Chapter X: Prologue (3)

CHURMS. We are horribly haunted: our behaviour is so beastly, that we are grown loathsome; our craft gets us nought but knocks.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. What course shall we take now?

CHURMS. Faith, I cannot tell: let's e'en run our country; for here's no staying for us.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Faith, agreed: let's go into some place where we are not known, and there set up the art of knavery with the second edition.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ GRIPE _solus_.

GRIPE. Every one tells me I look better than I was wont: my heart's lightened, and my spirits are revived. Why, methinks I am e'en young again. It joys my heart that this same peevish girl, my daughter, will be ruled at the last yet; but I shall never be able to make Master Churms amends for the great pains he hath taken.

_Enter_ NURSE.

NURSE. Master, now out upon's. Well-a-day! we are all undone.

GRIPE. Undone! what sudden accident hath chanced? Speak! what's the matter?

NURSE. Alas! that ever I was born! My mistress and Master Churms are run away together.

GRIPE. 'Tis not possible; ne'er tell me: I dare trust Master Churms with a greater matter than that.

NURSE. Faith, you must trust him, whether you will or no; for he's gone.

_Enter_ WILL CRICKET.

WILL CRICKET. Master Gripe, I was coming to desire that I might have your absence at my wedding; for I hear say you are very liberal grown o' late. For I spake with three or four of your debtors this morning, that ought you hundred pounds a piece; and they told me that you sent Master Churms to them, and took of some ten pounds, and of some twenty, and delivered them their bonds, and bad them pay the rest when they were able.

GRIPE. I am undone, I am robbed! My daughter! my money! Which way are they gone?

WILL CRICKET. Faith, sir, it's all to nothing, but your daughter and Master Churms are gone both one way. Marry, your money flies, some one way, and some another; and therefore 'tis but a folly to make hue and cry after it.

GRIPE. Follow them, make hue and cry after them. My daughter! my money! all's gone! what shall I do?

WILL CRICKET. Faith, if you will be ruled by me, I'll tell you what you shall do. Mark what I say; for I'll teach you the way to come to heaven, if you stumble not--give all you have to the poor but one single penny, and with that penny buy you a good strong halter; and when you ha' done so, come to me, and I'll tell you what you shall do with it. [_Aside_.

GRIPE. Bring me my daughter: that Churms, that villain! I'll tear him with my teeth.

NURSE. Master, nay, pray you, do not run mad: I'll tell you good news; my young Master Fortunatus is come home: and see where he comes.

_Enter_ FORTUNATUS.

GRIPE. If thou hadst said Lelia, it had been something.

FORTUNATUS. Thus Fortunatus greets his father, And craves his blessing on his bended knee.

GRIPE. Ay, here's my son; but Lelia she'll not come. Good Fortunatus, rise: wilt thou shed tears, And help thy father moan? If so, say ay; if not, good son, begone.

FORTUNATUS. What moves my father to these uncouth fits?

WILL CRICKET. Faith, sir, he's almost mad; I think he cannot tell you: and therefore I--presuming, sir, that my wit is something better than his at this time--do you mark, sir?--out of the profound circumambulation of my supernatural wit, sir--do you understand?--will tell you the whole superfluity of the matter, sir. Your sister Lelia, sir, you know, is a woman, as another woman is, sir.

FORTUNATUS. Well, and what of that?

WILL CRICKET. Nay, nothing, sir; but she fell in love with one Sophos, a very proper, wise young man, sir. Now, sir, your father would not let her have him, sir; but would have married her to one, sir, that would have fed her with nothing but barley bag-puddings and fat bacon. Now, sir, to tell you the truth, the fool, ye know, has fortune to land; but Mistress Lelia's mouth doth not hang for that kind of diet.

FORTUNATUS. And how then?

WILL CRICKET. Marry then, there was a certain cracking, cogging, pettifogging, butter-milk slave, sir, one Churms, sir, that is the very quintessence of all the knaves in the bunch: and if the best man of all his kin had been but so good as a yeoman's son, he should have been a marked knave by letters patents. And he, sir, comes me sneaking, and cosens them both of their wench, and is run away with her. And, sir, belike, he has cosened your father here of a great deal of his money too.

NURSE. Sir, your father did trust him but too much; but I always thought he would prove a crafty knave.

GRIPE. My trust's betray'd, my joy's exil'd: Grief kills the heart, my hope's beguil'd.

