Burlesque Plays and Poems E-Book

Various

• Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

"Burlesque Plays and Poems" is a captivating anthology that showcases the vibrant and satirical art form of burlesque, presenting a collection of plays and poems that cleverly blend humor and critical commentary. The literary style is marked by wit and exuberance, reflecting the social and political climates of various eras while challenging societal norms through parody. With roots tracing back to the 19th century, these works echo the evolution of burlesque, illuminating its capacity as a powerful medium for both entertainment and social critique, all delivered with a flourish of theatricality and layered meanings. The anthology features contributions from various authors who have significantly shaped the burlesque tradition. These writers, often influenced by the cultural upheaval and artistic movements of their times, draw on their diverse backgrounds to explore themes such as identity, gender roles, and societal critiques. Their intimate understanding of performance art informs the material, making it both an homage to and a reinvention of the burlesque genre, propelling it into new contexts while respecting its origins. I wholeheartedly recommend "Burlesque Plays and Poems" to readers seeking a delightful combination of laughter and thought-provoking content. Whether you are a scholar of theatre, a lover of poetry, or simply someone in search of a fresh perspective, this anthology provides an engaging exploration of burlesque that is sure to entertain and enlighten.

Leseprobe

Various

Burlesque Plays and Poems

Published by Good Press, 2022

[email protected]

EAN 4064066232665

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION.

The Rime of Sir Thopas.

THE RIME OF SIR THOPAS.

THE Knight of the Burning Pestle .

The Rehearsal .

The Splendid Shilling.

Two "Odes."

THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES: OR, THE LIFE AND DEATH OF Tom Thumb the Great .

Chrononhotonthologos

The Rovers ; OR, THE DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT.

Bombastes Furioso .

Rejected Addresses .

LOYAL EFFUSION.

THE BABY'S DEBUT.

AN ADDRESS WITHOUT A PHŒNIX.

CUI BONO?

IN THE CHARACTER OF A HAMPSHIRE FARMER.

THE LIVING LUSTRES.

THE REBUILDING.

DRURY'S DIRGE.

A TALE OF DRURY LANE.

The Night.

The Burning.

The Revival.

JOHNSON'S GHOST.

THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY.

FIRE AND ALE.

PLAYHOUSE MUSINGS.

DRURY LANE HUSTINGS. A NEW HALFPENNY BALLAD.

ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. Translated by Dr. B.

THEATRICAL ALARM BELL.

THE THEATRE.

THE THEATRE.

To the Managing Committee of the New Drury Lane Theatre.

Case No. I. MACBETH.

Case No. II. THE STRANGER.

Case No. III. GEORGE BARNWELL.

PUNCH'S APOTHEOSIS.

Odes and Addresses to Great People .

ODE TO MR. GRAHAM. THE AERONAUT.

ODE TO MR. M'ADAM.

ODE TO THE GREAT UNKNOWN.

TO SYLVANUS URBAN, ESQUIRE,

AN ADDRESS TO THE STEAM WASHING COMPANY.

LETTER OF REMONSTRANCE FROM BRIDGET JONES,

ODE TO R. W. ELLISTON, ESQUIRE, THE GREAT LESSEE!

ODE TO RICHARD MARTIN, ESQUIRE,

ODE TO W. KITCHENER, M.D.

ROUTLEDGE'S EXCELSIOR SERIES OF STANDARD AUTHORS,

ROUTLEDGE'S STANDARD LIBRARY,

INTRODUCTION.

Table of Contents

——♦——

The word Burlesque came to us through the French from the Italian "burlesco"; "burla" being mockery or raillery, and implying always an object. Burlesque must, burlarsi di uno, mock at somebody or something, and when intended to give pleasure it is nothing if not good-natured. One etymologist associates the word with the old English "bourd," a jest; the Gaelic "burd," he says, means mockery, and "buirleadh," is language of ridicule. Yes, and "burrail" is the loud romping of children, and "burrall" is weeping and wailing in a deep-toned howl. Another etymologist takes the Italian "burla," waggery or banter, as diminutive from the Latin "burra," which means a rough hair, but is used by Ausonius in the sense of a jest. That etymology no doubt fits burlesque to a hair, but, like Launce's sweetheart, it may have more hair than wit.

The first burlesque in this volume—Chaucer's "Rime of Sir Thopas," written towards the close of the fourteenth century—is a jest upon long-winded story-tellers, who expatiate on insignificant detail; for in his day there were many metrical romances written by the ancestors of Mrs. Nickleby. Riding to Canterbury with the other pilgrims, Chaucer good-humouredly takes to himself the part of the companion who jogs along with even flow of words, luxuriating in all trivial detail until he brings Sir Thopas face to face with an adventure, for he meets a giant with three heads. But even then there is the adventure to be waited for. The story-teller finds that he must trot his knight back home to fetch his armour, and when he "is comen again to toune," it takes so many words to get him his supper, get his armour on, and trot him out again, that the inevitable end comes, with rude intrusion of some faint-hearted lording who has not courage to listen until the point of the story can be descried from afar. So the best of the old story-tellers, in a book full of examples of tales told as they should be, burlesqued misuse of his art, and the "Rime of Sir Thopas" became a warning buoy over the shallows. "I cannot," said Sir Thomas Wyatt, in Henry VIII.'s reign,

"say that Pan

Passeth Apollo in music manyfold;

Praisé Sir Thopas for a noble tale,

And scorn the story that the Knighté told."

The second burlesque in this volume, Beaumont and Fletcher's "Knight of the Burning Pestle," written in eight days, appeared in 1611, six years after the publication of the First Part, and four years earlier than the Second Part, of Don Quixote. The first English translation of Don Quixote (Shelton's) appeared in 1612. The Knight of the Burning Pestle is, like Don Quixote, a burlesque upon the tasteless affectations of the tales of chivalry. Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher worked together as playwrights in the reign of James I. All their plays were produced during that reign. Beaumont died in the same year as Shakespeare, having written thirteen plays in fellowship with Fletcher. Forty more were written by Fletcher alone, but the name of Beaumont is, by tradition of a loving fellowship, associated with them all. "The Knight of the Burning Pestle" is all the merrier for being the work of men who were themselves true poets. It should be remembered that this play was written for a theatre without scenery, in which gentlemen were allowed to hire stools on the stage itself for a nearer view of the actors; and it is among this select part of the audience that the citizen intrudes and the citizen's wife is lifted up, when she cries, "Husband, shall I come up, husband?" "Ay, cony; Ralph, help your mistress up this way; pray, gentlemen, make her a little room; I pray you, sir, lend me your hand to help up my wife.... Boy, let my wife and I have a couple of stools, and then begin."

