A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. IX - Various
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30
_Enter old_ PLOD-ALL _and his son_ PETER, _an_ OLD MAN,
_Plod-all's tenant, and_ WILL CRICKET, _his son_.
PLOD-ALL.
Ah, tenant, an ill-husband, by'r Lady: thrice at thy house, and never at
home? You know my mind: will you give ten shillings more rent? I must
discharge you else.
OLD MAN.
Alas! landlord, will you undo me! I sit of a great rent already, and am
very poor.
WILL CRICKET.
Very poor? you're a very ass. Lord, how my stomach wambles at the same
word _very poor_! Father, if you love your son William, never name that
same word, _very poor_; for, I'll stand to it, that it's petty larceny
to name _very poor_ to a man that's o' the top of his marriage.
OLD MAN.
Why, son, art o' the top of thy marriage? To whom, I prythee?
WILL CRICKET.
Marry, to pretty Peg, Mistress Lelia's nurse's daughter. O, 'tis the
dapp'rest wench that ever danced after a tabor and pipe--
For she will so heel it,
And toe it, and trip it;--
O, her buttocks will quake like a custard.
PETER PLOD-ALL.
Why, William, when were you with her?
WILL CRICKET.
O Peter, does your mouth water at that? Truly, I was never with her; but
I know I shall speed: 'for t'other day she looked on me and laughed, and
that's a good sign, ye know. And therefore, old Silver-top, never talk
of charging or discharging: for I tell you, I am my father's heir; and
if you discharge me, I'll discharge my pestilence at you: for to let my
house before my lease be out, is cut-throatery; and to scrape for more
rent, is poll-dennery;[143] and so fare you well, good grandsire Usury.
Come, father, let's be gone.
[_Exeunt_ WILL _and his father_.
PLOD-ALL.
Well, I'll make the beggarly knaves to pack for this: I'll have it every
cross, income and rent too.
_Enter_ CHURMS _with a letter_.
But stay, here comes one. O, 'tis Master Churms: I hope he brings me
some good news. Master Churms, you're well-met; I am e'en almost starved
for money: you must take some damnable course with my tenants; they'll
not pay.
CHURMS.
Faith, sir, they are grown to be captious knaves: but I'll move them
with a _habeas corpus_.
PLOD-ALL.
Do, good Master Churms, or use any other villanous course shall please
you. But what news abroad?
CHURMS.
Faith, little news; but here's a letter which Master Gripe desired me to
deliver you: and though it stand not with my reputation to be a carrier
of letters, yet, not knowing how much it might concern you, I thought it
better something to abase myself, than you should be anyways hindered.
PLOD-ALL.
Thanks, good sir; and I'll in and read it.
[_Exeunt_ PLOD-ALL _and his son. Manet_ CHURMS.
CHURMS.
Thus men of reach must look to live:
I cry content, and murder where I kiss.
Gripe takes me for his faithful friend,
Imparts to me the secrets of his heart;
And Plod-all thinks I am as true a friend
To every enterprise he takes in hand,
As ever breath'd under the cope of heaven:
But damn me if they find it so.
All this makes for my [own] avail;
I'll ha' the wench myself, or else my wits shall fail.
_Enter_ LELIA _and_ NURSE, _gathering of flowers_.
LELIA.
See how the earth this fragrant spring is clad,
And mantled round in sweet nymph Flora's robes:
Here grows th'alluring rose, sweet marigolds
And the lovely hyacinth. Come, nurse, gather:
A crown of roses shall adorn my head,
I'll prank myself with flowers of the prime;
And thus I'll spend away my primrose-time.
NURSE.
Rufty-tufty, are you so frolic? O, that you knew as much as I do;
'twould cool you.
LELIA.
Why, what knowest thou, nurse I prythee, tell me.
NURSE.
Heavy news, i' faith, mistress: you must be matched, and married to a
husband. Ha, ha, ha, ha! a husband, i' faith.
LELIA.
A husband, nurse? why, that's good news, if he be a good one.
NURSE.
A good one, quotha? ha, ha, ha, ha! why, woman, I heard your father say
that he would marry you to Peter Plod-all, that puck-fist, that
snudge-snout, that coal-carrierly clown. Lord! 'twould be as good as
meat and drink to me to see how the fool would woo you.
LELIA.
