wipe their eies they blacke
their faces, the Cookes curse her Lady, and some pray for
our Lord.
Marq.
Sir Owen Meredith is all this true?
Ow.
True, et is true I warrant her, pogs on her too true.
Ono.
You tolde his Grace you bad tam'd your wife,
Owen.
By Cod is tell her a lye then, her wife has pridled
& tam'd her indeed: cozen Marquesse pecause Grissill
is made foole and turne away, Gwenthian mag foole of sir
owen: is good? ha, is good?
Gwen.
Tis lye cozen Marguesse, is terrible lye: rawsone
en Ennoh Twewle, tis lye, tis lye, sir Owen teare her
repatoes and ruffes, and pridle her Latie, & bid her hang
her selfe, but is pridled I warrant her, is not Sir Owen?
owe.
Adologg whee bethogh en Thlonigh, en Moyen
due, Gwenthian.
Gwe.
Ne vetho en Thlonigh, Gna watha gethla Tee.
Vrc.
What sayes she sir Owen?
Owe.
I pray & pray her for Cods loue be quiet, splude
her say her will not be quiet, do what Sir owen can: mon
due Gwenthian, Me knocke the pen, en vmbleth, pobe des,
and pobe nose.
Gwe.
Gwenogh olcha vessagh whee, en herawgh, ee.
Iu.
Stand betweene them Farneze.
Far.
You shall bob no nose heere.
Gwe.
En herawgh Ee? Me grauat the Legatee, athlan oth
pendee, adroh ornymee on dictar, en he car Ee.
Ono.
Doth she threaten you Sir owen? binde her to
the peace.
owe.
By Cod is threaten her indeed, her saies shee'll
scradge out Sir owens eyes, and her frowne vpon her, a
pogs on her nailes.
Marq.
Oh my deare Grissill, how much different
Art thou to this curst spirit heere, I say
My Grissils vertues shine Sir Meredith.
And Cozen Gwenthian come Ile haue you friends,
This dinner shall be sau'd, and all shall say,
Tis done, because tis Gwenthians fasting day.
Gwe.
Gwenthian scawrnes to be friendes, her Ladie
will be Master Sir owen.
ow.
By Cod ile see her Latie hang'd first: cozen Marquesse
& cozens awl, pray tag time & stay heere, Rees shall
dresse more fittels, and shall dine her in spite of her Ladie:
Cod splude Rees Rees.
Exit.
Gwe.
Will you? Is try that pie and pie: Stethe whee
lawer, Cozen Marguesse Stethe whee lawer Shentlemen,
Gwenthian is not pridled so soone.
Exit.
Marq.
Ile see the peace kept sure, doe what he can,
I doubt his wife will prooue the better man.
Exit.
Iul.
Signior Mario you say nothing, how like you this
enterlude?
Mari.
So well Madame, that I rather wish to play
the begger, then a Kinges part in it in Sir Owens apparrell.
Iul.
Why this it is to be married, thus you see those
that goe to wooe, goe to woe, oh for a Drum to summon
all my louers, my suiters, my seruants together.
Fa.
I appeare sweet mistresse without summons.
Ono.
So does Onophrio.
Vrc.
So does Vrcenze.
Iul.
Signior Emulo I see will not bee seene without
calling.
Far.
No faith Madame, he's blowne vp, no calling can
serue him, hee has tane another manner of calling vpon
him, and I hope repents the folly of his youth.
Iu.
If he follow that vocation well, he'll prooue wealthy
in wit.
Vrc.
He had need for his head is very poore.
Far.
Well mistris wee appeare without drumming,
what's your parley (and yet not so) your eyes are the
drums that summons vs.
Vrc.
And your beauty the colours we fight vnder.
Ono.
And the touch of your soft hand, armes vs at al
pointes with deuotion to serue you, desire to obey you,
and vowes to loue you.
Iu.
Nay then in faith make me all souldier, mine eies
a drum, my beautie your colours, and my hand your armour:
what becomes of the rest?
It becomes vs to rest, before we come to the rest,
yet for a neede we could turne you into an armourie: as
for example, your lips (let me see) no point of war for your
lips? can I put them to no vse but kissing? oh yes, if you
change them to shoote out vnkinde language to vs that
stand at your mercie, they are two culuerins to destroy vs.
Iul.
That ile trie: my tongue shall giue fire to my words presently.
All.
Oh be more mercifull faire Iulia.