The next burlesque in our collection is "The Rehearsal," which was produced in 1671 to ridicule the extravagance of the "heroic" plays of the Restoration. The founder of this school in England was Sir William Davenant who was living and was Poet Laureate—and wearer of the bays, therefore, was Bayes—when the jest was begun by George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, and other wits of the day. The jest was so long in hand that, in 1668, when Davenant died, and Dryden succeeded him as Laureate, the character of Bayes passed on to him. The plaster on the nose pointed at Davenant, who had lost great part of his nose. The manner of speaking, and the "hum and buzz," pointed at Dryden, who was also in 1671 the great master of what was called heroic drama. Bold rhodomontade was, on the stage, preferred to good sense at a time when the new French criticism was enforcing above all things "good sense" upon poets, as a reaction against the strained ingenuities that had come in under Italian influence. Let us leave to Italy her paste brilliants, said Boileau, in his Art Poétique, produced at the same time as "The Rehearsal," all should tend to good sense. But Dryden in his plays (not in his other poems) boldly translated Horace's serbit humi tutus, into

"He who servilely creeps after sense

Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence."

The particular excellence attained by flying out of sight of sense is burlesqued in the Duke of Buckingham's "Rehearsal."

John Philips, the delicate and gentle son of a vicar of Bampton, read Milton with delight from his boyhood and knew Virgil almost by heart. At college he wrote, for the edification of a comrade who did not know how to keep a shilling in his pocket, "The Splendid Shilling," a poem first published in 1705—which set forth, in Miltonic style applied to humblest images, the comfort of possessing such a coin. The Miltonic grandeur of tone John Philips happily caught from a long and loving study of the English poet whom he reverenced above others, and "The Splendid Shilling" has a special charm as a burlesque in which nobody is ridiculed.

The burlesque poem called "Namby Pamby," of which the title has been added to the English vocabulary, was written by Henry Carey, in ridicule of the little rhymes inscribed to certain babies of distinguished persons by Ambrose Philips, or, as he is translated into nursery language, "Namby Pamby Pilli-pis." Ambrose Philips was a friend and companion of Addison's, and a gentleman who prospered fairly in Whig government circles. Pope's annoyance at the praise given to Ambrose Philips's pastorals which appeared in the same Miscellany with his own, and Addison's praise in the Spectator of his friend's translation of Racine's Andromache as "The Distrest Mother," have caused Ambrose Philips to be better remembered in the history of literature than might otherwise have been necessary. When he wrote no longer of

"Mammy

Andromache and her lammy

Hanging panging at the breast

Of a matron most distrest."

and took to nursery lyrics, he gave Henry Carey an opportunity of putting a last touch to his monument for the instruction of posterity. The two specimens here given of the original poems that suggested "Namby Pamby" are addressed severally to two babes in the nursery of Daniel Pulteney, Esq. Another of the babies who inspired him was an infant Carteret, whose name Carey translated into "Tartaretta Tartaree." Some lines here and there, seven in all, which are not the wittier for being coarse, have been left out of "Namby Pamby." This burlesque was first published in 1725 or 1726; my copy is of the fifth edition, dated 1726, and was appended to "A Learned Dissertation on Dumpling; its Dignity, Antiquity, and Excellence, with a Word upon Pudding, and many other Useful Discoveries of great Benefit to the Publick. To which is added, Namby Pamby, A Panegyric on the new Versification address'd to A—— P——, Esq."

Henry Fielding produced his "Tom Thumb" in 1730, and added the notes of Scriblerus Secundus in 1731, following the example set by the Dunciad as published in April 1729, with the "Prolegomena of Scriblerus and Notes Variorum." Paul Whitehead added notes of a Scriblerus Tertius to his "Gymnasiad" in 1744. Fielding was twenty-four years old when he added to his "Tom Thumb" the notes that transmit to us lively examples of the stilted language of the stage by which, as a gentleman's son left to his own resources, he was then endeavouring to live. This was four years before his marriage, and ten years before he revealed his transcendent powers as a novelist.

Henry Carey's "Chrononhotonthologos," three years later, in 1734, carried on the war against pretentious dulness on the stage. The manner of the great actors was, like the plays of their generation, pompous and rhetorical, full of measured sound and fury signifying nothing. Garrick, who made his first appearance as an actor in 1741, put an end to this. "If the young fellow is right," said Quin, "We are all in the wrong;" little suspecting that they really were all in the wrong. Henry Carey, a musician by profession, played in the orchestra and also supplied the stage with ballad and burlesque farces and operas. But also he wrote "Namby Pamby." It was said of him that "he led a life free from reproach, and hanged himself October 4th, 1743."

"The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement," was a contribution to "The Anti-Jacobin," by George Canning, and his friends George Ellis and John Hookham Frere. Canning had established "The Anti-Jacobin," of which the first number was published on the 20th of November, 1797. Its poetry, generally levelled through witty burlesque at the false sentiment of the day, was collected in 1801 into a handsome quarto. This includes "The Rovers," which is a lively caricature of the sentimental German drama. Goethe's "Stella," as read in the translation used by the caricaturists, is not less comical than the caricature. I have a copy of the "Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin," in which one of the original writers has, for the friend to whom he gave the book, marked with his pen and ink details of authorship. From this it appears that the description of the dramatis personæ in "The Rovers" was by Frere, the Prologue by Canning and Ellis, the opening scene by Frere as far as Rogero's famous song, which was by Canning and Ellis. All that follows to the beginning of the fourth act was by Canning, except that Frere wrote the scene in the second act on the delivery of a newspaper to Beefington and Puddingfield. The fourth act and the final stage directions were by Frere, except the Recitative and Chorus of Conspirators. These were by George Ellis.

"Bombastes Furioso," first produced in 1810, was by William Barnes Rhodes, who had published a translation of Juvenal in 1801 and "Epigrams" in 1803. He formed a considerable dramatic library, of which there was a catalogue printed in 1825.

Next comes in this collection the series of burlesques of the styles of poets famous and popular in 1812, published in that year as "Rejected Addresses," by Horace and James Smith. Of these brothers, sons of an attorney, one was an attorney, the other a stockbroker, one aged thirty-seven, the other thirty-three, when the book appeared which made them famous, and of which the first edition is reprinted in this volume. The book went through twenty-four editions. James Smith wrote no more, but Horace to the last amused himself with literature. "Is it not odd," Leigh Hunt wrote of him to Shelley, "that the only truly generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, was a stockbroker! And he writes poetry too; he writes poetry, and pastoral dramas, and yet knows how to make money, and does make it, and is still generous." The Fitzgerald who is subject of the first burlesque used to recite his laudatory poems at the annual dinners of the Literary Fund, and is the same who was referred to in the opening lines of Byron's "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers:"

"Still must I hear?—shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl

His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,

And I not sing."

