 | The Valiant Scot |  |
Act. III.
Enter Sir Ieffrey and Bolt with a Trunke.Ief.
Set downe Bolt, I can beare with thee no longer.
Bolt.
No more can I beare any longer with you, Sir
Ieffry, but what a reeling drunken sot is this sea, that casts
up such gobbets as this, is this a windfall or no now sir
Ieffery? your Worship knows both the tags and points
of the law.
Yes sure it is a windfall, for as we walk'd upon
the shore, we saw the ship split, this fell out, the winds
were the cause, therefore it must needs be a windfall.
Bol.
Well some body ha's had but a bad fish-dinner to
day.
Jef.
The Seas have crost them that sought to crosse the
Seas, and therefore for my part I'le never meddle with
these water-works.
Bolt.
Nor I, lets be more wise then a number of gallants,
and keep the land that's left us, did you ever see
such gambois as the waves made sir Ieffery?
Ieff.
Never since I wore the nightcap of Iustice, and
that this her dudgeon dagger was a my side.
Bol.
Did you note what puffing the winds made till
they got great bellies, and then how sorely the ship fell
in labour.
Ieff.
Didst heare what a dolefull cry they made,
When their maine yard was split?
Bolt.
Alas sir, would it not make any man roare
that had but an inch of feeling or compassion in his belly
to have his mayne yard split, and how the marriners
hung by the ropes like Saint Thomas Onyons.
Ieff.
I saw it Bolt with salt eyes.
Bolt.
So that you may see at sea however the winde
blowes, if a man be well hung, hees cocke sure.
Ieff.
But Bolt what dost thou thinke this to be?
Bol.
A matter of some weight as I take it.
Ieff.
I hope 'tis gold 'tis so heavy, and 'twas going out
of the Land.
Bol.
Like enough, for gold goes now very heavily
from us, and silver too, both red chincks, and white
chincks flie away, but sir Ieffery, if this be gold, how rich
is the sea, thinke ye, that has innumerable such sands?
Ief.
More rich then the land, and more fat.
Bo.
So it had need, for the land looks with a leane
any thing.
Ieff.
Then tis like the sea, for all's fish that comes to
net there.
Bol.
I'le tell you the mystery of that, looke what
mouthes gape at land, the selfe same gape at sea, all the
land is one kingdome, and all the sea another.
Ief.
And people in't.
Bo.
And people in't (right worshipful) but they all go
Westhod, as there are good and bad here, so there are
good and bad there, gulls here, gulls there, as great men
here eate up the little men: so Whales feed upon the
lesser fishes.
Ie.
Belike then the watry common wealth are ill
govern'd.
Bo.
No bravely, for heroicall Hector Herring is King
of fishes.
Ie.
So.
Bo.
Rich cobs his good subjects, who at Yarmouth
lay downe their lives in his quarrell, sword-fish and Pike
are his guard.
Ie.
On.
Bo.
Fresh Cods the gallants, and sweet slipper the
Knights, whiting-mopps the Ladies, and Lillie-white-mustels
the wayting-gentlewomen.
Ie.
Dangerous meat to take too much of.
Bol.
But who the pages?
Ie.
Shrimps.
Bo.
No, no sir, perriwinckles are the pages, perriwinckles.
Ie.
No Iustices among them?
Bo.
Yes sir Ieffery, Thornebacks are the Iustices,
Crabs the Constables, whom if you butter with good
words, 'tis passing meat at midnight.
Ie.
Ah, ha.
Dogfish are Iaylors,
And Stockfish the poore common people.
Je.
Indeed they live hardly.
Bo.
But sir they are beaten too't, then have you wet
Eeles for whores, and great Oysters for Bawds.
Ie.
Why great Oysters Bawd?
Bo.
Because for the most part they are stewed.
Ie.
Very good.
Bo.
Lastly, because no Kingdome can stand without
laws, and where law ha's her eyne, there Lawyers & Pettifoggers
swarme, therfore the Lawyers here are sharks,
and gudgeons the poore Clyents.
Wallace within.
Wa.
Wa ho ro sol fa, sol fa.
Bo.
Harke.
Ie.
Peace Bolt.
Bol.
Nay peace you good sir Ieffery, peace, peace.
Wa.
Sol la, sol la sol la sol la.
Bo.
Some Faulconers teaching his Hawke pricksong,
Shall I mocke him in's owne key.
Ie.
Do.
Bo.
Sol fa sol fa, here boy.