FORTUNATUS. Where golden gain doth blear a father's eyes, That precious pearl, fetch'd from Parnassus' mount, Is counted refuse, worse than bull'on brass; Both joys and hopes hang of a silly twine, That still is subject unto flitting time, That turns joy into grief, and hope to sad despair, And ends his days in wretched worldly care. Were I the richest monarch under heaven, And had one daughter thrice as fair As was the Grecian Menelaus' wife, Ere I would match her to an untaught swain, Though one whose wealth exceeded Croesus' store, Herself should choose, and I applaud her choice Of one more poor than ever Sophos was, Were his deserts but equal unto his. If I might speak without offence, You were to blame to hinder Lelia's choice; As she in nature's graces doth excel, So doth Minerva grace him full as well.

NURSE. Now, by cock and pie, you never spake a truer word in your life. He's a very kind gentleman, for, last time he was at our house, he gave me three-pence.

WILL CRICKET. O, nobly spoken: God send Peg to prove as wise a woman as her mother, and then we shall be sure to have wise children. Nay, if he be so liberal, old grandsire, you shall give him the goodwill of your daughter.

GRIPE. She is not mine, I have no daughter now: That I should say--I had, thence comes my grief. My care of Lelia pass'd a father's love; My love of Lelia makes my loss the more; My loss of Lelia drowns my heart in woe; My heart's woe makes this life a living death: Care, love, loss, heart's woe, living death, Join all in one to stop this vital breath. Curs'd be the time I gap'd for golden gain, I curse the time I cross'd her in her choice; Her choice was virtuous, but my will was base: I sought to grace her from the Indian mines, But she sought honour from the starry mount. What frantic fit possess'd my foolish brain? What furious fancy fired so my heart, To hate fair virtue, and to scorn desert?

FORTUNATUS. Then, father, give desert his due; Let nature's graces and fair virtue's gifts One sympathy and happy consort make 'Twixt Sophos' and my sister Lelia's love: Conjoin their hands, whose hearts have long been one. And so conclude a happy union.

GRIPE. Now 'tis too late: What fates decree can never be recall'd; Her luckless love is fall'n to Churms his lot, And he usurps fair Lelia's nuptial bed.

FORTUNATUS. That cannot be; fear of pursuit Must needs prolong his nuptial rights: But if you give your full consent, That Sophos may enjoy his long-wish'd love, And have fair Lelia to his lovely bride, I'll follow Churms whate'er betide; I'll be as swift as is the light-foot roe, And overtake him ere his journey's end, And bring fair Lelia back unto my friend.

GRIPE. Ay, here's my hand; I do consent, And think her happy in her happy choice; Yet half forejudge my hopes will be deceiv'd. But, Fortunatus, I must needs commend Thy constant mind thou bear'st unto thy friend: The after-ages, wond'ring at the same, Shall say 't's a deed deserveth lasting fame.

FORTUNATUS. Then rest you here, till I return again; I'll go to Sophos, ere I go along, And bring him here to keep you company. Perhaps he hath some skill in hidden arts, Of planets' course, or secret magic spells, To know where Lelia and that fox lies hid, Whose craft so cunningly convey'd her hence. [_Exit_ FORTUNATUS.

GRIPE. Ay, here I'll rest an hour or twain, Till Fortunatus do return again.

WILL CRICKET. Faith, sir, this same Churms is a very scurvy lawyer; for once I put a case to him, and methought his law was not worth a pudding.

GRIPE. Why, what was your case?

WILL CRICKET. Marry, sir, my case was a goose's case; for my dog wearied[163] my neighbour's sow, and the sow died.

NURSE. And he sued you upon wilful murder?

WILL CRICKET. No; but he went to law with me, and would make me either pay for his sow, or hang my dog. Now, sir, to the same returna[164] I went.

NURSE. To beg a pardon for your dog?

WILL CRICKET. No; but to have some of his wit for my money. I gave him his fee, and promised him a goose beside for his counsel. Now, sir, his counsel was to deny all was asked me, and to crave a longer time to answer, though I knew the case was plain. So, sir, I take his counsel; and always when he sends to me for his goose, I deny it, and crave a longer time to answer.

NURSE. And so the case was yours, and the goose was his: and so it came to be a goose's case.

WILL CRICKET. True: but now we are talking of geese, see where Peg and my granam Midnight comes.

_Enter_ MOTHER MIDNIGHT _and_ PEG.

MOTHER MIDNIGHT. Come, Peg, bestir your stumps, make thyself smug, wench; thou must be married to-morrow: let's go seek out thy sweetheart, to prepare all things in readiness.

PEG. Why, granam, look where he is.

WILL CRICKET. Ha, my sweet tralilly: I thought thou couldst spy me amongst a hundred honest men. A man may see that love will creep where it cannot go. Ha, my sweet and too sweet: shall I say the tother sweet?