This Miscellany closes with some of the "Odes and Addresses to Great People," with which Thomas Hood, at the age of twenty-six, first made his mark as a wit. The little book from which these pieces are taken was the joint work of himself and John Hamilton Reynolds, whose sister he had married. It marks the rise of the pun in burlesque writing through Thomas Hood, who, when dying of consumption, suggested for his epitaph, "Here lies one who spat more blood and made more puns than any other man."

H. M.

June, 1885.

Burlesque Plays and Poems.

——♦——

The Rime of Sir Thopas.

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE TO SIR THOPAS.

When said was this mirácle, every man

As sober was, that wonder was to see,

Till that our host to japen he began,

And then at erst he lookéd upon me,

And saidé thus: "What man art thou?" quod he.

Thou lookest, as thou wouldest find an hare,

For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.

"Approché near, and look up merrily.

Now ware you, sirs, and let this man have place.

He in the waist is shapen as well as I:

This were a popet in an arm to embrace

For any woman, small and fair of face.

He seemeth elvish by his countenance,

For unto no wight doth he dalliance.

"Say now somewhat, sin other folk han said;

Tell us a tale of mirth, and that anon."

"Hosté," quod I, "ne be not evil apaid,

For other talé certes, can I none,

But of a Rime I learnéd yore agone."

"Yea, that is good," quod he, "we shullen hear

Some dainty thing, me thinketh by thy cheere."

THE RIME OF SIR THOPAS.

Table of Contents

Listeneth, lordings, in good entent,

And I wol tell you verament

Of mirth and of solás,

All of a knight was fair and gent

In battle and in tournamént,

His name was Sir Thopás.

Yborn he was in far countree,

In Flanders, all beyond the sea,

At Popering in the place,

His father was a man full free,

And lord he was of that countree,

As it was Goddés grace.

Sir Thopas was a doughty swain,

White was his face as paindemaine

His lippés red as rose.

His rudde is like scarlét in grain,

And I you tell in good certain

He had a seemly nose.

His hair, his beard, was like saffroun,

That to his girdle raught adown,

His shoon of cordewaine;

Of Bruges were his hosen brown;

His robé was of ciclatoun,

That costé many a jane.

He could hunt at the wildé dere,

And ride on hawking for the rivere

With grey goshawk on hand:

Thereto he was a good archere,

Of wrestling was there none his peer,

Where any ram should stand.

Full many a maiden bright in bower

They mournéd for him par amour,

When them were bet to slepe;

But he was chaste and no lechóur,

And sweet as is the bramble flower,

That beareth the red hepe.

And so it fell upon a day,

Forsooth, as I you tellen may,

Sir Thopas would out ride;

He worth upon his stedé gray,

And in his hand a launcegay,

A long sword by his side.

He pricketh through a fair forést,

Therein is many a wildé beast,

Yea bothé buck and hare,

And as he prickéd North and Est,

I tell it you, him had almest

Betid a sorry care.

There springen herbés great and smale,

The liquorice and the setewale,

And many a clove gilofre,

And nutémeg to put in ale,

Whether it be moist or stale,

Or for to lain in cofre.

The birdés singen, it is no nay,

The sparhawk and the popingay,

That joy it was to hear,

The throstel cock made eke his lay,

The wodé dove upon the spray

He sang full loud and clear.

Sir Thopas fell in love-longíng

All when he heard the throstel sing,

And pricked as he were wood;

His fairé steed in his prícking

So swatté, that men might him wring,

His sidés were all blood.

Sir Thopas eke so weary was

For pricking on the softé gras,

So fierce was his couráge,

That down he laid him in that place

To maken his stedé som solace,

And gave him good foráge.

Ah, Seinte Mary, benedicite,

What aileth this love at me

To bindé me so sore?

Me dreaméd all this night pardé,

An elf-queen shal my leman be,

And sleep under my gore.

An elf-queen will I love ywis,

For in this world no wóman is

Worthy to be my make

In town,—

All other women I forsake,

And to an elf-queen I me take

By dale and eke by down.

Into his saddle he clomb anon,

And prickéd over stile and stone

An elf-queen for to espie,

Till he so long had ridden and gone,

That he found in a privee wone

The contree of Faerié.

Wherein he soughté North and South,

And oft he spiéd with his mouth

In many a forest wild,

For in that contree n'as ther non,

That to him durst ride or gon,

Neither wife ne child.

Till that there came a great geaunt,

His namé was Sir Oliphaunt,

A perilous man of deed,

He saidé, Childe by Termagaunt,

But if thou prick out of mine haunt,

Anon I slay thy stede

With mace.

Here is the Queen of Faerie,

With harp, and pipe, and symphonie,

Dwelling in this place.

The Childe said, All so mote I thee,

To morrow wol I meten thee,

When I have min armóur,

And yet I hopé par ma fay,

That thou shalt with this launcegay

Abien it full soure;

Thy mawe

Shal I perce, if I may,

Or it be fully prime of the day,

For here thou shalt be slawe.

Sir Thopas drew aback full fast;

This geaunt at him stonés cast

Out of a fell staff sling:

But faire escapéd Childe Thopás,

And all it was through Goddes grace,

And through his fair bearíng.

Yet listeneth, lordings, to my tale,

Merrier than the nightingale,

For now I will you roune,

How Sir Thopás with sidés smale,

Pricking over hill and dale,

Is comen again to toune.

His merry men commandeth he,

To maken him bothe game and glee,

For needés must he fight,

With a geaunt with heades three,

For paramour and jolitee

Of one that shone full bright.

Do come, he said, my minestrales

And gestours for to tellen tales

Anon in mine armíng,

Of romauncés that ben reáles,

Of popés and of cardináles,

And eke of love-longíng.

They fet him first the sweté wine,

And mead eke in a maseline,

And regal spicerie,

Of ginger-bread that was full fine,

And liquorice and eke cummine,

With sugar that is trie.

He diddé next his whité lere

Of cloth of laké fine and clere

A breche and eke a sherte,

And next his shert an haketon,

And over that an habergeon,

For piercing of his herte.

And over that a fine hauberk,

Was all ywrought of Jewes werk,

Full strong it was of plate,

And over that his cote-armoure,

As white as is the lily floure,

In which he would debate.

His shield was all of gold so red,

And therein was a boarés hed,

A carbuncle beside;

And there he swore on ale and bread

How that the geaunt shuld be dead,

Betide what so betide.

His jambeux were of cuirbouly,

His swordés sheth of ivory,

His helm of latoun bright,

His saddle was of rewel bone,

His bridle as the sonné shone,

Or as the moné light.

His speré was of fin cypréss,

That bodeth war, and nothing peace,

The head full sharp yground.

His stedé was all dapple gray,

It goeth an amble in the way

Full softély and round

In londe—

Lo, Lordes mine, here is a fytte;

If ye wol ony more of it,

To tell it wol I fond.

