Chapter VIII: Introduction (2)

SMUG. Tush, and't had been as high as an abbey, I should ne'er
have hurt myself; I have fallen into the river coming home from
Waltham, and 'scaped drowning.

SIR JOHN. Come, sever, fear no spirits, we'll have a buck
presently; we have watched later than this for a doe, mine host.

HOST. Thou speakest as true as velvet.

SIR JOHN. Why then come, grass and hay! &c.[301] [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ YOUNG CLARE, JERNINGHAM, _and_
MILLICENT.

Y. CLARE. Frank Jerningham!

JER. Speak softly; rogue, how now?

Y. CLARE. 'Sfoot, we shall lose our way, it's so dark:
whereabouts are we?

JER. Why, man, at Porter's gate, the way lies right: hark! the
clock strikes at Enfield: what's the hour?

Y. CLARE. Ten, the bell says.

JER. A lie's in's throat, it was but eight when we set out of
Cheston; Sir John and his sexton are at their ale to-night, the
clock runs at random.

Y. CLARE. Nay, as sure as thou liv'st, the villanous vicar is
abroad in the chase this dark night: the stone priest steals
more venison than half the country.

JER. Millicent, now dost thou?

MIL. Sir, very well.
I would to God we were at Brian's lodge.

Y. CLARE. We shall anon; nouns! hark!
What means this noise?

JER. Stay, I hear horsemen.

Y. CLARE. I hear footmen too.

JER. Nay, then I have it: we have been discovered,
And we are followed by our fathers' men.

MIL. Brother and friend, alas! what shall we do?

Y. CLARE. Sister, speak softly, or we are descried,
They are hard upon us, whatsoe'er they be;
Shadow yourself behind this brake of fern,
We'll get into the wood, and let them pass.

_Enter_ SIR JOHN, BLAGUE, SMUG, _and_ BANKS;
_one after another_.

SIR JOHN. Grass and hay! we are all mortal: the keeper's
abroad, and there's an end.

BANKS. Sir John!

SIR JOHN. Neighbour Banks, what news?

BANKS. Zounds, Sir John, the keepers are abroad; I was hard by
'em.

SIR JOHN. Grass and hay! where's mine host Blague?

BLAGUE. Here, metropolitan; the Philistines are upon us, be
silent: let us serve the good Duke of Norfolk. But where is
Smug?

SMUG. Here: a pox on you all, dogs; I have killed the greatest
buck in Brian's walk: shift for yourselves, all the keepers are
up; let's meet in Enfield church-porch. Away, we are all taken
else. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ BRIAN, _with his man_ RALPH _and his hound_.

BRIAN. Ralph, hear'st thou any stirring?

RALPH. I heard one speak here hard by in the bottom. Peace,
master, speak low; nouns! if I did not hear a bow go off and
the buck bray, I never heard deer in my life.

BRIAN. When went your fellows into their walks?

RALPH. An hour ago.

BRIAN. Life! is there stealers abroad, and we cannot hear of them?
Where the devil are my men to-night?
Sirrah, go up and wind toward Buckley's lodge:
I'll cast about the bottom with my hound,
And I will meet thee under Cony-oak.

RALPH. I will, sir. [_Exit._

BRIAN. How now! by the mass, my hound stays upon something;
hark, hark, Bowman! hark, hark there!

MIL. Brother, Frank Jerningham, brother Clare!

BRIAN. Peace; that a woman's voice! Stand! who's there? Stand,
or I'll shoot.

MIL. O lord! hold your hands, I mean no harm, sir.

BRIAN. Speak, who are you?

MIL. I am a maid, sir. Who? Master Brian?

BRIAN. The very same: sure, I should know her voice? Mistress
Millicent!

MIL. Ay, it is I, sir.

BRIAN. God for his passion! what make you here alone? I looked
for you at my lodge an hour ago. What means your company to
leave you thus? Who brought you hither?

MIL. My brother, sir, and Master Jerningham who, hearing folks
about us in the Chase, feared it had been Sir Arthur my father,
who had pursued us, and thus dispersed ourselves, till they
were past us.

BRIAN. But where be they?

MIL. They be not far off--here about the grove.

_Enter_ YOUNG CLARE _and_ JERNINGHAM.

Y. CLARE. Be not afraid, man; I hear Brian's tongue, that's
certain.

JER. Call softly for your sister.