PEG. Ay, say it and spare not.

WILL CRICKET. Nay, I will not say it: I will sing it.

_Thou art mine own sweetheart,
From thee I'll never depart;
Thou art my Ciperlillie,
And I thy Trangdidowne-dilly:
And sing, Hey ding a ding ding,
And do the tother thing:
And when 'tis done, not miss
To give my wench a kiss:
And then dance_, Canst thou not hit it?
_Ho, brave William Cricket_!

How like you this, granam?

MOTHER MIDNIGHT. Marry, God's benison light o' thy good heart for't. Ha, that I were young again! i' faith, I was an old doer at these love-songs when I was a girl.

NURSE. Now, by the Mary matins, Peg, thou hast got the merriest wooer in all womanshire.

PEG. Faith, I am none of those that love nothing but _tum, dum, diddle_. If he had not been a merry shaver, I would never have had him.

WILL CRICKET.

But come, my nimble lass,
Let all these matters pass,
And in a bouncing bravation,
Let's talk of our copulation.

What good cheer shall we have to-morrow? Old grandsire Thickskin, you that sit there as melancholy as a mantle-tree, what will you give us toward this merry meeting?

GRIPE. Marry, because you told me a merry goose case, I'll bestow a fat goose on ye, and God give you good luck.

MOTHER MIDNIGHT. Marry, well-said, old master: e'en God give them joy indeed; for, by my vay, they are a good, sweet young couple.

WILL CRICKET. Granam, stand out o' the way; for here come gentlefolk will run o'er you else.

_Enter_ FORTUNATUS, SOPHOS, _and_ LELIA.

NURSE. Master, here comes your son again.

GRIPE. Is Fortunatus there? Welcome, Fortunatus: Where's Sophos?

FORTUNATUS. Here Sophos is, as much o'erworn with love, As you with grief for loss of Lelia.

SOPHOS. And ten times more, if it be possible: The love of Lelia is to me more dear, Than is a kingdom or the richest crown That e'er adorn'd the temples of a king.

GRIPE. Thou welcome, Sophos--thrice more welcome now, Than any man on earth--to me or mine: It is not now with me as late it was; I low'r'd at learning, and at virtue spurn'd: But now my heart and mind, and all, is turn'd. Were Lelia here, I soon would knit the knot 'Twixt her and thee, that time could ne'er untie, Till fatal sisters victory had won, And that your glass of life were quite outrun.

WILL CRICKET. Zounds, I think he be spurblind; why, Lelia stands hard by him.

LELIA. And Lelia here falls prostrate on her knee, And craves a pardon for her late offence.

GRIPE. What, Lelia my daughter? Stand up, wench: Why, now my joy is full; My heart is lighten'd of all sad annoy: Now fare well, grief, and welcome home, my joy.-- Here, Sophos, take thy Lelia's hand: Great God of heav'n your hearts combine, In virtue's lore to raise a happy line.

SOPHOS. Now Phaeton hath check'd his fiery steeds, And quench'd his burning beams that late were wont To melt my waxen wings, when as I soar'd aloft; And lovely Venus smiles with fair aspect Upon the spring-time of our sacred love. Thou great commander of the circled orbs, Grant that this league of lasting amity May lie recorded by eternity.

LELIA. Then wish'd content knit up our nuptial right; And future joys our former griefs requite.

WILL CRICKET. Nay, and you be good at that, I'll tell you what we'll do: Peg and I must be married to-morrow; and if you will, we'll go all to the church together, and so save Sir John a labour.

ALL. Agreed.

FORTUNATUS. Then march along, and let's be gone, To solemnise two marriages in one.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

FINIS.

LINGUA.

_EDITIONS_.

(1.) _Lingva: Or, The Combat of the Tongue, And the fiue Senses for Superiority. A pleasant Comoedie, At London Printed by G. Eld, for Simon Waterson_, 1607, 4to[165].

(2.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Senses, for Superiority. A pleasant Comoedie. London, Printed by N. Okes, for Simon Waterson_, [circâ 1610], 4to.

(3.) _Lingua; or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Senses, for Superiority. A pleasant Comoedie. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, for Simon Waterson_, 1617, 4to.

(4.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Sences, for Superiority. A pleasant Comedy. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, for Simon Waterson_, 1622, 4to.

(5.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Sences, for Superioritie. A pleasant Comoedie. London, Printed by Augustine Matthewes, for Simon Waterson_, 1632, 4to.

(6.) _Lingua: or, The Combat of the Tongue, and the five Senses, for Superiority. A pleasant Comoedy. London, Printed for Simon Miller, at the Starre in St Paul's Churchyard_, 1657, 8vo.