Now hold your mouth pour charité,

Bothé knight and lady free,

And herkeneth to my spell,

Of bataille and of chivalrie,

Of ladies love and druerie,

Anon I wol you tell.

Men speken of romauncés of pris,

Of Hornchild, and of Ipotis,

Of Bevis, and Sir Guy,

Of Sir Libeux, and Pleindamour,

But Sir Thopás, he bears the flour

Of reál chivalrie.

His goodé steed he all bestrode,

And forth upon his way he glode,

As sparkle out of brond;

Upon his crest he bare a tower,

And therein sticked a lily flower,

God shield his corps fro shond.

And for he was a knight auntrous,

He n'olde slepen in none house,

But liggen in his hood,

His brighté helm was his wangér,

And by him baited his destrér

Of herbés fine and good.

Himself drank water of the well,

As did the knight Sir Percivell

So worthy under weede,

Till on a day —— ——

"No more of this for Goddés dignitee,"

Quod ouré hosté, "for thou makest me

So weary of thy veray lewédnesse,

That all so wisly God my soulé blesse,

Min erés aken of thy drafty speche.

Now swiche a rime the devil I beteche;

This may wel be rime dogérel," quod he.

"Why so?" quod I, "why wolt thou letten me

More of my talé than an other man,

Sin that it is the besté rime I can?"

"Thou dost nought ellés but dispendest time.

Sir, at one word, thou shalt no longer rime."

THEKnight of the Burning Pestle.

Table of Contents

——♦——

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

The Prologue.Then a Citizen.The Citizen's Wife, andRalph, her man, sitting below amidst the spectators.A rich Merchant.Jasper, his apprentice.Master Humphrey, a friend to the Merchant.Luce, the Merchant's daughter.Mistress Merry-thought, Jasper'smother.Michael, a second son ofMistress Merry-thought.Old Mr. Merry-thought.A Squire.A Dwarf.A Tapster.A Boy that danceth and singeth.An Host.A Barber.Two Knights.A Captain.A Sergeant.Soldiers.

EnterPrologue.

From all that's near the court, from all that's great

Within the compass of the city walls,

We now have brought our scene.

EnterCitizen.

Cit. Hold your peace, good-man boy.

Pro. What do you mean, sir?

Cit. That you have no good meaning: these seven years there hath been plays at this house, I have observed it, you have still girds at citizens; and now you call your play "The London Merchant." Down with your title, boy, down with your title.

Pro. Are you a member of the noble city?

Cit. I am.

Pro. And a freeman?

Cit. Yea, and a grocer.

Pro. So, grocer, then by your sweet favour, we intend no abuse to the city.

Cit. No, sir, yes, sir, if you were not resolved to play the jacks, what need you study for new subjects, purposely to abuse your betters? Why could not you be contented, as well as others, with the legend of Whittington, or the Life and Death of Sir Thomas Gresham? with the building of the Royal Exchange? or the story of Queen Eleanor, with the rearing of London Bridge upon woolsacks?

Pro. You seem to be an understanding man; what would you have us do, sir?

Cit. Why, present something notably in honour of the commons of the city.

Pro. Why, what do you say to the Life and Death of fat Drake, or the repairing of Fleet privies?

Cit. I do not like that; but I will have a citizen, and he shall be of my own trade.

Pro. Oh, you should have told us your mind a month since, our play is ready to begin now.

Cit. 'Tis all one for that, I will have a grocer, and he shall do admirable things.

Pro. What will you have him do?

Cit. Marry I will have him——

Wife. Husband, husband! [Wifebelow.

Ralph. Peace, mistress. [Ralphbelow.

Wife. Hold thy peace, Ralph, I know what I do, I warrant ye. Husband, husband!

Cit. What sayest thou, cony?

Wife. Let him kill a lion with a pestle, husband; let him kill a lion with a pestle.

Cit. So he shall, I'll have him kill a lion with a pestle.

Wife. Husband, shall I come up, husband?

Cit. Ay, cony. Ralph, help your mistress up this way: pray, gentlemen, make her a little room; I pray you, sir, lend me your hand to help up my wife; I thank you, sir, so.

Wife. By your leave, gentlemen all, I'm something troublesome, I'm a stranger here, I was ne'er at one of these plays, as they say, before; but I should have seen "Jane Shore" once; and my husband hath promised me anytime this twelvemonth, to carry me to the "Bold Beauchamps," but in truth he did not; I pray you bear with me.

Cit. Boy, let my wife and I have a couple of stools, and then begin, and let the grocer do rare things.

Pro. But, sir, we have never a boy to play him, every one hath a part already.

Wife. Husband, husband, for God's sake let Ralph play him; beshrew me if I do not think he will go beyond them all.

Cit. Well remembered wife; come up, Ralph; I'll tell you, gentlemen, let them but lend him a suit of reparrel, and necessaries, and by Gad, if any of them all blow wind in the tail on him, I'll be hanged.

Wife. I pray you, youth, let him have a suit of reparrel: I'll be sworn, gentlemen, my husband tells you true, he will act you sometimes at our house, that all the neighbours cry out on him: he will fetch you up a couraging part so in the garret, that we are all as feared I warrant you, that we quake again. We fear our children with him, if they be never so unruly, do but cry "Ralph comes, Ralph comes" to them, and they'll be as quiet as lambs. Hold up thy head, Ralph, show the gentlemen what thou canst do; speak a huffing part, I warrant you the gentlemen will accept of it.

Cit. Do, Ralph, do.

Ralph. By heaven (methinks) it were an easy leap

To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon,

Or dive into the bottom of the sea,

Where never fathom line touched any ground,

And pluck drowned honour from the lake of hell.

Cit. How say you, gentlemen, is it not as I told you?

Wife. Nay, gentlemen, he hath played before, my husband says, "Musidorus," before the wardens of our company.

Cit. Ay, and he should have played "Jeronimo" with a shoemaker for a wager.

Pro. He shall have a suit of apparel, if he will go in.

Cit. In, Ralph, in, Ralph, and set out the grocers in their kind, if thou lovest me.

Wife. I warrant our Ralph will look finely when he's dressed.

Pro. But what will you have it called?

Cit. "The Grocer's Honour."

Pro. Methinks "The Knight of the Burning Pestle" were better.

Wife. I'll be sworn, husband, that's as good a name as can be.

Cit. Let it be so, begin, begin; my wife and I will sit down.

Pro. I pray you do.

Cit. What stately music have you? Have you shawns?

Pro. Shawns? No.

Cit. No? I'm a thief if my mind did not give me so. Ralph plays a stately part, and he must needs have shawns: I'll be at the charge of them myself rather than we'll be without them.

Pro. So you are like to be.

Cit. Why and so I will be, there's two shillings, let's have the waits of Southwark, they are as rare fellows as any are in England; and that will fetch them all o'er the water with a vengeance, as if they were mad.

