A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition) - Various
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MRS GOUR. Well, crafty[297] fox, I'll hunt ye, by my troth,
Deal ye so closely! Well, I see his drift:
He would not let me see the letter, lest
That I should cross the match; and I will cross it.
Dick Coomes!
_Enter_ COOMES.
COOMES. Forsooth.
MRS GOUR. Come hither, Dick; thou art a man I love,
And one whom I have much in my regard.
COOMES. I thank ye for it, mistress, I thank ye for it.
MRS GOUR. Nay, here's my hand, I will do very much
For thee, if e'er thou stand'st in need of me;
Thou shalt not lack, whilst thou hast a day to live,
Money, apparel--
COOMES. And sword and bucklers?
MRS GOUR. And sword and bucklers too, my gallant Dick,
So thou wilt use but this in my defence.
[_Pointing to his sword_.]
COOMES. This! no, faith, I have no mind to this; break my head, if this
break not, if we come to any tough play. Nay, mistress, I had a sword,
ay, the flower of Smithfield for a sword, a right fox,[298] i'faith;
with that, and a man had come over with a smooth and a sharp stroke, it
would have cried twang, and then, when I had doubled my point, trac'd my
ground, and had carried my buckler before me like a garden-butt, and
then come in with a cross blow, and over the pick[299] of his buckler
two ells long, it would have cried twang, twang, metal, metal: but a
dog hath his day; 'tis gone, and there are few good ones made now. I see
by this dearth of good swords, that[300] dearth of sword-and-buckler
fight begins to grow out:[301] I am sorry for it; I shall never see
good manhood again, if it be once gone; this poking fight of rapier and
dagger will come up then; then a man, a tall[302] man, and a good
sword-and-buckler man, will be spitted like a cat or a coney; then a boy
will be as good as a man, unless the Lord show mercy unto us; well, I
had as lief be hang'd as live to see that day. Well, mistress, what
shall I do? what shall I do?
MRS GOUR. Why, this, brave Dick. Thou knowest that Barnes's wife
And I am foes: now, man me to her house;
And though it be dark, Dick, yet we'll have no light.
Lest that thy master should prevent our journey
By seeing our depart. Then, when we come,
And if that she and I do fall to words,
Set in thy foot and quarrel with her men,
Draw, fight, strike, hurt, but do not kill the slaves,
And make as though thou strookest[303] at a man,
And hit her, and thou canst,--a plague upon her!--
She hath misus'd me, Dick: wilt thou do this?
COOMES. Yes, mistress, I will strike her men; but God forbid that e'er
Dick Coomes should be seen to strike a woman!
MRS GOUR. Why, she is mankind;[304] therefore thou mayest strike her.
COOMES. Mankind! nay, and she have any part of a man, I'll strike her,
I warrant.
MRS GOUR. That's my good Dick, that's my sweet Dick!
COOMES. 'Swouns, who would not be a man of valour to have such words of
a gentlewoman! one of their words are more to me than twenty of these
russet-coats, cheese-cakes, and butter-makers. Well, I thank God, I am
none of these cowards; well, and a man have any virtue in him, I see he
shall be regarded. [_Aside_.]
MRS GOUR. Art thou resolved, Dick? wilt thou do this for me?
And if thou wilt, here is an earnest-penny
Of that rich guerdon I do mean to give thee.
[_Gives money_.]
COOMES. An angel,[305] mistress! let me see. Stand you on my left hand,
and let the angel lie on my buckler on my right hand, for fear of losing.
Now, here stand I to be tempted. They say, every man hath two spirits
attending on him, either good or bad; now, I say, a man hath no other
spirits but either his wealth or his wife: now, which is the better of
them? Why, that is as they are used; for use neither of them well, and
they are both nought. But this is a miracle to me, that gold that is
heavy hath the upper, and a woman that is light doth soonest fall,
considering that light things aspire, and heavy things soonest go down:
but leave these considerations to Sir John;[306] they become a
black-coat better than a blue.[307] Well, mistress, I had no mind to-day
to quarrel; but a woman is made to be a man's seducer; you say, quarrel?
MRS GOUR. Ay.
COOMES. There speaks an angel: is it good?
MRS GOUR. Ay.
COOMES. Then, I cannot do amiss; the good angel goes with me.
[_Exeunt.
Enter_ SIR RALPH SMITH, _his_ LADY, WILL, [_and_ ATTENDANTS].