Iul.
Not I, would you haue mee pittie you and punnish
my selfe? would you wish me to loue? when loue is
so full of hate? how vnlouely is loue? how bitter? how ful
of blemishes, my Lord and brother insults our Grissill,
that makes me glad, Gwenthyan curbs Sir Owen, that
makes you glad, Sir Owen is maistred by his Mistris
that makes you mad, poore Grissil is martred by her Lord
that makes you merrie, for I alwaies wish that a womā
may neuer meete better bargaines, when sheele thrust
her sweet libertie into the hands of a man: fye vpon you,
you're nothing but woormewood, and oake, and
glasse: you haue bitter tongues, hard hearts, and
brittle faith.
Ono.
Condemne vs not till you trye our loues.
Iul.
Sweet seruant speake not in this language of
loue, Gwenthyans peeuishnes and Grissils patience, make
me heere to defie that Ape Cupid, if you loue stand vpon
his lawes, I charge you leaue it, I charge you neither
to sigh for loue, nor speake of loue, nor frowne for hate: if
you sigh ile mocke you, if you speake ile stop mine eares,
if you frowne ile bend my fist.
Far.
Then youle turne warriour in deede.
Iul.
Had I not neede encountring with such enemies?
but say will you obay and followe mee or
disobay, and Ile flie you.
I obay since it is your pleasure.
Vrc.
I obay though I taste no pleasure in it.
Farn.
I obay to, but so God helpe me mistris I shall
shew you a faire paire of heeles and crie a new Mistris a
new, if any pittifull creature will haue me.
Iul.
Better lost then found if you be so wauering.
Enter Marquesse, Lepido, Sir owen, Gwenthyan braue, and Furio.
Marq.
Furio hie thee to olde Ianicolaes,
Charge him, his daughter Grissil, and his Sonne
To come to Court, to doe such office,
Of duetie to our marriage, as shall like
Our state to lay vpon them.
Iul.
Oh my Lord,
Uex not poore Grissill more, alas her heart,
Marq.
Tut tut, ile haue my will and tame her pride,
Ile make her be a seruant to my bride,
Iulia Ile bridle her.
Iul.
You doe her wrong.
Marq.
Sister correct that errour, come Sir owen,
Is not this better musicke then your brawles?
ow.
Yes as Cod vdg me is: how cozen Iulia, is out a crie
friends now, Gwenthyan is laugh & be ferie patience now
Sir Owen kisse her Ladie, a great teale now: see els?
Far.
I but Sir owen, the kissing her Lady is no mirth
to vs, if wee kisse the poste.
owe.
Owe her cozen Marquesse has terrible mightie
newes for tell her, or els is made readie a great banquit at
home for awl, pray come home, is awll ready for her, her
Ladie say not boepeepe now: but first heare her cozen
Marquesse newes.
Marq.
Iulia and Gentlemen these are the newes,
Brought on the wings of hast and happines,
By trustie Lepido our endeared brother,
Is hard at hand who in his companie,
Brings my faire second choice a worthie bride,
Shees daughter to the Duke of Brandenburgh,
Now shall no subiects enuious soule repine,
And call her base whome now I will make mine,
None shall vpbraid me now, (as they haue done)
That I will slay a daughter and a Sonne,
Grissils, two babes are dead, and kild by scorne,
But that faire issue that shall now be borne
Shall make a satisfaction of all wrongs.
Come gentlemen we will goe meete this traine,
Let euerie one put on a smiling browe,
Sir Owen I will haue your company,
And your's faire cozen: well remembred to,
Bring your three wands Sir Owen to the Court,
Though Gwenthyan looke with a smoother eye,
Ile teach you how to win the soueraigntie.
Ow.
Is glad of that, ha, ha, ha, tag heed of wands Lady,
Gwen.
Tag heede of nailes knight,
Marq.
We play the vnthrifts in consuming time,
Though your curst wife make some afraid to woe
Yet Ile woe once more and be married to.
Ow.
Cod vdge me Sir Owen would hang before her
marrie once more, if I were another Patcheler: marie
owe.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Laureo reading and Babulo with him.
Bab.
Come I haue left my worke to see what mattēs
you mumble to your selfe, faith Laureo I would you
could leaue this lattin, and fal to make baskets, you think
tis enough if at dinner you tell vs a tale of Pignies, and
then mounch vp our victuals, but that fits not vs: or the
historie of the well Helicon, & then drinke vp our beare
we cannot liue vpon it.