Pro. You shall have them; will you sit down, then?

Cit. Ay, come, wife.

Wife. Sit you, merry all gentlemen, I'm bold to sit amongst you for my ease.

Pro. From all that's near the Court, from all that's great

Within the compass of the city walls,

We now have brought our scene. Fly far from hence

All private taxes, all immodest phrases,

Whatever may but show like vicious,

For wicked mirth never true pleasure brings,

But honest minds are pleased with honest things.

Thus much for that we do. But for Ralph's part you must answer for't yourself.

Cit. Take you no care for Ralph, he'll discharge himself, I warrant you.

Wife. I'faith, gentlemen, I'll give my word for Ralph.

ACT I.—Scene I.

EnterMerchantandJasperhis man.

Merch. Sirrah, I'll make you know you are my prentice,

And whom my charitable love redeem'd

Even from the fall of fortune; gave thee heat

And growth, to be what now thou art; new cast thee,

Adding the trust of all I have at home,

In foreign staples, or upon the sea,

To thy direction; tied the good opinions

Both of myself and friends to thy endeavours,—

So fair were thy beginnings. But with these,

As I remember, you had never charge

To love your master's daughter, and even then,

When I had found a wealthy husband for her,

I take it, sir, you had not; but, however,

I'll break the neck of that commission,

And make you know you're but a merchant's factor.

Jasp. Sir, I do lib'rally confess I'm yours,

Bound both by love and duty to your service:

In which my labour hath been all my profit.

I have not lost in bargain, nor delighted

To wear your honest gains upon my back,

Nor have I giv'n a pension to my blood,

Or lavishly in play consum'd your stock.

These, and the miseries that do attend them,

I dare with innocence proclaim are strangers

To all my temperate actions; for your daughter,

If there be any love to my deservings

Borne by her virtuous self, I cannot stop it:

Nor am I able to refrain her wishes.

She's private to herself, and best of knowledge

Whom she will make so happy as to sigh for.

Besides, I cannot think you mean to match her

Unto a fellow of so lame a presence,

One that hath little left of nature in him.

Merch. 'Tis very well, sir, I can tell your wisdom

How all this shall be cured.

Jasp.Your care becomes you.

Merch. And thus it shall be, sir; I here discharge you

My house and service. Take your liberty,

And when I want a son I'll send for you. [Exit.

Jasp. These be the fair rewards of them that love,

Oh you that live in freedom never prove

The travail of a mind led by desire.

EnterLuce.

Luce. Why how now, friend, struck with my father's thunder?

Jasp. Struck, and struck dead, unless the remedy

Be full of speed and virtue; I am now,

What I expected long, no more your father's.

Luce. But mine.

Jasp. But yours, and only yours I am,

That's all I have to keep me from the statute;

You dare be constant still?

Luce.O fear me not.

In this I dare be better than a woman.

Nor shall his anger nor his offers move me,

Were they both equal to a prince's power.

Jasp. You know my rival?

Luce.Yes, and love him dearly,

E'en as I love an ague, or foul weather;

I prithee, Jasper, fear him not.

Jasp.Oh no,

I do not mean to do him so much kindness.

But to our own desires: you know the plot

We both agreed on.

Luce.Yes, and will perform

My part exactly.

Jasp.I desire no more,

Farewell, and keep my heart, 'tis yours.

Luce.I take it,

He must do miracles, makes me forsake it. [Exeunt.

Cit. Fie upon 'em, little infidels, what a matter's here now? Well, I'll be hang'd for a half-penny, if there be not some abomination knavery in this play; well, let 'em look to it, Ralph must come, and if there be any tricks a-brewing——

Wife. Let 'em brew and bake too, husband, a God's name. Ralph will find all out I warrant you, and they were older than they are. I pray, my pretty youth, is Ralph ready?

Boy. He will be presently.

Wife. Now I pray you make my commendations unto him, and withal, carry him this stick of liquorice; tell him his mistress sent it him, and bid him bite a piece, 'twill open his pipes the better, say.

EnterMerchantandMaster Humphrey.

Merch. Come, sir, she's yours, upon my faith she's yours,

You have my hand; for other idle lets,

Between your hopes and her, thus with a wind

They're scattered, and no more. My wanton prentice,

That like a bladder blew himself with love,

I have let out, and sent him to discover

New masters yet unknown.

Hum.I thank you, sir,

Indeed I thank you, sir; and ere I stir,

It shall be known, however you do deem,

I am of gentle blood, and gentle seem.

Merch. Oh, sir, I know it certain.

Hum.Sir, my friend,

Although, as writers say, all things have end,

And that we call a pudding, hath his two,

Oh let it not seem strange, I pray to you,

If in this bloody simile, I put

My love, more endless than frail things or gut.

Wife. Husband, I prithee, sweet lamb, tell me one thing, but tell me truly. Stay, youths, I beseech you, till I question my husband.

Cit. What is it, mouse?

Wife. Sirrah, didst thou ever see a prettier child? how it behaves itself, I warrant you: and speaks and looks, and perts up the head? I pray you brother, with your favour, were you never one of Mr. Muncaster's scholars?

Cit. Chicken, I prithee heartily contain thyself, the childer are pretty childer, but when Ralph comes, lamb!

Wife. Ay, when Ralph comes, cony! Well, my youth, you may proceed.

Merch. Well, sir, you know my love, and rest, I hope,

Assured of my consent; get but my daughter's,

And wed her when you please; you must be bold,

And clap in close unto her; come, I know

You've language good enough to win a wench.

Wife. A toity tyrant, hath been an old stringer in his days,

I warrant him.

Hum. I take your gentle offer, and withal

Yield love again for love reciprocal.

Mar. What, Luce, within there?

EnterLuce.

Luce. .mleft10 Called you, sir?

Merch.I did;

Give entertainment to this gentleman;

And see you be not froward: to her, sir, [Exit.

My presence will but be an eyesore to you.

Hum. Fair mistress Luce, how do you, are you well?

Give me your hand, and then I pray you tell,

How doth your little sister, and your brother,

And whether you love me or any other?

Luce. Sir, these are quickly answered.

Hum.So they are,

Where women are not cruel; but how far

Is it now distant from the place we are in,

Unto that blessed place, your father's warren.

Luce. What makes you think of that, sir?

Hum.E'en that face,

For stealing rabbits whilome in that place,

God Cupid, or the keeper, I know not whether,

Unto my cost and charges brought you thither,

And there began——

Luce.Your game, sir.

Hum.Let no game,

Or anything that tendeth to the same,

Be evermore remembered, thou fair killer,

For whom I sate me down and brake my tiller.

Wife. There's a kind gentleman, I warrant you. When will you do as much for me, George?

Luce. Beshrew me, sir, I'm sorry for your losses,

But as the proverb says, I cannot cry;

I would you had not seen me.