SIR RALPH. Come on, my hearts: i'faith, it is ill-luck,
To hunt all day, and not kill anything.
What sayest thou, lady? art thou weary yet?
LADY. I must not say so, sir.
SIR RALPH. Although thou art!
WILL. And can you blame her, to be forth so long,
And see no better sport?
SIR RALPH. Good faith, 'twas very hard.
LADY. No, 'twas not ill,
Because, you know, it is not good to kill.
SIR RALPH. Yes, venison, lady.
LADY. No, indeed, nor them;
Life is as dear in deer as 'tis in men.
SIR RALPH. But they are kill'd for sport.
LADY. But that's bad play,
When they are made to sport their lives away.
SIR RALPH. 'Tis fine to see them run.
LADY. What, out of breath?
They run but ill that run themselves to death.
SIR RALPH. They might make, then, less haste, and keep their wind.
LADY. Why, then, they see the hounds brings death behind.
SIR RALPH. Then, 'twere as good for them at first to stay,
As to run long, and run their lives away.
LADY. Ay, but the stoutest of you all that's here
Would run from death and nimbly scud for fear.
Now, by my troth, I pity these poor elves.[308]
SIR RALPH. Well, they have made us but bad sport to-day.
LADY. Yes, 'twas my sport to see them 'scape away.
WILL. I wish that I had been at one buck's fall.
LADY. Out, thou wood-tyrant! thou art worst of all.
WILL. A wood-man,[309] lady, but no tyrant I.
LADY. Yes, tyrant-like thou lov'st to see lives die.
SIR RALPH. Lady, no more: I do not like this luck,
To hunt all day, and yet not kill a buck.
Well, it is late; but yet I swear I will
Stay here all night, but I a buck will kill.
LADY. All night! nay, good Sir Ralph Smith, do not so.
SIR RALPH. Content ye, lady. Will, go fetch my bow:
A berry[310] of fair roes I saw to-day
Down by the groves, and there I'll take my[311] stand,
And shoot at one--God send a lucky hand!
LADY. Will ye not, then, Sir Ralph, go home with me?
SIR RALPH. No, but my men shall bear thee company.--
Sirs, man her home. Will, bid the huntsmen couple,
And bid them well reward their hounds to-night.--
Lady, farewell. Will, haste ye with the bow;
I'll stay for thee here by the grove below.
WILL. I will; but 'twill be dark, I shall not see:
How shall I see ye, then?
SIR RALPH. Why, halloo to me, and I will answer thee.
WILL. Enough, I will.
SIR RALPH. Farewell.
[_Exit_.
LADY. How willingly dost thou consent to go
To fetch thy master that same killing bow!
WILL. Guilty of death I willing am in this,
Because 'twas our ill-haps to-day to miss:
To hunt, and not to kill, is hunter's sorrow.
Come, lady, we'll have venison ere to-morrow.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ PHILIP, FRANK [_and_ BOY].
PHIL. Come, Frank, now are we hard by the[312] house:
But how now? Sad?
FRAN. No, to study how to woo thy sister.
PHIL. How, man? how to woo her! why, no matter how;
I am sure thou wilt not he ashamed to woo.
Thy cheeks not subject to a childish blush,
Thou hast a better warrant by thy wit;
I know thy oratory can unfold
[A] quick invention, plausible discourse,
And set such painted beauty on thy tongue,
As it shall ravish every maiden sense;
For, Frank, thou art not like the russet youth
I told thee of, that went to woo a wench,
And being full stuff'd up with fallow wit
And meadow-matter, ask'd the pretty maid
How they sold corn last market-day with them,
Saying, "Indeed, 'twas very dear with [us]."
And, do ye hear, ye[313] had not need be so,
For she[314] will, Francis, throughly[315] try your wit;
Sirrah, she'll bow the metal of your wits,
And, if they crack, she will not hold ye current;
Nay, she will weigh your wit, as men weigh angels,[316]
And, if it lack a grain, she will not change with ye.
I cannot speak it but in passion,
She is a wicked wench to make a jest;
Ah me, how full of flouts and mocks she is!
FRAN. Some aqua-vitae reason to recover
This sick discourser! Sound[317] not, prythee, Philip.