Enter Wallace.
Wa.
Here boy, wa ha ho ho,
All haile to you two.
Bo.
And all snow to you sir.
Ie.
Sirra what art thou that wishest all the haile to
light upon us two?
Bo.
Answer wisely to my master,
For hee's a Iustice of peace, and you'l be smelt out.
Wal.
I am a drown'd rat.
A Rat?
Bo.
Do you take sir Ieffrey for a Rat-catcher,
Youle tell a sweet tale for your selfe anon.
Wal.
Pox rot you, I am shipwrack't,
Give me some meate.
Bo.
Shall I make his Mittimus? he begs sir.
Wa.
I'ha met more then my match, Neptune and I,
Wrastling for fals, he got the masterie,
I'me with his beating bruis'd, weary, cold, weak,
Liquor'd soundly.
Bo.
He's drunk.
VVal.
Yet so thirstie scarce can speak,
If ye be men, help me to food and fire.
Ie.
What Countryman art thou sirra?
VVal.
A Scot, give me some victuals pray.
Bo.
No minde but of thy belly.
Ie.
Sirra, sirra, you are a Scot, and I a true English Justice.
Bo.
Not a word of Latine, neither Justice, nor Clarke.
Ie.
Peace Bolt in the Kings name, I charge thee, if you
will eat bread earn bread, take up this luggage, sirra, follow
me home to my house, thou shalt have good bread,
good drink, and good fire, up I command thee.
Wal.
I am necessities slave, and now must beare.
Bo.
Must! nay, shall: are not the English your good
Lords and Masters?
Wal.
Well they are.
Bo.
Do you grumble sir, on sir Jeffrey.
Ie.
Have an eye to him Bolt, lest he give us the slip,
And were you in this terrible storm at Sea say you?
VVal.
Over head and eares, sir.
Bo.
If th'execution had been upon the land Sir Ieffrey,
as 'twas upon the Sea, your worship had been in a worse
pickle then he.
Ie.
Why Knave? why?
Bo.
Because he that ha's a bad name is half-hang'd,
Ie.
Thou Varlet is not wise good?
Bo.
Yes, come along porter, wise is good.
Ie.
And is not acre good?
Bo.
Yes passing good.
Ie.
Why should Wiseacre being put together be
nought then?
Bo.
Is not Plumb-porridge good, Sir Ieffrey?
Ie.
Yes.
Wa.
Would I had this trunk full of 'em.
Bo.
Peace Greedi-gut, Plum-porridge is good, and
Bag-pudding is good, but put them together, and they are
filthy meat.
Ie.
Well, that's true.
Wal.
Right sir.
Sets down the Trunk.
Ie.
How now?
Wal.
Hunger is good, and two Woodcocks are good,
But the feathers of those two Woodcocks must be pluck'd
first.
Ie.
Hold I charge thee.
Wal.
Y'are a scurvy Iustice, yare man's an Asse, and
you another with a velvet foot-cloth on your back, I ken
ye vary weel, and Ise knock ye vary weele, if any thing
be worth victales, it goes down here.
Bo.
The Devill choake you, if you be a man of your
word.
Wal.
Wiseacres, if you would fain know who ha's got
this trash from yee, 'tis I, Wallace the Scot.
Both:
Wallace.
Bo.
Flie sir Ieffrey,
He calls us Woodcocks, let's flie and raise the Country.
Wal.
D'e ye grumble? raise the Devill and spare not.
Exeunt.
Wert thou a chest of gold, I'de give thee all for victuals,
Hunger, they say, will break stone wals,
Ye shall burst tho with iron ribs ye were bar'd,
—victuals—wine too,—few justices doe feed
the hungry thus, o these VViseacres are the bravest fellowes,
specially English VViseacres.
Enter Selby miserably poore.
Sel.
I'le now be my own carver, misery and age
Want and despaire have brought me to deaths doore,
And shall I not enter? yes I will, this key
Shall doo't, is death so surly, may a poore man
Speake sooner with a King then speake with him
When he has most need of him, ugly leane slave,
So I may see him, no matter for a grave.
Wall.
How now, what do'st looke for?
Sel.
For that which a quarter of the world
Wants, a tree to be hang'd upon.
Wall.
Art weary of thy life?
Selby.
Yes all men are of their old wives, my life
ha's gone up and downe with me this threescore and
odde yeares, 'tis time to be weary on't I thinke now.
Wal.
And when tha'st hang'd thy selfe, whither do'st
thinke to go then?