Hum.So would I,

Unless you had more maw to do me good.

Luce. Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood?

Send for a constable, and raise the town.

Hum. Oh no, my valiant love will batter down

Millions of constables, and put to flight

E'en that great watch of Midsummer Day at night.

Luce. Beshrew me, sir, 'twere good I yielded then,

Weak women cannot hope, where valiant men

Have no resistance.

Hum.Yield then, I am full

Of pity, though I say it, and can pull

Out of my pocket thus a pair of gloves.

Look, Luce, look, the dog's tooth, nor the doves

Are not so white as these; and sweet they be,

And whipt about with silk, as you may see.

If you desire the price, shoot from your eye

A beam to this place, and you shall espy

F. S., which is to say, my sweetest honey,

They cost me three-and-twopence, and no money.

Luce. Well, sir, I take them kindly, and I thank you; what

What would you more?

Hum.Nothing.

Luce.Why then, farewell.

Hum. Nor so, nor so, for, lady, I must tell,

Before we part, for what we met together,

God grant me time, and patience, and fair weather.

Luce. Speak and declare your mind in terms so brief.

Hum. I shall; then first and foremost, for relief

I call to you, if that you can afford it,

I care not at what price, for on my word it

Shall be repaid again, although it cost me

More than I'll speak of now, for love hath tost me

In furious blanket like a tennis-ball,

And now I rise aloft, and now I fall.

Luce. Alas, good gentleman, alas the day.

Hum. I thank you heartily, and as I say,

Thus do I still continue without rest,

I' th' morning like a man, at night a beast,

Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet,

That much I fear, forsaking of my diet,

Will bring me presently to that quandary,

I shall bid all adieu.

Luce.Now, by St. Mary

That were great pity.

Hum.So it were, beshrew me,

Then ease me, lusty Luce, and pity shew me.

Luce. Why, sir, you know my will is nothing worth

Without my father's grant; get his consent,

And then you may with full assurance try me.

Hum. The worshipful your sire will not deny me,

For I have ask'd him, and he hath replied,

Sweet Master Humphrey, Luce shall be thy bride.

Luce. Sweet Master Humphrey, then I am content.

Hum. And so am I, in truth.

Luce.Yet take me with you.

There is another clause must be annext,

And this it is I swore, and will perform it,

No man shall ever joy me as his wife,

But he that stole me hence. If you dare venture,

I'm yours; you need not fear, my father loves you,

If not, farewell, for ever.

Hum.Stay, nymph, stay,

I have a double gelding, coloured bay,

Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind,

Another for myself, though somewhat blind,

Yet true as trusty tree.

Luce.I'm satisfied,

And so I give my hand; our course must lie

Through Waltham Forest, where I have a friend

Will entertain us; so farewell, Sir Humphrey, [ExitLuce.

And think upon your business.

Hum.Though I die,

I am resolv'd to venture life and limb, [ExitHum.

For one so young, so fair, so kind, so trim.

Wife. By my faith and troth, George, and as I am virtuous, it is e'en the kindest young man that ever trod on shoe-leather; well, go thy ways, if thou hast her not, 'tis not thy fault i'faith.

Cit. I prithee, mouse, be patient, a shall have her, or I'll make some of 'em smoke for't.

Wife. That's my good lamb, George; fie, this stinking tobacco kills me, would there were none in England. Now I pray, gentlemen, what good does this stinking tobacco do you? nothing; I warrant you make chimnies o' your faces. Oh, husband, husband, now, now there's Ralph, there's Ralph!

EnterRalph, like a grocer in his shop, with two prentices, reading "Palmerin of England."

Cit. Peace, fool, let Ralph alone; hark you, Ralph, do not strain yourself too much at the first. Peace, begin, Ralph.

Ralph.Then Palmerin and Trineus, snatching their lances from their dwarfs, and clasping their helmets, galloped amain after the giant, and Palmerin having gotten a sight of him, came posting amain, saying, "Stay, traitorous thief, for thou mayst not so carry away her that is worth the greatest lord in the world;" and, with these words, gave him a blow on the shoulder, that he struck him beside his elephant; and Trineus coming to the knight that had Agricola behind him, set him soon beside his horse, with his neck broken in the fall, so that the princess, getting out of the throng, between joy and grief said, "All happy knight, the mirror of all such as follow arms, now may I be well assured of the love thou bearest me." I wonder why the kings do not raise an army of fourteen or fifteen hundred thousand men, as big as the army that the Prince of Portigo brought against Rosicler, and destroy these giants; they do much hurt to wandering damsels that go in quest of their knights.

Wife. Faith, husband, and Ralph says true, for they say the King of Portugal cannot sit at his meat but the giants and the ettins will come and snatch it from him.

Cit. Hold thy tongue; on, Ralph.

Ralph. And certainly those knights are much to be commended who, neglecting their possessions, wander with a squire and a dwarf through the deserts to relieve poor ladies.

Wife. Ay, by my faith are they, Ralph, let 'em say what they will, they are indeed; our knights neglect their possessions well enough, but they do not the rest.

Ralph. There are no such courteous and fair well-spoken knights in this age; they will call one the son of a sea-cook that Palmerin of England would have called fair sir; and one that Rosicler would have called right beautiful damsel they will call old witch.

Wife. I'll be sworn will they, Ralph; they have called me so an hundred times about a scurvy pipe of tobacco.

Ralph. But what brave spirit could be content to sit in his shop, with a flapet of wood, and a blue apron before him, selling Methridatam and Dragons' Water to visited houses, that might pursue feats of arms, and through his noble achievements procure such a famous history to be written of his heroic prowess?

Cit. Well said, Ralph; some more of those words, Ralph.

Wife. They go finely, by my troth.

Ralph. Why should I not then pursue this course, both for the credit of myself and our company? for amongst all the worthy books of achievements, I do not call to mind that I yet read of a grocer errant: I will be the said knight. Have you heard of any that hath wandered unfurnished of his squire and dwarf? My elder prentice Tim shall be my trusty squire, and little George my dwarf. Hence, my blue apron! Yet, in remembrance of my former trade, upon my shield shall be portrayed a burning pestle, and I will be called the Knight of the Burning Pestle.

Wife. Nay, I dare swear thou wilt not forget thy old trade, thou wert ever meek. Ralph! Tim!

Tim. Anon.

Ralph. My beloved squire, and George my dwarf, I charge you that from henceforth you never call me by any other name but the Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle; and that you never call any female by the name of a woman or wench, but fair lady, if she have her desires; if not, distressed damsel; that you call all forests and heaths, deserts; and all horses, palfreys.

Wife. This is very fine: faith, do the gentlemen like Ralph, think you, husband?

Cit. Ay, I warrant thee, the players would give all the shoes in their shop for him.