No, no; my father did but jest: think'st thou,
That I can stoop so low to take a brown-bread crust,
And wed a clown, that's brought up at the cart?
NURSE.
Cart, quotha? Ay, he'll cart you; for he cannot tell how to court you.
LELIA.
Ah, nurse! sweet Sophos is the man,
Whose love is lock'd in Lelia's tender breast:
This heart hath vow'd, if heav'ns do not deny,
My love with his entomb'd in earth shall lie.
NURSE.
Peace, mistress, stand aside; here comes somebody.
_Enter_ SOPHOS.
SOPHOS.
_Optatis non est spes ulla potiri_.
Yet, Phoebus, send down thy tralucent beams,
Behold the earth that mourns in sad attire;
The flowers at Sophos' presence 'gin to droop,
Whose trickling tears for Lelia's loss
Do turn the plains into a standing pool.
Sweet Cynthia, smile, cheer up the drooping flowers;
Let Sophos once more see a sunshine-day:
O, let the sacred centre of my heart--
I mean fair Lelia, nature's fairest work--
Be once again the object to mine eyes.
O, but I wish in vain, whilst her I wish to see:
Her father he obscures her from my sight,
He pleads my want of wealth,
And says it is a bar in Venus' court.
How hath fond fortune by her fatal doom
Predestin'd me to live in hapless hopes,
Still turning false her fickle, wavering wheel!
And love's fair goddess with her Circian cup
Enchanteth so fond Cupid's poison'd darts,
That love, the only loadstar of my life,
Doth draw my thoughts into a labyrinth.
But stay:
What do I see? what do mine eyes behold?
O happy sight! It is fair Lelia's face!
Hail, heav'n's bright nymph, the period of my grief,
Sole guidress of my thoughts, and author of my joy.
LELIA.
Sweet Sophos, welcome to Lelia;
Fair Dido, Carthaginians' beauteous queen,
Not half so joyful was, when as the Trojan prince
Aeneas landed on the sandy shores
Of Carthage' confines, as thy Lelia is
To see her Sophos here arriv'd by chance.
SOPHOS.
And bless'd be chance, that hath conducted me
Unto the place where I might see my dear,
As dear to me as is the dearest life.
NURSE.
Sir, you may see that fortune is your friend.
SOPHOS.
Yet fortune favours fools.
NURSE.
By that conclusion you should not be wise. [_Aside_.
LELIA.
Foul fortune sometimes smiles on virtue fair.
SOPHOS.
'Tis then to show her mutability:
But since, amidst ten thousand frowning threats
Of fickle fortune's thrice-unconstant wheel,
She deigns to show one little pleasing smile,
Let's do our best false fortune to beguile,
And take advantage of her ever-changing moods.
See, see, how Tellus' spangled mantle smiles,
And birds do chant their rural sugar'd notes,
As ravish'd with our meeting's sweet delights:
Since then, there fits for love both time and place,
Let love and liking hand in hand embrace.
NURSE.
Sir, the next way to win her love is to linger her leisure. I measure my
mistress by my lovely self: make a promise to a man, and keep it. I have
but one fault--I ne'er made promise in my life, but I stick to it tooth
and nail. I'll pay it home, i' faith. If I promise my love a kiss, I'll
give him two; marry, at first I will make nice, and cry _Fie, fie_; and
that will make him come again and again. I'll make him break his wind
with come-agains.
SOPHOS.
But what says Lelia to her Sophos' love?
LELIA.
Ah, Sophos, that fond blind boy,
That wrings these passions from my Sophos' heart,
Hath likewise wounded Lelia with his dart;
And force perforce, I yield the fortress up:
Here, Sophos, take thy Lelia's hand,
And with this hand receive a loyal heart.
High Jove, that ruleth heaven's bright canopy,
Grant to our love a wish'd felicity!
SOPHOS.
As joys the weary pilgrim by the way,
When Phoebus wanes[144] unto the western deep,
To summon him to his desired rest;
Or as the poor distressed mariner,
Long toss'd by shipwreck on the foaming waves,
At length beholds the long-wish'd haven,
Although from far his heart doth dance for joy:
So love's consent at length my mind hath eas'd;
My troubled thoughts by sweet content are pleas'd.
LELIA.
My father recks not virtue,
But vows to wed me to a man of wealth:
And swears his gold shall counterpoise his worth.