Sel.
To the Linnen-draper.
VVa.
What Linnen-draper?
Sel.
The richest in the world, my old Grandmother
the Earth, how many paire of sheets has she had, thinke
ye, since Adam and Eve lay together, It's the best Inne
to lye at, a man shall be sure of good linnen.
Wal.
Who dwels hereabouts?
Sel.
One upon whom all the poore in the Countrey
cryes out.
VVa.
Whose that?
Sel.
Scarcity, dearth, penurie, famine, hunger, I have
and therefore I'le descend to th' Antipodes, because I'le
kicke at this world.
Wall.
Stay, famine shall not kill thee, sit and eate
Thy belly full, thy cares in good wine drowne,
By my owne fall I pitty others downe,
Is't not good cheere?
Sel.
Brave, I thanke you for it, how many beggers
does a rich man eate at his table at one meale, when
those few crummes are able to save a mans life, how
came you sir into this fearefull nest of Screech-owles and
Ravens?
Wa.
Cast up by the Sea, I was shipwrack'd and lost
all my company.
Sel.
Would I had beene one of 'em, I have lost more
then you have done, I ha' lost all that I had but my sinnes,
and they bang so heavy on my eye-lids, I can scarce look
so high as the brimmes of my hatt to heaven, I have such
a minde downwards, I have almost forgot who dwels
over my head.
Wa.
Looke up, be not afraid, there raignes no tyrant,
Wud thou hadst beene with me at sea.
Sel.
So wud I.
Wa.
Hadst thou an Atheist been, and God not known,
Th'adst found him in the deepe, there hee's best showne,
He that at Sea is shipwrackt, and denyes
A Deity (being there sav'd) damn'd lives and dyes,
Man no where in the twinckling of an eye
Is throwne so neare to hell, or rais'd so high
Towards heaven, then when hee's toss'd upon the waves
It must be a hand omnipotent there that saves,
But how came you sir hither?
Sel.
I was banish'd from England (but that grieves me not)
But I kill'd an old man, he was call'd Wallace.
Ha?
Sel.
Wallace, and me thinks hee's still at mine elbow.
Wa.
Elbowe? idle: Selby my fathers murderer?
Thinke not upon it, sit eat heartily
Thy last, sit downe, I say, never to rise,
Drinke wine, drinke deepe, let thy soule reele to hell.
Sel.
I am almost dead with cold.
Wa.
I'le fetch dry sticks,
And with two flints kindle fire, beat out his braines:
O that physicke had the power to make thee yong,
I'de fetch thee drugs from th'utmost of the world,
And then would arme thee, or, into thy veines
Halfe my owne bloud I'de power, to lend thee strength,
That I might kill thee nobly.
Sel.
Be quiet, I'le pay thee.
Wa.
How now?
Sel.
A slumber took me, and me thought old Wallace
Clapt me upon the shoulder with one hand,
And with the other pointed to his wounds,
At which I started, spake, but know not what,
I'me cold at heart.
Wa.
I'le seeke for fire.
Sel.
I thanke ye, if what I utter ye tell to any, I am a dead man,
You have me at your mercy, and may betray me.
Wa.
Not I, eate and get strength, I'le seek for fire,
Vnlesse I be a devill (tho I have cause
To kill thee) yet my quicke hand shall eschew it,
Thy carelesse confidence does bind me to it,
This mercy which I show now is for Gods sake,
In part of payment of his showne to me,
If I should kill thee now, thou owest me nothing,
Live, and be still my debter, I shall do thee
More harme to give thee life, then take it from thee,
Heaven in my fathers bloud who is chiefe sharer,
Shall strike for me a revenge more just and fairer.
Exit.
Has.
Selby, Selby,
How like a Churle thou feed'st alone,
And greedy art to fatten misery—Selby?
Sel.
Here.
Has.
Look I ha' found a jenniting tree.
Sel.
Where stands it?
Has.
I'le not tell thee; see brave food.
Sel.
Lets taste it.
Has.
Not a paring, what hast there?
Sel.
The dole of plenty.
Has.
Good old Rogue I thank thee,
I have a stomack like a Lawyer,
Lets eat fruit when we have fill'd our bellies.
Sel.
Not a bitt.
Has.
Ha?
Sel.
Not a paring of cheese.
Has.
I must.
Sel.
Thou shalt not, I pay thee in thy own coyne.
Has.
Thy doting age is almost at her journies end,
My youth having far to go needs more provision,
And ile have this—
Sel.