Ralph. My beloved Squire Tim, stand out. Admit this were a desert, and over it a knight errant pricking, and I should bid you inquire of his intents, what would you say?

Tim. Sir, my master sent me to know whither you are riding?

Ralph. No, thus: Fair sir, the Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle, commanded me to inquire upon what adventure you are bound, whether to relieve some distressed damsel or otherwise.

Cit. Dunder blockhead cannot remember.

Wife. I'faith, and Ralph told him on't before; all the gentlemen heard him; did he not, gentlemen, did not Ralph tell him on't?

George. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle, here is a distressed damsel to have a halfpenny-worth of pepper.

Wife. That's a good boy, see, the little boy can hit it; by my troth it's a fine child.

Ralph. Relieve her with all courteous language; now shut up shop: no more my prentice, but my trusty squire and dwarf, I must bespeak my shield, and arming pestle.

Cit. Go thy ways, Ralph, as I am a true man, thou art the best on 'em all.

Wife. Ralph! Ralph!

Ralph. What say you, mistress?

Wife. I prithee come again quickly, sweet Ralph.

Ralph. By-and-by. [ExitRalph.

EnterJasperand his motherMistress Merry-thought.

Mist. Mer. Give thee my blessing? No, I'll never give thee my blessing, I'll see thee hang'd first; it shall ne'er be said I gave thee my blessing. Thou art thy father's own son, of the blood of the Merry-thoughts; I may curse the time that e'er I knew thy father, he hath spent all his own, and mine too, and when I tell him of it, he laughs and dances and sings, and cries "A merry heart lives long-a." And thou art a wast-thrift, and art run away from thy master, that lov'd thee well, and art come to me, and I have laid up a little for my younger son Michael, and thou thinkest to bezle that, but thou shalt never be able to do it. Come hither, Michael, come Michael, down on thy knees, thou shalt have my blessing.

EnterMichael.

Mich. I pray you, mother, pray to God to bless me.

Mist. Mer. God bless thee; but Jasper shall never have my blessing, he shall be hang'd first, shall he not, Michael? how sayest thou?

Mich. Yes forsooth, mother, and grace of God.

Mist. Mer. That's a good boy.

Wife. I'faith, it's a fine spoken child.

Jasp. Mother, though you forget a parent's love,

I must preserve the duty of a child.

I ran not from my master, nor return

To have your stock maintain my idleness.

Wife. Ungracious child I warrant him, hark how he chops logic with his mother; thou hadst best tell her she lies, do, tell her she lies.

Cit. If he were my son, I would hang him up by the heels, and flea him, and salt him, humpty halter-sack.

Jasp. My coming only is to beg your love,

Which I must ever, though I never gain it;

And howsoever you esteem of me,

There is no drop of blood hid in these veins,

But I remember well belongs to you,

That brought me forth, and would be glad for you

To rip them all again, and let it out.

Mist. Mer. I'faith I had sorrow enough for thee, God knows; but I'll hamper thee well enough: get thee in, thou vagabond, get thee in, and learn of thy brother Michael.

Old Mer.[within.] "Nose, nose, jolly red nose,

And who gave thee this jolly red nose?"

Mist. Mer. Hark, my husband he's singing and hoiting,

And I'm fain to cark and care, and all little enough.

Husband, Charles, Charles Merry-thought!

EnterOld Merry-thought.

Old Mer. "Nutmegs and ginger, cinnamon and cloves,

And they gave me this jolly red nose."

Mist. Mer. If you would consider your estate, you would have little list to sing, I wis.

Old Mer. It should never be considered, while it were an estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing.

Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou do, Charles? Thou art an old man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, and laughest?

Old Mer. And will do.

Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou come by it, Charles?

Old Mer. How? Why how have I done hitherto these forty years? I never came into my dining-room, but at eleven and six o'clock I found excellent meat and drink o' th' table. My clothes were never worn out, but next morning a tailor brought me a new suit, and without question it will be so ever! Use makes perfectness; if all should fail, it is but a little straining myself extraordinary, and laugh myself to death.

Wife. It's a foolish old man this: is not he, George?

Cit. Yes, honey.

Wife. Give me a penny i' th' purse while I live, George.

Cit. Ay, by'r lady, honey hold thee there.

Mist. Mer. Well, Charles, you promised to provide for Jasper, and I have laid up for Michael. I pray you pay Jasper his portion, he's come home, and he shall not consume Michael's stock; he says his master turned him away, but I promise you truly, I think he ran away.

Wife. No indeed, Mistress Merry-thought, though he be a notable gallows, yet I'll assure you his master did turn him away, even in this place, 'twas i'faith within this half-hour, about his daughter; my husband was by.

Cit. Hang him, rogue, he served him well enough: love his master's daughter! By my troth, honey, if there were a thousand boys, thou wouldst spoil them all, with taking their parts; let his mother alone with him.

Wife. Ay, George, but yet truth is truth.

Old Mer. Where is Jasper? He's welcome, however, call him in, he shall have his portion; is he merry?

Mist. Mer. Ay, foul chive him, he is too merry. Jasper! Michael!

EnterJasperandMichael.

Old Mer. Welcome, Jasper, though thou runn'st away, welcome! God bless thee! It is thy mother's mind thou should'st receive thy portion; thou hast been abroad, and I hope hast learnt experience enough to govern it. Thou art of sufficient years. Hold thy hand: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, there is ten shillings for thee; thrust thyself into the world with that, and take some settled course. If fortune cross thee, thou hast a retiring place; come home to me, I have twenty shillings left. Be a good husband, that is, wear ordinary clothes, eat the best meat, and drink the best drink; be merry, and give to the poor, and believe me, thou hast no end of thy goods.

Jasp. Long may you live free from all thought of ill,

And long have cause to be thus merry still.

But, father?

Old Mer. No more words, Jasper, get thee gone, thou hast my blessing, thy father's spirit upon thee. Farewell, Jasper.

"But yet, or e'er you part (oh cruel),

Kiss me, kiss me, sweeting,

Mine own dear jewel."

So, now begone, no words. [ExitJasper.

Mist. Mer. So, Michael, now get thee gone too.

Mich. Yes forsooth, mother, but I'll have my father's blessing first.

Mist. Mer. No, Michael, 'tis no matter for his blessing; thou hast my blessing. Begone; I'll fetch my money and jewels and follow thee: I'll stay no longer with him I warrant thee. Truly, Charles, I'll be gone too.

Old Mer. What? You will not.

Mist. Mer. Yes indeed will I.

Old Mer. "Heyho, farewell, Nan,

I'll never trust wench more again, if I can."

Mist. Mer. You shall not think (when all your own is gone) to spend that I have been scraping up for Michael.

Old Mer. Farewell, good wife, I expect it not, all I have to do in this world is to be merry; which I shall, if the ground be not taken from me; and if it be,

"When earth and seas from me are reft,

The skies aloft for me are left." [Exeunt.