Tush, tush, I do not think her as thou sayest:
Perhaps she's[318] opinion's darling, Philip,
Wise in repute, the crow's bird. O my friend,
Some judgments slave themselves to small desert,
And wondernise the birth of common wit,
When their own[319] strangeness do but make that strange,
And their ill errors do but make that good:
And why should men debase to make that good?
Perhaps such admiration wins her wit.
PHIL. Well, I am glad to hear this bold prepare
For this encounter. Forward, hardy Frank!
Yonder's the window with the candle in't;
Belike she's putting on her night attire:
I told ye, Frank, 'twas late. Well, I will call her,
Marry, softly, that my mother may not hear.
Mall, sister Mall!
_Enter_ MALL _in the window_.
MAL. How now, who's there?
PHIL. 'Tis I.
MAL. 'Tis I! Who I? I, quoth the dog, or what?
A Christcross row I?[320]
PHIL. No, sweet pinkany.[321]
MAL. O, is't you, wild-oats?
PHIL. Ay, forsooth, wanton.
MAL. Well said, scapethrift.
FRAN. Philip, be these your usual best salutes? [_Aside_.]
PHIL. Is this the harmless chiding of that dove? [_Aside_.]
FRAN. Dove! One of those that draw the queen of love? [_Aside_.]
MAL. How now? who's that, brother? who's that with ye?
PHIL. A gentleman, my friend.
MAL. By'r lady, he hath a pure wit.
FRAN. How meane your holy judgment?
MAL. O, well put-in, sir!
FRAN. Up, you would say.
MAL. Well climb'd, gentleman!
I pray, sir, tell me, do you cart the queen of love?
FRAN. Not cart her, but couch her in your eye,
And a fit place for gentle love to lie.
MAL. Ay, but methinks you speak without the book,
To place a four[322]-wheel waggon in my look:
Where will you have room to have the coachman sit?
FRAN. Nay, that were but small manners, and not fit:
His duty is before you bare to stand,
Having a lusty whipstock[323] in his hand.
MAL. The place is void; will you provide me one?
FRAN. And if you please, I will supply the room.
MAL. But are ye cunning in the carman's lash?
And can ye whistle well?
FRAN. Yes, I can well direct the coach of love.
MAL. Ah, cruel carter! would you whip a dove?
PHIL. Hark ye, sister--
MAL. Nay, but hark ye, brother;
Whose white boy[324] is that same? know ye his mother?
PHIL. He is a gentleman of a good house.
MAL. Why, is his house of gold?
Is it not made of lime and stone like this?
PHIL. I mean he's well-descended.
MAL. God be thanked!
Did he descend some steeple or some ladder?
PHIL. Well, you will still be cross; I tell ye, sister--
This gentleman, by all your friends' consent
Must be your husband.
MAL. Nay, not all, some sing another note;
My mother will say no, I hold a groat.
But I thought 'twas somewhat, he would be a carter;
He hath been whipping lately some blind bear,
And now he would ferk the blind boy here with us.
PHIL. Well, do you hear, you, sister, mistress [that] would have--
You that do long for somewhat, I know what--
My father told me--go to, I'll tell all,
If ye be cross--do you hear me? I have labour'd
A year's work in this afternoon for ye:
Come from your cloister, votary, chaste nun,
Come down and kiss Frank Goursey's mother's son.
MAL. Kiss him, I pray?
PHIL. Go to, stale maidenhead! come down, I say,
You seventeen and upward, come, come down;
You'll stay till twenty else for your wedding gown.
MAL. Nun, votary, stale maidenhead, seventeen and upward!
Here be names! what, nothing else?
FRAN. Yes, or a fair-built steeple without bells.
MAL. Steeple! good people, nay, another cast.
FRAN. Ay, or a well-made ship without a mast.
MAL. Fie, not so big, sir, by one part of four.
FRAN. Why, then, ye are a boat without an oar.
MAL. O well row'd wit! but what's your fare, I pray?
FRAN. Your fair self must be my fairest pay.
MAL. Nay, and you be so dear, I'll choose another.
FRAN. Why, take your first man, wench, and go no further. [_Aside_.]
PHIL. Peace, Francis. Hark ye, sister, this I say:
You know my mind; or answer ay or nay.
[Your] wit and judgment hath resolv'd his mind,
And he foresees what after he shall find:
If such discretion, then, shall govern you,
Vow love to him, he'll do the like to you.
MAL. Vow love! who would not love such a comely feature,
Nor high nor low, but of the middle stature?