Hands off
Kils him.
Has.
You Dog, you old Devill.
Sel.
I thank thee, thou hast cut the threed in two,
Of all my woes, heaven pardon us both, adue.
Has.
Selby, no water from the hallowed Fount,
Toucht thee, thou art so fatall, Selby, dead!
Gods building which ha's stood this threescore yeeres,
This ha's defac'd, would it were up agen
With ruine of mine own, I never knew
Partners but one still th'other overthrew,
I have undone thee, and now all's my share,
'Tis not so sinfull nor so base a stroke
To spoile a Willow as an old reverend Oke,
From me th'art gone, but i'le from hence nere fly,
But sit by thee, and sigh, and weep, and die.
Enter Sir Jeffrey, Bolt, Souldiers.
Bo.
Stand, that's he who turns his taile to us, which is
as much as to say, A fart for your Worship.
Om.
Down with him.
Sir Jef.
Peace, it's a wilde Bull wee come to set upon,
and therfore let those Dogs that can fasten bite soundly.
Bo.
My harts, we come not to bait an Asse in a Beares
skin, but a Lion in his own skin, he's a traitour.
Om.
How know we that?
Bo.
Thus, he hides his face, and wee are not to back a
traitor, Sir Jeffrey, you'le get between mee and the Gallows,
if I strike him down.
Jeff.
I'le enter into a Recognizance to hang before
thou shalt hang.
Bo.
If you see my heart begin to faint, knock you mee
down to put life into me.
Ief.
Feare nothing.
Bolt strikes him down.
Has.
Be damn'd both gods and men the act detest,
Oh heaven, wipe this sinne out for all the rest.
Bo.
Your sins are wip'd out sir, your Scottish score is
paid sir.
Ief.
Is he down?
Bo.
He sprawles, stay there's one asleep by him,
Shall I kill the lice in his head too?
Ief.
No, wake not a sleeping Mastive, the Kings in
the field, Lets post to him, Bolt, thou shalt be a Knight as
deep as my selfe, for this manly deed, as ye go through the
Bo.
Cry it out at the Crosse, and at the old Palace,
That Bolt was the man that brain'd lusty Wallace.
Om.
The traitor's dead, the traitor's dead, &c.
Enter Wallace, with dry sticks and straw, beating two flints.
Wal.
Thou shalt have fire anon old man, ha, murdred?
What shouldst thou be? the face of Haslerig,
'Tis he, just heavens ye have bestow'd my office
Vpon some other, I thank ye that my bloud
Stains not my hand, however both did die
(In love or hate) both shall together lie,
The Coffin you must sleep in is this Cave,
Whole heaven your winding sheet, all earth your grave,
The early Lark shall sadly ring your Knell,
Your Dirge be sung by mournfull Philomell,
Instead of flowres and strewing herbs take these,
And what my charity now fails to do,
Poor Robin-redbrest shall, my last adue,
I have other streames to swim through, or calme
Venture, 'tis brave when danger's crown'd with palme.
Exit.
Enter with Drum and Colours, the Generall of Scotland, with Grimsby, Mentith, Coming, and Souldiers with blew Caps.
Gen.
Vpon this field-bed will we lodge this night,
The earth's a souldiers pillow, here pitch our tents.
Men., Om.
Vp with our tents.
Gen.
To councell, beat a Drum.
Gri.
Beat it for action then, and not for words,
Vpon our Speare points our best counsell sits,
If you dare hold me worthy to advise,
But with an easie march move gently on.
Gen.
You speak against the Scholership of war.
Gri.
Now their Beef-pots, and their Cans,
Are toss'd in stead of Pikes, their Armes are thrown
About their Wenches middles, there's their close feight,
Let us not lose the forelock in our hands,
Of us they dream not, yet we are as free-born
As th'English King himself, be not their slaves,
Free Scotland, or in England dig our graves.
Within.
A Wallace, A Wallace, A Wallace!
Enter Rugerosse a Scottish Herald.
Gen.
Rugerosse, what cry is this?
Ruge.
Of the whole Army,
Grown wild twixt joy and admiration,
At the sight of Wallace.
Om.
Ha.
Ru.
That dreadlesse Souldier,
For whom all Scotland shed a sea of teares
As deep as that in which men thought him dead,
Sets with his presence all their hearts on fire,
That have but sight of him.
Within.
A Wallace, A Wallace.
Gri.
Intreat him hither.
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