Y. CLARE. Millicent!

MIL. Ay, brother, here.

BRIAN. Master Clare!

Y. CLARE. I told you it was Brian.

BRIAN. Who is that, Master Jerningham? You are a couple of
hot-shots: does a man commit his wench to you, to put her to
grass at this time of night?

JER. We heard a noise about us in the Chase,
And fearing that our fathers had pursu'd us,
Severed ourselves.

Y. CLARE. Brian, how happedst thou on her?

BRIAN. Seeking for stealers that are abroad tonight,
My hound stay'd on her, and so found her out.

Y. CLARE They were these stealers that affrighted us;
I was hard upon them when they hors'd their deer,
And I perceive they took me for a keeper.

BRIAN. Which way took they?

JER. Towards Enfield.

BRIAN. A plague upon't, that's the damned priest and Blague of
the George--he that serves the good Duke of Norfolk.

[_A noise within._] Follow, follow, follow!

Y. CLARE. Peace; that's my father's voice.

BRIAN. Nouns! you suspected them, and now they are here indeed.

MIL. Alas! what shall we do?

BRIAN. If you go to the lodge, you are surely taken:
Strike down the wood to Enfield presently,
And if Mounchensey come, I'll send him to you.
Let me alone to bustle with your fathers;
I warrant you that I will keep them play
Till you have quit the Chase; away, away. [_Exeunt._
Who's there?

_Enter the Knights._

SIR RALPH. In the king's name, pursue the ravisher.

BRIAN. Stand, or I'll shoot.

SIR ARTH. Who's there?

BRIAN. I am the keeper, that do charge you stand;
You have stolen my deer.

SIR ARTH. We stolen thy deer? we do pursue a thief.

BRIAN. You are arrant thieves, and ye have stolen my deer.

SIR ARTH. We are knights; Sir Arthur Clare and Sir Ralph
Jerningham.

BRIAN. The more your shame, that knights should bo such thieves.

SIR ARTH. Who or what art thou?

BRIAN. My name is Brian, keeper of this walk.

SIR ARTH. O Brian, a villain!
Thou hast receiv'd my daughter to thy lodge.

BRIAN. You have stolen the best deer in my walk to-night: my
deer--

SIR ARTH. My daughter--Stop not my way.

BRIAN. What make you in my walk? you have stolen the best buck
in my walk to-night.

SIR ARTH. My daughter--

BRIAN. My deer--

SIR RALPH. Where is Mounchensey?

BRIAN. Where is my buck?

SIR ARTH. I will complain me of thee to the king.

BRIAN. I'll complain unto the king you spoil his game: 'tis
strange that men of your account and calling will offer it. I
tell you true, Sir Arthur and Sir Ralph, that none but you have
only spoiled my game.

SIR ARTH. I charge you stop us not.

BRIAN. I charge you both get out of my ground. Is this a time
for such as you, men of place and of your gravity, to be abroad
a-thieving? 'tis a shame; and afore God, if I had shot at you,
I had served you well enough. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ BANKS _the miller, wet on his legs_.

BANKS. Foot, here's a dark night indeed: I think I have
been in fifteen ditches between this and the forest. Soft,
here's Enfield church: I am so wet with climbing over into an
orchard for to steal some filberts. Well, here I'll sit in the
church-porch, and wait for the rest of my consorts.

_Enter_ SEXTON.

SEX. Here's a sky as black as Lucifer, God bless us! Here was
goodman Theophilus buried: he was the best nut-cracker that
ever dwelt in England. Well, 'tis nine o'clock, 'tis time to
ring curfew.[302] Lord bless us, what a white thing is that
in the church-porch![303] O lord, my legs are too weak for my
body, my hair is too stiff for my nightcap, my heart fails;
this is the ghost of Theophilus. O Lord, it follows me! I
cannot say my prayers, and one would give me a thousand pound.
Good spirit! I have bowled and drunk, and followed the hounds
with you, a thousand times, though I have not the spirit now to
deal with you. O Lord!

_Enter_ SIR JOHN.

SIR JOHN. Grass and hay! we are all mortal; who's there?

SEX. We are grass and hay indeed: I know you to be master
parson by your phrase.

PRIEST. Sexton!

SEX. Ay, sir.

PRIEST. For mortality's sake, what's the matter?

SEX. O Lord, I am a man of another element; Master Theophilus's
ghost is in the church-porch. There was an hundred cats, all
fire, dancing even now, and they are clomb up to the top of the
steeple; I'll not into the belfry for a world.