A middle man, that's the best size indeed;
I like him well: love grant us well to speed!
FRAN. And let me see a woman of that tallness,
So slender and of such a middle smallness,
So old enough, and in each part so fit,
So fair, so kind, endued with so much wit,
Of so much wit as it is held a wonder,
'Twere pity to keep love and her asunder;
Therefore go up, my joy, call down my bliss;
Bid her come seal the bargain with a kiss.
MAL. Frank, Frank, I come through dangers, death, and harms,
To make love's patent[325] with my[326] seal of arms.
PHIL. But, sister, softly, lest my mother hear.
MAL. Hush, then; mum, mouse in cheese[327], cat is near.
[_Exit_ MAL.
FRAN. Now, in good faith, Philip, this makes me smile,
That I have wooed and won in so small while.
PHIL. Francis, indeed my sister, I dare say.
Was not determined to say thee nay;
For this same tother thing, call'd maiden-head,
Hangs by so small a hair or spider's thread,
And worn so too[328] with time, it must needs fall,
And, like a well-lur'd hawk, she knows her call.
[_Enter_ MALL.]
MAL. Whist, brother, whist! my mother heard me tread,
And ask'd, Who's there? I would not answer her;
She call'd, A light! and up she's gone to seek me:
There when she finds me not, she'll hither come;
Therefore dispatch, let it be quickly done.
Francis, my love's lease I do let to thee,
Date of my life and thine: what sayest thou to me?
The ent'ring, fine, or income thou must pay,
Are kisses and embraces every day;
And quarterly I must receive my rent;
You know my mind.
FRAN. I guess at thy intent:
Thou shalt not miss a minute of thy time.
MAL. Why, then, sweet Francis, I am only thine.--
Brother, bear witness.
PHIL. Do ye deliver this as your deed?
MAL. I do, I do.
PHIL. God send ye both good speed!
God's Lord, my mother! Stand aside,
And closely too, lest that you be espied.
[_Enter_ MISTRESS BARNES.]
MRS BAR. Who's there?
PHIL. Mother, 'tis I.
MRS BAR. You disobedient ruffian, careless wretch,
That said your father lov'd me but too well?
I'll think on't, when thou think'st I have forgot it:
Who's with thee else?--How now, minion? you!
With whom? with him!--Why, what make you here, sir,
[_Discovers_ FRANCIS _and_ MALL.]
And thus late too? what, hath your mother sent ye
To cut my throat, that here you be in wait?--
Come from him, mistress, and let go his hand.--
Will ye not, sir?
FRAN. Stay, Mistress Barnes, or mother--what ye will;
She is[329] my wife, and here she shall be still.
MRS BAR. How, sir? your wife! wouldst thou my daughter have?
I'll rather have her married to her grave.[330]
Go to; be gone, and quickly, or I swear
I'll have my men beat ye for staying here.
PHIL. Beat him, mother! as I am true[331] man,
They were better beat the devil and his dam.
MRS BAR. What, wilt thou take his part?
PHIL. To do him good,
And 'twere to wade hitherto up in blood.
FRAN. God-a-mercy, Philip!--But, mother, hear me.
MRS BAR. Call'st thou me mother? no, thy mother's name
Carries about with it reproach and shame.
Give me my daughter: ere that she shall wed
A strumpet's son, and have her so misled,
I'll marry her to a carter; come, I say,
Give me her from thee.
FRAN. Mother, not to-day,
Nor yet to-morrow, till my life's last morrow
Make me leave that which I with leave did borrow:
Here I have borrowed love, I'll not denay[332] it.--
Thy wedding night's my day, then I'll repay it.--
Till then she'll trust me. Wench, is't[333] not so?
And if it be, say ay, if not, say no.
MAL. Mother, good mother, hear me! O good God,
Now we are even, what, would you make us odd?
Now, I beseech ye, for the love of Christ,
To give me leave once to do what I list.
I am as you were, when you were a maid;
Guess by yourself how long you would have stay'd,
Might you have had your will: as good begin
At first as last, it saves us from much sin;
Lying alone, we muse on things and things,
And in our minds one thought another brings:
This maid's life, mother, is an idle life,
Therefore I'll be, ay, I will be a wife;
And, mother, do not mistrust[334] my age or power,
I am sufficient, I lack ne'er an hour;
I had both wit to grant, when he did woo me,
And strength to bear whate'er he can do to me.
