Mime VII: The Cobbler

METRO

Kerdon, I bring thee these dames an hast slie handycraft to shew them.

KERDON

My loves labour for thee, Metro, is not lost. Set the larger plank outside for the dames. “Tis Drimylos I speke to. Asleep again? Smite his snout, Pistos, till he shed all his sleep. Nay rather, that his penaunce may endure, hang the teasell from his neck. Ply thy knees apace, sir Kerkops; yearnst to chafe louder chastisements than these? Now <smooth-rump >, dost clene and wipe it: I’ll wipe thy <posteriours> for thee. Sit ye down, Metro. Pistos, ope the <double> chest—not this <here but yon, and have out> my noble werkes, bringing them <thyself> speedily the third floor adown. Happy Metro, what werkes shalt behold! Quietly, <sir greedy-belly>, ope the shoecase. <This> sole Metro is fixed of perfect <parts>: descern ye, too, ladies: see how fast it is, and how truly finished with straps all about, nor is it part-fair part-fowl, but equall handicraft algate. And for tint,—so may Paphos queen grant ye joyaunce of all things <soever> ye yearn for—, no tint like this hath <any yet chaunced on>. Where shall <dye or> wax bear sike flowers? Three gold staters did K<erdon> pay to Kandas who sold him this and another colour,—nay I swear by all things holy <and hallowed> that I speke sooth and that no lye <shall escape the barrier of my teeth> one moment: or may Kerdon have no profit of life <or trafficking >— and bade me thank him: for, and true is it, <the skinners> clutch after greater gains now. <As with bees, so ye enjoy> my handicraft, dames, but I, the cobbler, <suffering> piteous woe, <this> <chamber> warm night and day long. <Which of us> eateth till even? <Or shall drink> at dawn? Not Mikion’s <combs> I ween are so <bounteous to all els>. And—which is more—tho’ thirteen slaves I browse—they are all idleness itself, and e’en an rain come know naught but ‘ Bring an bringest’: but for aught els sitt croakles, like chicks warming their posteriours. But say they,‘ Market needs not words but brass.’ So, an this pair beseme thee not Metro, he will bring out another and yet another till ye be persuaded of mind that Kerdon telleth no lies. Bring me, Pistos, the shoecases all : soothly, dames, must ye have arms well laden ere ye go home. Ye shall descern: here are all these kinds: Sicyonian, little Ambracians, Nossians, Chians, parrots, hemps, Baucises, slippers, Ionian buttoned, hop-o-nights, ankle-tops, crabs, Argive sandals, scarlets, lads, stairs; say each what heart wish, that ye may know why women and dogs devour leather.

METRO

That pair thou tookest up just now—at what price woldest barter ? Ho, thou, roar not overlowd ne put us to flight.

KERDON

Ho thou, prithee, price it thine self and weigh the price thereof: next, for ‘twas no random chance, lady, that led thee, out of all these pairs, to the true one—

METRO

Prithee talk some busines.

KERDON

Aye, busines indeed will I talk—I swear by this grey pate whereon fox nests—to bring quick bread to toolpliers. Ah gainster Hermes and gainstress Suasioun in troth, an naught now rencounter our casting, I know not how pot shall prosper.

METRO

Why mumblest ne freetonged descryest the pryce ?

KERDON

Lady this pair is worth a mina, scan sky, scan earth: no fyling of copper whatsoever might ooze therefrom were Athena customer.

METRO

Full metely, Kerdon, is thy hovel packed with plenty of fayre werkes : keep them and make them. On the twentieth of Taureon Hecate holds marriage of the Artacene, and need is of shoon. Mayhap, wretche, nay assuredly will they hye to thee. Stitch thee a purse enaunter the cats dispred thy minas.

KERDON

Come Hecate, come th’ Artakene, a mina, no less, ere they take them: prithee recorde that.

METRO

Fayre Fortune, Kerdon, granteth thee not to touch dainty feet that loves and desires touch: thous a scald knave and an infamy. So from us thou’lt get no more than Aeoleus’ dawn: but at what price wilt give yon other pair to this lady? blatter thilk time some utteraunce beseming thee.

KERDON

Five staters, ’a gods name, doth the harpist Kueteris bid me take, and haunteneth me daylong, but I hate her, tho’ she promise me four Darics, in that she wyteth my wyfe with ill reprieves. But an ye nede such, come—<I am ware of giving les than the three> —let these and these be! yours for Darics seven, for Metros sake: gainsay thou me naught. Thy voice might drive me the stony cobbler to fly heavenward : for no tongue hast thou but a sieve of joyaunce : in sooth not far from heaven is he unto whom thou opest thy lips day and night long. Here with thy dainty foot : let me set shoe thereon. Ah! no more, no les : all things fayre fit the fayre : Athena herself, motest say, cut the sole. Give me thy foot, eke thou : the lout that trod on you had a clumsy hoof. Had one but whetted his knife on the sole, ’a Kerdons hearth, the werke were not so true as true ’tis. Ho thou, woldest give seven Darics for this, thou that gigglest against the door moe lowd than horse? Dames, an ye have need of other sandals dainty or housewear ye mote send me the handmaid. But be ware Metro that thou come to me on the ninth to get thy ‘crabs,’ for jerkins inner seam must be stitcht sans haste and warily withal.