But Lelia scorns proud Mammon's golden mines,
And better likes of learning's sacred lore,
Than of fond fortune's glistering mockeries.
But, Sophos, try thy wits, and use thy utmost skill
To please my father, and compass his goodwill.
SOPHOS.
To what fair Lelia wills doth Sophos yield content;
Yet that's the troublous gulf my silly ship must pass:
But, were that venture harder to atchieve
Than that of Jason for the golden fleece,
I would effect it for sweet Lelia's sake,
Or leave myself as witness of my thoughts.
NURSE.
How say you by that, mistress? He'll do anything for your sake.
LELIA.
Thanks, gentle love:
But, lest my father should suspect--
Whose jealous head with more than Argus' eyes
Doth measure ev'ry gesture that I use--
I'll in, and leave you here alone.
Adieu, sweet friend, until we meet again.
Come, nurse, follow me.
[_Exeunt_ LELIA _and_ NURSE.
SOPHOS.
Farewell, my love, fair fortune be thy guide!
Now, Sophos, now bethink thyself, how thou
May'st win her father's will to knit this happy knot.
Alas! thy state is poor, thy friends are few.
And fear forbids to tell my fate to friends:[145]
Well, I'll try my fortunes;
And find out some convenient time,
When as her father's leisure best shall serve
To confer with him about fair Lelia's love.
[_Exit_ SOPHOS.
_Enter_ GRIPE, _old_ PLOD-ALL, CHURMS, _and_ WILL CRICKET.
GRIPE.
Neighbour Plod-all and Master Churms, y'are welcome to my house. What
news in the country, neighbour? You are a good husband; you ha' done
sowing barley, I am sure?
PLOD-ALL.
Yes, sir, an't please you, a fortnight since.
GRIPE.
Master Churms, what say my debtors? can you get any money of them yet?
CHURMS.
Not yet, sir; I doubt they are scarce able to pay. You must e'en forbear
them awhile; they'll exclaim on you else.
GRIPE.
Let them exclaim, and hang, and starve, and beg. Let me ha' my money.
PLOD-ALL.
Here's this good fellow too, Master Churms, I must e'en put him and his
father over into your hands; they'll pay me no rent.
WILL CRICKET.
This good fellow, quotha? I scorn that base, broking, brabbling,
brawling, bastardly, bottle-nosed, beetle-browed, bean-bellied name.
Why, Robin Goodfellow is this same cogging, pettifogging, crackropes,
calf-skin companion. Put me and my father over to him? Old Silver-top,
and you had not put me before my father, I would ha'--
PLOD-ALL.
What wouldst ha' done?
WILL CRICKET.
I would have had a snatch at you, that I would.
CHURMS.
What, art a dog?
WILL CRICKET.
No; if I had been a dog, I would ha' snapped off your nose ere this, and
so I should have cosened the devil of a maribone.
GRIPE.
Come, come: let me end this controversy. Prythee, go thy ways in, and
bid the boy bring in a cup of sack here for my friends.
WILL CRICKET.
Would you have a sack, sir?
GRIPE.
Away, fool: a cup of sack to drink.
WILL CRICKET.
O, I had thought you would have had a sack to have put this law-cracking
cogfoist in, instead of a pair of stocks.
GRIPE.
Away, fool; get thee in, I say.
WILL CRICKET.
Into the buttery, you mean?
GRIPE.
I prythee, do.
WILL CRICKET.
I'll make your hogshead of sack rue that word. [_Aside. Exit_.]
GRIPE.
Neighbour Plod-all, I sent a letter to you by Master Churms; how like
you of the motion?
PLOD-ALL.
Marry, I like well of the motion. My son, I tell you, is e'en all the
stay I have, and all my care is to have him take one that hath
something, for, as the world goes now, if they have nothing, they may
beg. But I doubt he's too simple for your daughter; for I have brought
him up hardly, with brown bread, fat bacon, puddings, and souse; and,
by'r Lady, we think it good fare too.
GRIPE.
Tush, man! I care not for that. You ha' no more children; you'll make
him your heir, and give him your lands, will you not?
PLOD-ALL.
Yes; he's e'en all I have; I have nobody else to bestow it upon.
GRIPE.
You say well.
_Enter_ WILL CRICKET _and a boy, with wine and a napkin_.
WILL CRICKET.
Nay, hear you; drink, afore you bargain.