[Boy dances. Music.

Finis Actus Primi.

Wife. I'll be sworn he's a merry old gentleman for all that. Hark, hark, husband, hark, fiddles, fiddles; now surely they go finely. They say 'tis present death for these fiddlers to tune their rebecks before the great Turk's grace, is't not, George? But look, look, here's a youth dances; now, good youth, do a turn o' the toe. Sweetheart, i'faith I'll have Ralph come and do some of his gambols: he'll ride the wild mare, gentlemen, 'twould do your hearts good to see him: I thank you, kind youth, pray bid Ralph come.

Cit. Peace, conie. Sirrah, you scurvy boy, bid the players send Ralph, or an' they do not I'll tear some of their periwigs beside their heads; this is all riff-raff.

ACT II.—Scene I.

EnterMerchantandHumphrey.

Merch. And how faith? how goes it now, son Humphrey?

Hum. Right worshipful and my beloved friend,

And father dear, this matter's at an end.

Merch. 'Tis well, it should be so, I'm glad the girl

Is found so tractable.

Hum.Nay, she must whirl

From hence (and you must wink: for so I say,

The story tells), to-morrow before day.

Wife. George, dost thou think in thy conscience now 'twill be a match? tell me but what thou thinkest, sweet rogue, thou seest the poor gentleman (dear heart) how it labours and throbs I warrant you, to be at rest: I'll go move the father for't.

Cit. No, no, I prithee sit still, honeysuckle, thou'lt spoil all; if he deny him, I'll bring half a dozen good fellows myself, and in the shutting of an evening knock it up, and there's an end.

Wife. I'll buss thee for that i'faith, boy; well, George, well, you have been a wag in your days I warrant you; but God forgive you, and I do with all my heart.

Merch. How was it, son? you told me that to-morrow before daybreak, you must convey her hence.

Hum. I must, I must, and thus it is agreed,

Your daughter rides upon a brown bay steed,

I on a sorrel, which I bought of Brian,

The honest host of the Red Roaring Lion,

In Waltham situate: then if you may,

Consent in seemly sort, lest by delay,

The fatal sisters come, and do the office,

And then you'll sing another song.

Merch.Alas,

Why should you be thus full of grief to me,

That do as willing as yourself agree

To anything, so it be good and fair?

Then steal her when you will, if such a pleasure

Content you both, I'll sleep and never see it,

To make your joys more full: but tell me why

You may not here perform your marriage?

Wife. God's blessing o' thy soul, old man, i'faith thou art loath to part true hearts: I see a has her, George, and I'm glad on't; well, go thy ways, Humphrey, for a fair-spoken man. I believe thou hast not a fellow within the walls of London; an' I should say the suburbs too, I should not lie. Why dost not thou rejoice with me, George?

Cit. If I could but see Ralph again, I were as merry as mine host i'faith.

Hum. The cause you seem to ask, I thus declare;

Help me, O Muses nine: your daughter sware

A foolish oath, the more it was the pity:

Yet no one but myself within this city

Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance

Shall meet him, were he of the noble science.

And yet she sware, and yet why did she swear?

Truly I cannot tell, unless it were

For her own ease; for sure sometimes an oath,

Being sworn thereafter, is like cordial broth:

And this it was she swore, never to marry,

But such a one whose mighty arm could carry

(As meaning me, for I am such a one)

Her bodily away through stick and stone,

Till both of us arrive, at her request,

Some ten miles off in the wide Waltham Forést.

Merch. If this be all, you shall not need to fear

Any denial in your love; proceed,

I'll neither follow nor repent the deed.

Hum. Good night, twenty good nights, and twenty more,

And twenty more good nights: that makes threescore. [Exeunt.

EnterMistress Merry-thoughtand her sonMichael.

Mist. Mer. Come, Michael, art thou not weary, boy?

Mich. No, forsooth, mother, not I.

Mist. Mer. Where be we now, child?

Mich. Indeed forsooth, mother, I cannot tell, unless we be at Mile End. Is not all the world Mile End, mother?

Mist. Mer. No, Michael, not all the world, boy; but I can assure thee, Michael, Mile End is a goodly matter. There has been a pitched field, my child, between the naughty Spaniels and the Englishmen; and the Spaniels ran away, Michael, and the Englishmen followed. My neighbour Coxstone was there, boy, and killed them all with a birding-piece.

Mich. Mother, forsooth.

Mist. Mer. What says my white boy?

Mich. Shall not my father go with us too?

Mist. Mer. No, Michael, let thy father go snick-up, he shall never come between a pair of sheets with me again while he lives: let him stay at home and sing for his supper, boy. Come, child, sit down, and I'll show my boy fine knacks indeed; look here, Michael, here's a ring, and here's a brooch, and here's a bracelet, and here's two rings more, and here's money, and gold by th' eye, my boy.

Mich. Shall I have all this, mother?

Mist. Mer. Ay, Michael, thou shalt have all, Michael.

Cit. How lik'st thou this, wench?

Wife. I cannot tell, I would have Ralph, George; I'll see no more else indeed la: and I pray you let the youths understand so much by word of mouth, for I will tell you truly, I'm afraid o' my boy. Come, come, George, let's be merry and wise, the child's a fatherless child, and say they should put him into a strait pair of gaskins, 'twere worse than knot-grass, he would never grow after it.

EnterRalph, Squire, andDwarf.

Cit. Here's Ralph, here's Ralph.

Wife. How do you, Ralph? You are welcome, Ralph, as I may say, it's a good boy, hold up thy head, and be not afraid, we are thy friends, Ralph. The gentlemen will praise thee, Ralph, if thou play'st thy part with audacity; begin, Ralph a God's name.

Ralph. My trusty squire, unlace my helm, give me my hat; where are we, or what desert might this be?

Dwarf. Mirror of knighthood, this is, as I take it, the perilous Waltham down, in whose bottom stands the enchanted valley.

Mist. Mer. Oh, Michael, we are betrayed, we are betrayed, here be giants; fly, boy; fly, boy; fly!

[ExeuntMotherandMichael.

Ralph. Lace on my helm again; what noise is this?

A gentle lady flying the embrace

Of some uncourteous knight: I will relieve her.

Go, squire, and say, the knight that wears this pestle

In honour of all ladies, swears revenge

Upon that recreant coward that pursues her;

Go, comfort her, and that same gentle squire

That bears her company.

Squire.I go, brave knight.

Ralph. My trusty dwarf and friend, reach me my shield,

And hold it while I swear, first by my knighthood,

Then by the soul of Amadis de Gaul,

My famous ancestor, then by my sword,

The beauteous Brionella girt about me,

By this bright burning pestle, of mine honour

The living trophy, and by all respect

Due to distressed damsels, here I vow

Never to end the quest of this fair lady,