MRS BAR. Well, bold-face, but I mean to make ye stay.
Go to, come from him, or I'll make ye come:
Will ye not come?
PHIL. Mother, I pray, forbear;
This match is for my sister.
MRS BAR. Villain, 'tis not;
Nor she shall not be so match'd now.[335]
PHIL. In troth, she shall, and your unruly hate
Shall not rule us; we'll end all this debate
By this begun device.
MRS BAR. Ay, end what you begun! Villains, thieves,
Give me my daughter! will ye rob me of her?--
Help, help! they'll rob me here, they'll rob me here!
_Enter_ MASTER BARNES _and his men_.
MR BAR. How now? what outcry's here? why, how now, woman?
MRS BAR. Why, Goursey's son, confederate[336] with this boy,
This wretch unnatural and undutiful,
Seeks hence to steal my daughter: will you suffer it?
Shall he, that's son to my arch-enemy,
Enjoy her? Have I brought her up to this?
O God, he shall not have her, no, he shall not!
MR BAR. I am sorry she knows it. [_Aside_.]--Hark ye, wife,
Let reason moderate your rage a little.
If you examine but his birth and living,
His wit and good behaviour, you will say,
Though that ill-hate make your opinion bad,
He doth deserve as good a wife as she.
MRS BAR. Why, will you give consent he shall enjoy her?
MR BAR. Ay, so that thy mind would agree with mine?
MRS BAR. My mind shall ne'er agree to this agreement.
_Enter_ MISTRESS GOURSEY _and_ COOMES.[337]
MR BAR. And yet it shall go forward:--but who's here?
What, Mistress Goursey! how knew she of this?
PHIL. Frank, thy mother!
FRAN. 'Sowns, where? a plague upon it!
I think the devil is set to cross this match.
MRS GOUR. This is the house, Dick Coomes, and yonder's [th'] light:
Let us go near. How now? methinks I see
My son stand hand in hand with Barnes his daughter.
Why, how now, sirrah? is this time of night
For you to be abroad? what have we here?
I hope that love hath not thus coupled you.
FRAN. Love, by my troth, mother, love: she loves me,
And I love her; then we must needs agree.
MRS BAR. Ay, but I'll keep her sure enough from thee.
MRS GOUR. It shall not need, I'll keep him safe enough;
Be sure he shall not graft in such a stock.
MRS BAR. What stock, forsooth? as good a stock as thine:
I do not mean that he shall graft in mine.
MRS GOUR. Nor shall he, mistress. Hark, boy; th'art but mad
To love the branch that hath a root so bad.
FRAN. Then, mother, I will graft a pippin on a crab.
MRS GOUR. It will not prove well.
FRAN. But I will prove my skill.
MRS BAR. Sir, but you shall not.
FRAN. Mothers both, I will.
MR BAR. Hark, Philip: send away thy sister straight;
Let Francis meet her where thou shalt appoint;
Let them go several to shun suspicion,
And bid them go to Oxford both this night;
There to-morrow say that we will meet them,
And there determine of their marriage. [_Aside_.]
PHIL. I will: though it be very late and dark.
My sister will endure it for a husband. [_Aside_.]
MR BAR. Well, then, at Carfax,[338] boy, I mean to meet them. [_Aside_.]
PHIL. Enough. _Exit_ [MASTER BARNES.]
Would they would begin to chide!
For I would have them brawling, that meanwhile
They may steal hence, to meet where I appoint it. [_Aside_.]
What, mother, will you let this match go forward?
Or, Mistress Goursey, will you first agree?
MRS GOUR. Shall I agree first?
PHIL. Ay, why not? come, come.
MRS GOUR. Come from her, son, and if thou lov'st thy mother.
MRS BAR. With the like spell, daughter, I conjure thee.
MRS GOUR. Francis, by fair means let me win thee from her,
And I will gild my blessing, gentle son,
With store of angels. I would not have thee
Check thy good fortune by this cos'ning choice:
O, do not thrall thy happy liberty
In such a bondage! if thou'lt needs be bound,
Be then to better worth; this worthless choice
Is not fit for thee.
MRS BAR. Is't not fit for him? wherefore is't not fit?
Is he too brave[339] a gentleman, I pray?
No, 'tis not fit; she shall not fit his turn:
If she were wise, she would be fitter for
Three times his better. Minion, go in, or I'll make ye;
I'll keep ye safe from him, I warrant ye.
