Actus j, Scæna iiij

[Mathew Merygreeke. Dobinet Doughtie. Harpax. Ralph Royster. Margerie Mumblecrust.]
M. MERY.
Come on sirs apace, and quite your selues like men,
Your pains shalbe rewarded.

D. DOU.
But I wot not when.

M. MERY.
Do your maister worship as ye haue done in time past.

D. DOUGH.
Speake to them: of mine office he shall haue a cast.

M. MERY.
Harpax, looke that thou doe well too, and thy fellow.

HARPAX.
I warrant, if he will myne example folowe.

M. MERY.
Curtsie whooresons, douke you and crouche at euery worde,

D. DOUGH.
Yes whether our maister speake earnest or borde.

M. MERY.
For this lieth vpon his preferment in deede.

D. DOUGH.
Oft is hee a wower, but neuer doth he speede.

M. MERY.
But with whome is he nowe so sadly roundyng yond?

D. DOUGH.
With Nobs nicebecetur miserere sonde.

M. MERY.
God be at your wedding, be ye spedde alredie?
I did not suppose that your loue was so greedie,
I perceiue nowe ye haue chose of deuotion,
And ioy haue ye ladie of your promotion.

R. ROYSTER.
Tushe foole, thou art deceiued, this is not she.

M. MERY.
Well mocke muche of hir, and keepe hir well I vise ye.
I will take no charge of such a faire piece keeping.

M. MUMBL.
What ayleth thys fellowe? he driueth me to weeping.

M. MERY.
What weepe on the weddyng day? be merrie woman,
Though I say it, ye haue chose a good gentleman.

R. ROYSTER.
Kocks nownes what meanest thou man, tut a whistle.

M. MERY.
Ah sir, be good to hir, she is but a gristle,
Ah sweete lambe and coney.

R. ROYSTER.
Tut thou art deceiued.

M. MERY.
Weepe no more lady, ye shall be well receiued.
Vp wyth some mery noyse sirs, to bring home the bride.

R. ROYSTER.
Gogs armes knaue, art thou madde?
I tel thee thou art wide.

M. MERY.
Then ye entende by nyght to haue hir home brought.

R. ROYSTER.
I tel thee no.

M. MERY.
How then?

R. ROYSTER.
Tis neither ment ne thought.

M. MERY.
What shall we then doe with hir?

R. ROYSTER.
Ah foolish harebraine,
This is not she.

M. MERY.
No is? why then vnsayde againe,
And what yong girle is this with your mashyp so bolde?

R. ROYSTER.
A girle?

M. MERY.
Yea. I dare say, scarse yet three score yere old.

R. ROYSTER.
This same is the faire widowes nourse of whome ye wotte.

M. MERY.
Is she but a nourse of a house? hence home olde trotte,
Hence at once.

R. ROYSTER.
No, no.

M. MERY.
What an please your maship
A nourse talke so homely with one of your worship?

R. ROYSTER.
I will haue it so: it is my pleasure and will.

M. MERY.
Then I am content. Nourse come againe, tarry still.

R. ROYSTER.
What, she will helpe forward this my sute for hir part.

M. MERY.
Then ist mine owne pygs nie, and blessing on my hart.

R. ROYSTER.
This is our best friend man.

M. MERY.
Then teach hir what to say

M. MUMBL.
I am taught alreadie.

M. MERY.
Then go, make no delay.

R. ROYSTER.
Yet hark one word in thine eare.

M. MERY.
Back sirs from his taile.

R. ROYSTER.
Backe vilaynes, will ye be priuie of my counsaile?

M. MERY.
Backe sirs, so: I tolde you afore ye woulde be shent.

R. ROYSTER.
She shall haue the first day a whole pecke of argent.

M. MUMBL.
A pecke? Nomine patris, haue ye so much spare?

R. ROYSTER.
Yea and a carte lode therto, or else were it bare,
Besides other mouables, housholde stuffe and lande.

M. MUMBL.
Haue ye lands too.

R. ROYSTER.
An hundred marks.

M. MERY.
Yea a thousand

M. MUMBL.
And haue ye cattell too? and sheepe too?

R. ROYSTER.
Yea a fewe.

M. MERY.
He is ashamed the numbre of them to shewe.
Een rounde about him, as many thousande sheepe goes,
As he and thou and I too, haue fingers and toes.