Lau.
A Scholler doth disdaine to spend his spirits,
Upon such base imploiments as hand labours.
Then you should disdaine to eate vs out of house
& home: you stand all day peeping into an ambrie there,
and talke of monsters and miracles, and countries to no
purpose: before I fell to my trade I was a traueller, and
found more in one yeare then you can by your poets and
paltries in seauen yeares.
Lau.
What wonders hast thou seene, which are not heere?
Ba.
Oh God, I pittie thy capacitye good scholler: as a
little wind makes a sweet ball smell, so a crumme of learning
makes your trade proude: what wonders? wonders
not of nine daies, but 1599. I haue seene vnder Iohn
Prester and Tamer Cams people, with heds like Dogs.
Lau.
Alas of such there are too manie heere,
All Italie is full of them that snarle,
And bay and barke at other mens abuse
Yet liue themselues like beastes in all abuse.
Bab.
Its true I know manie of that complexion, but
I haue seene many without heads, hauing their eyes
nose and mouths in their breasts.
Lau.
Whie thats no wonder, euerie streete with vs,
Swarmes full of such,
Ba.
I could neuer see them.
Lau.
Dost thou not see our wine-bellie drunkards reele?
Our fat fed gluttons wallow in the streetes,
Hauing no eyes but to behold their guts,
No heads but braineles scalpes, no sence to smell,
But where full feastes abound in all excesse
These Epimœi be our Epicures.
Ba.
I haue seene monsters of that colour to: but what
say you to them that haue but one leg, and yet will out run a horse?
Lau.
Such are our banckrouts and our fugitiues,
Scarse hauing one good leg, or one good limbe,
Out run their creditors, and those they wrong.
Mas tis true there was a cripple in our village,
ran beyond Venice, and his Creditors with their best
legs could neuer since take him, but let me descend & grow
lower and lower, what say you to the litle litle Pigmies,
no higher then a boyes gig, and yet they tug & fight with
the long neckt Cranes.
Lau.
Oh poore and wretched people are the Pigmies,
Oh rich oppressors the deuouring Cranes,
Within my fathers house Ile shew thee Pigmies,
Thou seest my sister Grissill shee's a Pigmie.
Ba.
Shee's a pretty little woman indeed, but too big for a Pigmie.
Lau.
I am a Pigmie.
Ba.
Fye fye, worse and worse.
Lau.
My olde father's one.
Ba.
No no no, Giants all.
Lau.
The Marquesse is the rich deuouring Crane,
That makes vs lesse then Pigmies, worse then wormes.
Enter Ianicola with an Angling rod, Grissill with a reele, and Furio.
Ba.
Yonder they come and a Crane with them.
Fur.
Ianicola, leaue your fish-catching, and you your
reeling, you and you sirra you must trudge to Court
presently.
Ian.
Must we againe be harried from content?
To liue in a more grieuous banishment.
Lau.
Me thinkes my Lord the Marquesse should bee pleas'd
With mariage of another, and forbeare,
With trumpets to proclaime this iniurie,
And to vexe Grissill with such lawlesse wrong.
Gri.
Tis no vexation, for what pleaseth him,
Is the contentment of his hand-maides heart.
Fur.
Will you goe?
Ian.
Yes we will goe,
To flye from happines to finde out woe.
Good Furio vanish, we haue no appetite, tell your
Master, Clownes are not for the Court, wee'll keepe
Court our selues, for what doe Courtiers but wee doe
the like: you eate good cheere, and wee eate good
bread and cheese: you drinke wine, and we strong beare:
at night you are as hungry slaues as you were at noone,
why so are wee: you goe to bed, you can but sleepe, why
and so doe wee: in the morning you rise about eleuen
of the clocke, why there we are your betters, for wee are
going before you: you weare silkes, and wee sheepe-skinnes,
innocence caries it away in the world to come,
and therefore vanish good Furio, torment vs not good
my sweet Furio.
Fur.
Asse Ile haue you snaffled,
Ba.
It may be so, but then Furio Ile kicke.
Fu.
Will you goe, or shall I force you?
Gri.
You neede not, for Ile run to serue my Lord,
Or if I wanted legs, vpon my knees
Ile creepe to Court so I may see him pleas'd,
Then courage Father.
Ian.