GRIPE.
Mass, and 'tis a good motion. Boy, fill some wine, [_He fills them wine,
and gives them the napkin_.] Here, neighbour and Master Churms, I drink
to you.
BOTH.
We thank you, sir.
WILL CRICKET.
Lawyer, wipe clean. Do you remember?
CHURMS.
Remember? why?
WILL CRICKET.
Why, since you know when.
CHURMS.
Since when?
WILL CRICKET.
Why, since you were bumbasted, that your lubberly legs would not carry
your lobcock body; when you made an infusion of your stinking excrements
in your stalking implements. O, you were plaguy frayed, and foully
rayed--
GRIPE.
Prythee, peace, Will! Neighbour Plod-all, what say you to this match?
shall it go forward?
PLOD-ALL.
Sir, that must be as our children like. For my son, I think I can rule
him; marry, I doubt your daughter will hardly like of him; for, God wot,
he's very simple.
GRIPE.
My daughter's mine to command; have I not brought her up to this? She
shall have him. I'll rule the roost for that. I'll give her pounds and
crowns, gold and silver. I'll weigh her down in pure angel gold. Say,
man, is't a match?
PLOD-ALL.
Faith, I agree.
CHURMS.
But, sir, if you give your daughter so large a dowry, you'll have some
part of his land conveyed to her by jointure?
GRIPE.
Yes, marry, that I will, and we'll desire your help for conveyance.
PLOD-ALL.
Ay, good Master Churms, and you shall be very well contented for your
pains.
WILL CRICKET.
Ay, marry; that's it he looked for all this while. [_Aside_.
CHURMS.
Sir, I will do the best I can.
WILL CRICKET.
But, landlord, I can tell you news, i' faith. There is one Sophos, a
brave gentleman; he'll wipe your son Peter's nose of Mistress Lelia. I
can tell you, he loves her well.
GRIPE.
Nay, I trow.
WILL CRICKET.
Yes, I know, for I am sure I saw them close together at poop-noddy in
her closet.
GRIPE.
But I am sure she loves him not.
WILL CRICKET.
Nay, I dare take it on my death she loves him, for he's a scholar, and
'ware scholars! they have tricks for love, i' faith; for with a little
logic and _Pitome colloquium_ they'll make a wench do anything.
Landlord, pray ye, be not angry with me for speaking my conscience. In
good faith, your son Peter's a very clown to him. Why, he's as fine a
man as a wench can see in a summer's day.
GRIPE.
Well, that shall not serve his turn; I'll cross him, I warrant ye. I am
glad I know it. I have suspected it a great while. Sophos! Why, what's
Sophos? a base fellow. Indeed he has a good wit, and can speak well.
He's a scholar, forsooth--one that hath more wit than money--and I like
not that; he may beg, for all that. Scholars! why, what are scholars
without money?
PLOD-ALL.
Faith, e'en like puddings without suet.
GRIPE.
Come, neighbour, send your son to my house, for he shall be welcome to
me, and my daughter shall entertain him kindly. What? I can and will
rule Lelia. Come, let's in; I'll discharge Sophos from my house
presently.
[_Exit_ GRIPE, PLOD-ALL, _and_ CHURMS.
WILL CRICKET.
A horn plague of this money, for it causeth many horns to bud; and for
money many men are horned; for when maids are forced to love where they
like not, it makes them lie where they should not. I'll be hanged, if
e'er Mistress Lelia will ha' Peter Plod-all; I swear by this button-cap
(do you mark?), and by the round, sound, and profound contents (do you
understand?) of this costly codpiece (being a good proper man, as you
see), that I could get her as soon as he myself. And if I had not a
month's mind in another place, I would have a fling at her, that's flat;
but I must set a good holiday-face on't, and go a wooing to pretty Peg:
well, I'll to her, i' faith, while 'tis in my mind. But stay; I'll see
how I can woo before I go: they say use makes perfectness. Look you now;
suppose this were Peg: now I set my cap o' the side on this fashion (do
ye see?); then say I, sweet honey, honey, sugar-candy Peg.