M. MUMBL.
And how many yeares olde be you?

R. ROYSTER.
Fortie at lest.

M. MERY.
Yea and thrice fortie to them.

R. ROYSTER.
Nay now thou dost iest.
I am not so olde, thou misreckonest my yeares.

M. MERY.
I know that: but my minde was on bullockes and steeres.

M. MUMBL.
And what shall I shewe hir your masterships name is?

R. ROYSTER.
Nay she shall make sute ere she know that ywis.

M. MUMBL.
Yet let me somewhat knowe.

M. MERY.
This is hee vnderstand,
That killed the blewe Spider in Blanchepouder lande.

M. MUMBL.
Yea Iesus, William zee law, dyd he zo law?

M. MERY.
Yea and the last Elephant that euer he sawe,
As the beast passed by, he start out of a buske,
And een with pure strength of armes pluckt out his great tuske.

M. MUMBL.
Iesus, nomine patris, what a thing was that?

R. ROYSTER.
Yea but Merygreke one thing thou hast forgot.

M. MERY.
What?

R. ROYSTER.
Of thother Elephant.

M. MERY.
Oh hym that fledde away.

R. ROYSTER.
Yea.

M. MERY.
Yea he knew that his match was in place that day
Tut, he bet the king of Crickets on Christmasse day,
That he crept in a hole, and not a worde to say.

M. MUMBL.
A sore man by zembletee.

M. MERY.
Why, he wrong a club
Once in a fray out of the hande of Belzebub.

R. ROISTER.
And how when Mumfision?

M. MERY.
Oh your coustrelyng
Bore the lanterne a fielde so before the gozelyng.
Nay that is to long a matter now to be tolde:
Neuer aske his name Nurse, I warrant thee, be bolde,
He conquered in one day from Rome, to Naples,
And woonne Townes nourse as fast as thou canst make Apples.

M. MUMBL.
O Lorde, my heart quaketh for feare: he is to sore.

R. ROISTER.
Thou makest hir to much afearde, Merygreeke no more.
This tale woulde feare my sweete heart Custance right euill.

M. MERY.
Nay let hir take him Nurse, and feare not the deuill.
But thus is our song dasht. Sirs ye may home againe.

R. ROISTER.
No shall they not. I charge you all here to remaine:
The villaine slaues a whole day ere they can be founde.

M. MERY.
Couche on your marybones whooresons, down to the ground.
Was it meete he should tarie so long in one place
Without harmonie of Musike, or some solace?
Who so hath suche bees as your maister in hys head,
Had neede to haue his spirites with Musike to be fed.
By your maisterships licence.

R. ROISTER.
What is that? a moate?

M. MERY.
No it was a fooles feather had light on your coate.

R. ROISTER.
I was nigh no feathers since I came from my bed.

M. MERY.
No sir, it was a haire that was fall from your hed.

R. ROISTER.
My men com when it plese them.

M. MERY.
By your leue.

R. ROISTER.
What is that?

M. MERY.
Your gown was foule spotted with the foot of a gnat.

R. ROISTER.
Their maister to offende they are nothing afearde.
What now?

M. MERY.
A lousy haire from your masterships beard.
Omnes famulæ. And sir for Nurses sake pardon this one offence.
We shall not after this shew the like negligence.

R. ROYSTER.
I pardon you this once, and come sing nere the wurse.

M. MERY.
How like you the goodnesse of this gentleman nurse?

M. MUMBL.
God saue his maistership that so can his men forgeue,
And I wyll heare them sing ere I go, by his leaue.

R. ROYSTER.
Mary and thou shalt wenche, come we two will daunce.

M. MUMBL.
Nay I will by myne owne selfe foote the song perchaunce.

R. ROYSTER.
Go to it sirs lustily.

M. MUMBL.
Pipe vp a mery note,
Let me heare it playde, I will foote it for a grote.

[Cantent.]

R. ROYSTER.
Now nurse take thys same letter here to thy mistresse.
And as my trust is in thee plie my businesse.

M. MUMBL.
It shalbe done?

M. MERY.
Who made it?

R. ROYSTER.
I wrote it ech whit.

M. MERY.
Then nedes it no mending.

R. ROYSTER.
No, no.

M. MERY.
No I know your wit.
I warrant it wel.

M. MUMBL.
It shal be deliuered.
But if ye speede, shall I be considered?

M. MERY.
Whough, dost thou doubt of that?

MADGE.
What shal I haue?

M. MERY.
An hundred times more than thou canst deuise to craue.

M. MUMBL.
Shall I haue some newe geare? for my olde is all spent.

M. MERY.
The worst kitchen wench shall goe in ladies rayment.

M. MUMBL.
Yea?

M. MERY.
And the worst drudge in the house shal go better
Than your mistresse doth now.

MAR.
Then I trudge with your letter.

R. ROYSTER.
Now may I repose me: Custance is mine owne.
Let vs sing and play homeward that it may be knowne.

M. MERY.
But are you sure, that your letter is well enough?

R. ROYSTER.
I wrote it my selfe.

M. MERY.
Then sing we to dinner.

[Here they sing, and go out singing.]