Well said patience,
Thy vertues arme mine age with confidence,
Come son, bond-men must serue, shall we away?
Lau.
I, I, but this shall prooue a fatall day.
Gri.
Brother, for my sake doe not wrong your selfe.
Lau.
Shall I in silence bury all our wrongs?
Gri.
Yes when your words cannot get remedy,
Learne of me Laureo I that share most woe,
Am the least moou'd, father leane on mine arme,
Brother leade you the way, whilst wretched I
Upholde olde age, and cast downe miserie.
Fu.
Away.
Ba,
Old M. you haue fisht faire & catcht a frog.
Exeunt
Enter Marquesse, Pauia Lepido, Onophrio, Vrcenzi, Farnezi, and Mario.
Marq.
Lords as you loue our State, affect our loues,
Urge vs no further, Gwalter is resolu'd,
To marry the halfe heyre of Brandenburgh,
My brother Pauia with no small expence,
Hath brought the Princesse out of Germany,
To gether with Prince Gwalter her young brother,
Now they are come, learne of the rising Sunne,
Scatter the clowdy mistes of discontent,
As he disperceth vapours with his beames.
Pau.
Brother, there is no eye but brightly shines,
Gladnes doth lodge in your Nobles lookes,
Nor haue they any cause to cloude their browes.
Enter Sir Owen, Gwenthian, and Rees with wandes.
Far.
Oh heere comes Sir Owen, and my Lady patience,
roome there.
owen.
Tardaugh Cozen Marquesse & Lawrdes awl.
Mar.
Welcome good cozen Gwenthian, wil you please
Goe in, and lend your presence to my bride?
Gwe.
Cozen, tis her intentions so to do, but I sweare
and I were Grissill, I would pull her eyes out, & she were
as many Shermaines daughter as there becowes in Cambria,
and that is aboue twenty score and a lidle more, you
know Sir Owen?
Ow.
Yes truely aboue a dozen more is warrant her.
Marq.
Grissill is patient Madame, be you pleas'd.
Gwen.
Well, and she bee so base lies minded tis well,
but I know whad I know, Sir Owen heere thinkes to
make Gwenthians so patience, sir owen tis awl in vaines,
well I goe to her Brides.
Exit.
Ow.
You prade and you taug Gwenthians, but I made
you put on parrels for awl your taug and prade: Rees,
where's Rees pring the wandes heere Rees.
Ri.
They are heere sir, in the twinckling of an eye.
owe.
Cozen, when her weddings are done and at leasures,
I will learne your medicines to tame shrewes.
You shall anon good Cozen Meredith.
Ow.
Stand by Rees, walke in the halles among the
Seruingmans, keepe her wandes till I call, heare you
now?
Enter Furio.
Ri.
Yes Sir.
Exit.
Marq.
Furio, are Grissill and the other come?
Fur.
Yes, they are come.
Marq.
Are they imployed according to our charge?
Fu.
They are.
Marq.
How does her brother take it?
Fu.
Ill.
Marq.
How her Father?
Fu.
Well.
Marq.
How her selfe?
Fu.
Better.
Marq.
Furio, goe call out Grissill from the Bride.
Fu.
I will.
Farn.
It's pitty that fellow was not made a Soldier,
hee should haue but a word and a blow at his hands.
Enter Ianicola and Babulo carrying coales, Laureo with wood, Grissill with wood.
Ba.
Master goe you but vnder the Cole-staffe, Babulo
can beare all, staffe basket and all.
Ian.
It is the Marquesse pleasure I must drudge,
Loade me I pray thee, I am borne to beare.
Lau.
But Ile no longer beare a logger head,
Thus Ile cast downe his fewell in dispight,
So, though my heart be sad, my shoulder's light.
Gri.
Alas what doe you brother, see you not
Our dread Lord yonder? come performe his will,
Oh in a subiect this is too too ill.
Marq.
What mean'st thou fellow to cast downe thy loade?
Lau.
I haue cast downe my burthen not my loade,
The loade of your grosse wrongs lyes heere like leade.
Marq.
What fellow is this?
Your handmaid Grissils brother,
Marq.
Take him away into the Porters lodge,
Lau.
Lodge me in dungeons, I will still exclaime,
On Gwalters cursed acts and hated name.
Exit. with Mari.
Marq.
Grissill Take you his load and beare it in.
Ba.
Oh tiger minded monstrous Marquesse, make thy Ladie a collier?