Whose face more fair than Brock my father's cow;
Whose eyes do shine,
Like bacon-rine;
Whose lips are blue,
Of azure hue;
Whose crooked nose down to her chin doth bow. For, you know, I must
begin to commend her beauty, and then I will tell her plainly that I am
in love with her over my high shoes; and then I will tell her that I do
nothing of nights but sleep, and think on her, and specially of mornings:
and that does make my stomach so rise, that I'll be sworn I can turn me
three or four bowls of porridge over in a morning afore breakfast.
_Enter_ ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
How now, sirrah? what make you here, with all that timber in your neck?
WILL CRICKET.
Timber? Zounds, I think he be a witch; how knew he this were timber?
Mass, I'll speak him fair, and get out on's company; for I am afraid on
him.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Speak, man; what, art afraid? what makest here?
WILL CRICKET.
A poor fellow, sir: ha' been drinking two or three pots of ale at an
alehouse, and ha' lost my way, sir.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
O! nay, then I see, thou art a good fellow: seest thou not Master
Churms the lawyer to-day?
WILL CRICKET.
No, sir; would you speak with him?
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Ay, marry, would I.
WILL CRICKET.
If I see him, I'll tell him you would speak with him.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Nay, prithee, stay. Who wilt thou tell him would speak with him?
WILL CRICKET.
Marry, you, sir.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
I? who am I?
WILL CRICKET.
Faith, sir, I know not.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
If thou seest him, tell him Robin Goodfellow would speak with him.
WILL CRICKET.
O, I will sir. [Exit WILL CRICKET.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Mass, the fellow was afraid. I play the bugbear wheresoe'er I come, and
make them all afraid. But here comes Master Churms.
_Enter_ CHURMS.
CHURMS.
Fellow Robin, God save you: I have been seeking for you in every
alehouse in the town.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
What, Master Churms? What's the best news abroad? 'tis long since I
see you.
CHURMS.
Faith, little news: but yet I am glad I have met with you. I have a
matter to impart to you wherein you may stand me in some stead, and make
a good benefit to yourself: if we can deal cunningly, 'twill be worth a
double fee to you, by the Lord.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
A double fee? speak, man; what is't? If it be to betray mine own father,
I'll do it for half a fee; and for cunning let me alone.
CHURMS.
Why then, this it is: here is Master Gripe hard by, a client of mine, a
man of mighty wealth, who has but one daughter; her dowry is her weight
in gold. Now, sir, this old pennyfather would marry her to one Peter
Plod-all, rich Plod-all's son and heir; whom though his father means to
leave very rich, yet he's a very idiot and brownbread clown, and one I
know the wench does deadly hate: and though their friends have given
their full consent, and both agreed on this unequal match, yet I know
that Lelia will never marry him. But there's another rival in her
love--one Sophos; and he's a scholar, one whom I think fair Lelia dearly
loves, but her father hates him as he hates a toad; for he's in want,
and Gripe gapes after gold, and still relies upon the old-said saw, _Si
nihil attuleris_, &c.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
And wherein can I do you any good in this?
CHURMS.
Marry, thus, sir: I am of late grown passing familiar with Master Gripe;
and for Plod-all, he takes me for his second self. Now, sir, I'll fit
myself to the old crummy churls' humours, and make them believe I'll
persuade Lelia to marry Peter Plod-all, and so get free access to the
wench at my pleasure. Now, o' the other side, I'll fall in with the
scholar, and him I'll handle cunningly too; I'll tell him that Lelia has
acquainted me with her love to him, and for
Because her father much suspects the same,
He mews her up as men do mew their hawks;
And so restrains her from her Sophos' sight.
I'll say, because she doth repose more trust
Of secrecy in me than in another man,
In courtesy she hath requested me
To do her kindest greetings to her love.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
An excellent device, i' faith!
CHURMS.
Ay, sir, and by this means I'll make a very gull of my fine Diogenes: I
shall know his secrets even from the very bottom of his heart. Nay more,
sir; you shall see me deal so cunningly, that he shall make me an
instrument to compass his desire; when, God knows, I mean nothing less.
_Qui dissimulare nescit, nescit vivere_.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Why, this will be sport alone; but what would you have me do in this
action?
CHURMS.
Marry, as I play with th'one hand, play you with t'other. Fall you
aboard with Peter Plod-all; make him believe you'll work miracles, and
that you have a powder will make Lelia love him. Nay, what will he not
believe, and take all that comes? you know my mind: and so we'll make a
gull of the one and a goose of the other. And if we can invent any
device to bring the scholar in disgrace with her, I do not doubt but
with your help to creep between the bark and the tree, and get Lelia
myself.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Tush! man. I have a device in my head already to do that. But they say
her brother Fortunatus loves him dearly.