MRS GOUR. Come, Francis, come from her.
FRAN. Mothers, with both hands shove I hate from love,
That like an ill-companion would infect
The infant mind of our affection:
Within this cradle shall this minute's babe
Be laid to rest; and thus I'll hug my joy.
MRS GOUR. Wilt thou be obstinate, thou self-will'd boy?
Nay, then, perforce I'll part ye, since ye will not.
COOMES. Do ye hear, mistress? pray ye give me leave to talk two or three
cold words with my young master.--Hark ye, sir, ye are my master's son,
and so forth; and indeed I bear ye some good-will, partly for his sake,
and partly for your own; and I do hope you do the like to me,--I should
be sorry else. I must needs say ye are a young man; and for mine own
part, I have seen the world, and I know what belongs to causes, and the
experience that I have, I thank God I have travelled for it.
FRAN. Why, how far have ye travell'd for it?
BOY. From my master's house to the ale-house.
COOMES. How, sir?
BOY. So, sir.
COOMES. Go to. I pray, correct your boy; 'twas ne'er a good world, since
a boy would face a man so.
FRAN. Go to. Forward, man.
COOMES. Well, sir, so it is, I would not wish ye to marry without my
mistress' consent.
FRAN. And why?
COOMES. Nay, there's ne'er a why but there is a wherefore; I have
known some have done the like, and they have danc'd a galliard at
beggars'-bush[340] for it.
BOY. At beggars'-bush! Hear him no more, master; he doth bedaub ye with
his dirty speech. Do ye hear, sir? how far stands beggars'-bush from
your father's house, sir? Why, thou whoreson refuge[341] of a tailor,
that wert 'prentice to a tailor half an age, and because, if thou hadst
served ten ages thou wouldst prove but a botcher, thou leapst from the
shop-board to a blue coat, doth it become thee to use thy terms so?
well, thou degree above a hackney, and ten degrees under a page, sew up
your lubber lips, or 'tis not your sword and buckler shall keep my
poniard from your breast.
COOMES. Do ye hear, sir? this is your boy.
FRAN. How then?
COOMES. You must breech him for it.
FRAN. Must I? how, if I will not?
COOMES. Why, then, 'tis a fine world, when boys keep boys, and know not
how to use them.
FRAN. Boy, ye rascal!
MRS GOUR. Strike him, and thou darest.
COOMES. Strike me? alas, he were better strike his father! Sowns, go to,
put up your bodkin.[342]
FRAN. Mother, stand by; I'll teach that rascal--
COOMES. Go to, give me good words, or, by God's dines,[343] I'll buckle
ye for all your bird-spit.
FRAN. Will you so, sir?
PHIL. Stay, Frank, this pitch of frenzy will defile thee;
Meddle not with it: thy unreproved valour
Should be high-minded; couch it not so low.
Dost hear me? take occasion to slip hence,
But secretly, let not thy mother see thee:
At the back-side there is a coney-green;[344]
Stay there for me, and Mall and I will come to thee. [_Aside_.]
FRAN. Enough, I will [_Aside_.] Mother, you do me wrong
To be so peremptory in your command,
And see that rascal to abuse me so.
COOMES. Rascal! take that and take all! Do ye hear, sir? I do not mean
to pocket up this wrong.
Boy. I know why that is.
COOMES. Why?
Boy. Because you have ne'er a pocket.
COM. A whip, sirrah, a whip! But, sir, provide your tools against
to-morrow morning; 'tis somewhat dark now, indeed: you know Dawson's
close, between the hedge and the pond; 'tis good even ground; I'll meet
you there; and I do not, call me cut;[345] and you be a man, show
yourself a man; we'll have a bout or two; and so we'll part for that
present.
FRAN. Well, sir, well.
NICH. Boy, have they appointed to fight?
BOY. Ay, Nicholas; wilt not thou go see the fray?
NICH. No, indeed; even as they brew, so let them bake. I will not thrust
my hand into the flame, and [I] need not; 'tis not good to have an oar
in another man's boat; little said is soon amended, and in little
meddling cometh great rest; 'tis good sleeping in a whole skin; so a man
might come home by Weeping-Cross:[346] no, by lady, a friend is not so
soon gotten as lost; blessed are the peace-makers; they that strike with
the sword, shall be beaten with the scabbard.