Marq.
Whats that that villiane prates so?
Bab.
God blesse the noble Marquesse,
Marq.
Sirha take you his coales, Grissill depart,
Returne but beare that first,
Gris.
With all my heart.
Exeunt. Gris. and Ba. grinning at him.
Marq.
Stay you Ianicola, I haue heard you sing,
Ian
I could haue sung when I was free from care.
Marq.
What grief can in your aged bosome lie?
Ian.
Griefe that I am vngratious in your eye,
Ba.
Then would he not desire your company.
Enter Grissill.
Marq.
Ianicola here is a bridall song,
Play you the Larke to greete my blessed sunne,
Grissill are you return'd? play you the morning,
To leade forth Gratiana my bright bride
Goe in and waite on her Ianicola.
Sing Hymeneus himmes, Musicke I say.
Exit. Grissill.
Ow.
Tawsone Tawsone Cozens aul, and here harmonies
and sol faes.
Song.
Thine eyes feed Loue, for them he standeth pyning,
Honour and youth attend to doe their duetie,
To thee (their onely soueraigne) Beautie.
Beautie arize, whilst we thy seruants sing,
Ioue to Hymen wedlocke iocund King.
Io to Hymen Io Io sing.
of wedlock, loue, and youth is Hymen King.
Whilst we sing Io, glad to see this day,
Io Io to Hymen Io Io sing,
Of wedlocke, loue, and youth is Hymen King.
Marq.
Art thou as glad in soule as in thy song?
Ian.
Who can be glad when he indureth wrong?
Ow.
As Cod vdge me Ian Niclas is honest man, hee
does not flatter and sembles, but tell his intentions: owe
more melodies, owe heere come her new pride.
Musicke sounds, enter Grissill alone, after her the Marquesse Sonne and daughter, Iulia, Gwenthian and other Ladies, and Mario and Furio.
Marq.
Salute my beautious loue.
All.
All ioy betide to Gratiana our deare Marquesse Bride.
Marq.
Bring me a crowne of gold to crowne my loue,
A wreath of willow for dispised Grissill.
Gri.
Grissill is not despised in your eye,
Sithence you name her name so gently.
Ow.
Gwenthians there's wiues, there's patient wiues
Gwe.
Fuh fuh is fooles, Tawsone is arrant pobie fooles.
Marq.
Grissill place you this crowne vpon her head,
Put these imbrodered slippers on her feete.
Tis well, deliuer me your wedding ring,
Circle her finger with it, now stand by,
Art thou content with all?
Gris.
Content with all.
Marq.
My Bride is Crown'd, now tell me all of you,
Which of you euer saw my loue before?
What is her name, her birth, place, or estate,
Lep.
Till now I neuer behelde her beautie.
Ono.
Nor I.
Vrc.
Trust me nor I.
Far.
By my troth nor I.
Mari.
We heare that she was borne in Germany,
And halfe heyre to the Duke of Brandenburgh.
You all heare this, and all thinke this?
All.
We doe.
Marq
Then Fu. stand thou foorth, Lords in his brest
A loyall seruants true soule doth rest,
Furio shall be apparrelled in a robe.
Fur.
I shall not become it.
Marq.
Some that are great put robes on Parasites,
Mario, Lepido come you two hither,
Are not you richly clad? haue I done so?
Both.
What meanes your grace by this?
Marq.
Gracelesse, haue done,
Truth, sildome dwels in a still talking tongue,
Furio bring Laureo from the Porters lodge,
Take in Ianicola, and cloath them both
In rich abiliments, they shall awhile
Be flattered with false fortunes wanton smiles.
Ia.
Fortune can do no more then she hath done,
They that are markt to woe, to woe must run.
Exit Furio & Ianicola.
Marq.
How doe you like my Bride?
Gri.
I thinke her blest.
To haue the loue of such a noble Lord.
Marq.
You flatter me.
Grissi.
Indeed I speake the truth,
Onely I prostrately beseech your grace,
That you consider of her tender yeares,
Which as a flower in spring may soone be nipt,
With the least frost of colde aduersity.
Marq.
Why are not you then nipt? you stil seeme fresh
As if aduersities colde Izie hand,
Had neuer laide his fingers on your heart.
Gri.
It neuer toucht my heart, aduersity
Dwels still with them that dwels with misery,
But milde content hath eas'd me of that yoake,
Patience hath borne the bruize and I the stroke.