CHURMS.
Tut! he's out of the country; he follows the drum and the flag. He may
chance to be killed with a double cannon before he come home again. But
what's your device?
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Marry, I'll do this: I'll frame an indictment against Sophos in manner
and form of a rape, and the next law-day you shall prefer it, that so
Lelia may loath him, her father still deadly hate him, and the young
gallant her brother utterly forsake him.
CHURMS.
But how shall we prove it?
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Zounds, we'll hire some strumpet or other to be sworn against him.
CHURMS.
Now, by the substance of my soul, 'tis an excellent device. Well, let's
in. I'll first try my cunning otherwise, and if all fail, we'll try this
conclusion.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ MOTHER MIDNIGHT, NURSE, _and_ PEG.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Y'faith, Marget, you must e'en take your daughter Peg home again, for
she'll not be ruled by me.
NURSE.
Why, mother, what will she not do?
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Faith, she neither did, nor does, nor will do anything. Send her to the
market with eggs, she'll sell them, and spend the money. Send her to
make a pudding, she'll put in no suet. She'll run out o' nights
a-dancing, and come no more home till day-peep. Bid her come to bed,
she'll come when she list. Ah, 'tis a nasty shame to see her
bringing-up.
NURSE.
Out, you rogue! you arrant, &c. What, knowest not thy granam?
PEG.
I know her to be a testy old fool; She's never well, but grunting in a
corner.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Nay, she'll camp, I warrant ye. O, she has a tongue! But, Marget, e'en
take her home to your mistress, and there keep her, for I'll keep her no
longer.
NURSE.
Mother, pray ye, take ye some pains with her, and keep her awhile
longer, and if she do not mend, I'll beat her black and blue. I' faith,
I'll not fail you, minion.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Faith, at thy request, I'll take her home, and try her a week longer.
NURSE.
Come on, huswife; please your granam, and be a good wench, and you shall
ha' my blessing.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Come, follow us, good wench.
[_Exeunt_ MOTHER MIDNIGHT _and_ NURSE. _Manet_ PEG.
PEG.
Ay, farewell; fair weather after you. Your blessing, quotha? I'll not
give a single halfpenny for't. Who would live under a mother's nose and
a granam's tongue? A maid cannot love, or catch a lip-clip or a
lap-clap, but here's such tittle-tattle, and _Do not so_, and _Be not so
light_, and _Be not so fond_, and _Do not kiss_, and _Do not love_, and
I cannot tell what; and I must love, an I hang for't.
[_She sings_.
_A sweet thing is love,
That rules both heart and mind:
There is no comfort in the world
To women that are kind_.
Well. I'll not stay with her; stay, quotha? To be yawled and jawled at,
and tumbled and thumbled, and tossed and turned, as I am by an old hag,
I will not: no, I will not, i' faith.
_Enter_ WILL CRICKET.
But stay, I must put on my smirking looks and smiling countenance, for
here comes one makes 'bomination suit to be my sprused husband.
WILL CRICKET.
Lord, that my heart would serve me to speak to her, now she talks of her
sprused husband! Well, I'll set a good face on't. Now I'll clap me as
close to her as Jone's buttocks of a close-stool, and come over her with
my rolling, rattling, rumbling eloquence. Sweet Peg, honey Peg, fine
Peg, dainty Peg, brave Peg, kind Peg, comely Peg; my nutting, my
sweeting, my love, my dove, my honey, my bunny, my duck, my dear, and my
darling:
Grace me with thy pleasant eyes,
And love without delay;
And cast not with thy crabbed looks
A proper man away.
PEG.
Why, William, what's the matter?
WILL CRICKET.
What's the matter, quotha? Faith, I ha' been in a fair taking for you, a
bots on you! for t'other day, after I had seen you, presently my belly
began to rumble. What's the matter, thought I. With that I bethought
myself, and the sweet comportance of that same sweet round face of thine
came into my mind. Out went I, and, I'll be sworn, I was so near taken,
that I was fain to cut all my points. And dost hear, Peg? if thou dost
not grant me thy goodwill in the way of marriage, first and foremost
I'll run out of my clothes, and then out of my wits for thee.