Enter Furio, Ianicola, and Laureo, striuing about attyre.
Giue him his silkes they shal not touch my back
Marq.
What strife is there, what aileth Laureo?
Lau.
I will not weare proud trappings like a beast,
Yet hourelie feele the scornfull riders spurre,
Marq.
Cloth olde Ianicola in rich attire,
Ian.
Doe, load me, for to beare is my desire.
Marq.
Doe ye repine, nay then ile vex you more,
Grissill I will receiue this second wife
From none but from thy hands: come giue her mee,
Gris.
I heere present you with an endlesse blisse,
Rich honour, beautious vertue, vertuous youth,
Long liue my Lord with her contentedly.
owe.
Marg patience there Gwenthyan see you thade?
Marq.
Grissill dost thou deliuer me this maide,
As an vntainted flower which I shall keepe,
Despite of enuies canker, till the rust,
Of all consuming death finish her liife?
Gri.
I doe my deare Lord, and as willingly
As I deliuered vp my maiden youth.
Marq.
What saies Ianicola?
Ia.
I say but thus,
Great men are Gods, and they haue power ore vs,
Marq.
Grissill hold fast the right hand of my bride,
Thou wearst a willow wreath and she a crowne,
True bride take thou the crowne and she the wreath,
Mari.
My gratious Lord you doe mistake your selfe.
Marq.
Peace peace, thou Siccophant Grissil receiue
Large interests for thy loue and sufferance.
Thou gau'st me this faire maide, I in exchange,
Returne thee her: and this young Gentleman
Thy Sonne and daughter kisse with patience,
And breath thy vertuous spirit into their soules.
Gwe.
Owe Sir Owen marg you now, the man is yeelded
to her Latie, lerne now Sir owen learne, learne
Knight your duetie, see you thade?
Marq.
Why stands my wronged Grissil thus amazed?
Ioy feare, loue hate, hope doubts incompasse me.
Are these my children I supposed slaine?
Ia.
Are these my nephewes that were murdred?
Gri.
Blessing distill on you like morning deaw,
My soule knit to your soules, knowes you are mine.
Ma.
They are, & I am thine: Lords looke not strange,
These two are they, at whose birthes enuies tongue,
Darted enuenom'd stings, these are the fruite
Of this most vertuous tree, that multitude,
That many headed beastes, nipt their sweet hearts,
With wrongs, with bitter wrongs, al you haue wrong'd her,
My selfe haue done most wrong, for I did try
To breake the temper of true constancie:
But these whom all thought murdred are aliue,
My Grissill liues, and in the booke of Fame,
All worldes in golde shall register her name.
Le., Mar.
Most dreaded Lord.
Marq.
Arise flatterers get you gone,
Exeunt Lep. Ma.
Your soules are made of blacke confusion.
Father Ianicola.
Ia.
Oh pardon me,
Though dumbe betwixt my griefe and ioy I be.
Marq.
Who stands thus sad, what brother Laureo?
Eau.
Pardon me my gratious Lord, for now I see,
That Schollers with weake eyes, pore on their bookes,
But want true soules to iudge on Maiestie:
None else but Kings can know the hearts of Kings,
Hence foorth my pride shall fly with humbler wings.
Marq.
Our pardon and our loue circle thee round,
Lets all to banquet, mirth our cares confound.
Ow.
Holde, holde, holde, banquet? if you banquet so,
Sir Owen is like to haue sheere, her Latie heere is cog a
hoope now at this, pray Cozen keepe your promise, Rees
the wandes Rees, your medicines and fine trigs to tame
shrewes.
Marq.
Furio where be the wands that I bound vp?
Heere my Lord.
Marq.
I wreath'd them then sir Owen, and you see
They still continue so, wreath you these three.
Ow.
Owe winde them, yes is winde them and mag
good mightie cudgell, to tame and knog her Latie, and
she prawle, or crie, or giue preade and meate to peggers,
or teare pondes, by Cod is well remembred too, Cozen
you promis'd to helpe her to her Duckegs, for all her paper
and pondes is torne?
Mar.
And I wil keep my promise, wreath your wands
Owen.
Owe Gods lid mine is stubberne like Gwenthians,
Gods plude see it preakes in snip snap peeces, what
now Cozen?
Marq.
But cozen these you see did gently bowe,
I tride my Grissils patience when twas greene,
Like a young Orier, and I moulded it
Like waxe to all impressions: married men
That long to tame their wiues must curbe them in,
Before they need a bridle, then they'll prooue
All Grissils full of patience, full of loue,
Yet that olde tryall must be tempered so,
Least seeking to tame them they master you.
Owen.
By Cod is true as Pistle and Gospel, oh true
out a cry.
Marq.
But you Sir Owen giuing her the head,
As you gaue liberty to those three wandes,
Shee'll breake as those doe, if you bend her now,
And then y'are past all helpe, for if you striue,
You'll gaine as gamesters doe that sildome thriue.
owe.
What shall doe to her Latie then? is pest run away
cozen, or knog her braines out? for is as faliant as
Mars if I be anger.
Iul.
That were a shame eyther to run away from a
woman, or to strike her, your best Phisicke Sir Owen, is
to weare a veluet hand, leaden eares, and no tongue, you
must not fight howsoeuer she quarrels, you must be deafe
whensoeuer she brawles, and dumbe when your selfe
should brabble: take this cawdle next your heart euery
morning, and if your wife be not patient, the next remedy
that I know is, to buy your winding sheete.
Gwe.
Cozen Marquesse, cozen Iulia, and Lawrds and
Laties all, it shall not need as her cozen has tryed Grissill,
so Gwenthian has Sir Owen,
Ow.
Owe, by Cod is thought should pull her downe, ah ha.
Gwe.
Is not pul'd downe neither, but sir Owen shal be
her head, and is sorry has anger her head and mag it ake,
but pray good knight be not proude & triumph too much &
treade her Latie downe, God vdge mee will tag her will
againe doe what her can.
Ow.
By Cod is loue her out a cry now, sir owen could
tame her before, but Prittish ploude scawrnes to fide wt
Laties, yes faith scornes out a cry, a pogs ont tis nought:
Gwenthian shall no more be call'd Gwenthian but patient
Grissill, ah ha is.
Marq.
Our ioyes are compleate, forward to our feast,
Patience hath won the prize and now is blest.
Iu.
Nay brother your pardon awhile: besides our
selues there are a number heere, that haue behelde Grissils
patience, you owne tryals, and Sir Owens sufferance,
Gwenthians frowardnes, these Gentlemen louertine, and
my selfe a hater of loue: amongst this company I trust
there are some mayden batchelers, and virgin maydens,
those that liue in that freedome & loue it, those that know
the war of mariage and hate it, set their hands to my bill,
which is rather to dye a mayde and leade Apes in hell,
then to liue a wife and be continually in hell.
Gwen.
Iulia by your leaues a lidle while, you taug and
you prable about shidings in mariages, and you abuse
yong mens and damsels, & fraide them from good sportes
and honorable states: but heare you now, awl that bee
sembled heere, know you that discord's mag good musicke,
and when loners fall out is soone fall in, and tis good
you knaw: pray you al be maried, for wedlocke increases
peobles and cities, awl you then that haue husbands that
you would pridle, set your hands to Gwenthians pill, for tis
not fid that poore womens should be kept alwaies vnder.
Marq.
Since Iulia of the maides, and Gwenthian
Of froward wiues, intreate a kinde applaude,
See Grissill among all this multitude,
Who will be friend to gentle patience?
Ow.
Ha ha ha, Grissil is weary, pray let sir owen speag
Grissill is patient, and her cozen is patient, therefore is
speage for two, Gods plude you see her Latie is spride of
buttrie, yet sir owen tame her and teare her ruffes, & mag
her cry and put on her parrels, and say is sorry Sir owen,
marg that well: if sir owen was not patient, her Latie
had not beene pridled, if Grissill had not beene patient her
cozen Marquesse had not been pridled: well now if you
loue sir owens Latie, I hobe you loue sir owen too, or is
grow mighty angry, sir owen loue you as God vdge mee
out a cry, a terrible teale, doe you heare now, then pray
awl that haue crabbed husbands and cannot mend them,
as Grissils had, and awl that haue fixen wiues, and yet is
tame her well enough as sir owen does, & awl that haue
scoldes as sir owen does, and awl that loue faire Laties
as sir owen does, to sed her two hands to his pill, and by
God shall haue sir owens heard and soule in his pellie: and
so God saue you all. Man gras wortha whee, Man gras worth
a whee. God night Cozens awl.
Exeunt.
| The Pleasant Comoedie of Patient Grissill | |