PRIEST. O goodman Solomon, I have been about a deed of darkness
to-night: O Lord! I saw fifteen spirits in the forest like
white bulls; if I lie, I am an arrant thief: mortality haunts
us--grass and hay! the devil's at our heels, and let's hence to
the parsonage. [_Exeunt._

_The_ MILLER _comes out very softly_.

MILLER. What noise was that? 'tis the watch; sure, that
villanous unlucky rogue Smug is ta'en; upon my life, and then
all our knavery comes out! I heard one cry, sure.

_Enter host_ BLAGUE.

HOST. If I go steal any more venison, I am a paradox: foot, I
can scarce bear the sin of my flesh in the day, 'tis so heavy:
if I turn not honest, and serve the good Duke of Norfolk as a
true mareterraneum skinker[304] should do, let me never look
higher than the element of a constable.

MILLER. By the mass, there are some watchmen; I hear them name
master constable: I would my mill were an eunuch, and wanted
her stones, so I were hence.

HOST. Who's there?

MILLER. Tis the constable, by this light: I'll steal hence,
and if I can meet mine host Blague, I'll tell him how Smug is
ta'en, and will him to look to himself. [_Exit._

HOST. What the devil is that white thing? this same is a
churchyard, and I have heard that ghosts and villanous goblins
have been seen here.

_Enter_ SEXTON _and_ PRIEST.

PRIEST. Grass and hay! O, that I could conjure! we saw a spirit
here in the churchyard; and in the fallow field there's the
devil with a man's body upon his back in a white sheet.

SEX. It may be a woman's body, Sir John.

PRIEST. If she be a woman, the sheets damn her.
Lord bless us, what a night of mortality is this!

HOST. Priest!

PRIEST. Mine host!

HOST. Did you not see a spirit all in white cross you at the
stile?

SEX. O no, mine host; but there sat one in the porch: I have
not breath enough left to bless me from the devil.

HOST. Who's that?

PRIEST. The sexton, almost frightened out of his wits. Did you
see Banks or Smug?

HOST. No, they are gone to Waltham, sure. I would fain hence;
come, let's to my house: I'll ne'er serve the Duke of Norfolk
in this fashion again whilst I breathe. If the devil be
among us, it's time to hoist sail, and cry roomer.[305] Keep
together; sexton, thou art secret. What! let's be comfortable
one to another.

PRIEST. We are all mortal, mine host.

HOST. True; and I'll serve God in the night hereafter afore the
Duke of Norfolk. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR ARTHUR CLARE _and_ SIR RALPH JERNINGHAM,[306]
_trussing their points, as newly up._

SIR RALPH. Good-morrow, gentle knight;
A happy day after your short night's rest.

SIR ARTH. Ha, ha! Sir Ralph, stirring so soon indeed?
By'r Lady, sir, rest would have done right well:
Our riding late last night has made me drowsy.
Go to, go to, those days are gone with us.

SIR RALPH. Sir Arthur, Sir Arthur, care go with those days!
Let 'em even go together, let 'em go;
'Tis time, i' faith, that we were in our graves,
When children leave obedience to their parents
When there's no fear of God, no care, no duty.
Well, well--nay, it shall not do, it shall not:
No, Mounchensey, thou'lt hear on't, thou shalt,
Thou shalt, i' faith; I'll hang thy son,
If there be law in England. A man's child
Ravish'd from a nunnery! This is rare!
Well, there's one gone for friar Hildersham.

SIR ARTH. Nay, gentle knight, do not vex thus, it will but hurt
your heat. You cannot grieve more than I do; but to what end?
But hark you, Sir Ralph, I was about to say something--it makes
no matter. But hark you in your ear; the friar's a knave: but
God forgive me, a man cannot tell, neither. 'Sfoot, I am so out
of patience, I know not what to say.

SIR RALPH. There's one went for the friar an hour ago. Comes
he not yet? 'Sfoot, if I do find knavery under's cowl, I'll
tickle him, I'll ferk him. Here, here, he's here, he's here.
Good-morrow, friar; good-morrow, gentle friar.

_Enter_ HILDERSHAM.

SIR ARTH. Good-morrow, father Hildersham, good-morrow.

HIL. Good-morrow, reverend knights, unto you both.

SIR ARTH. Father, how now? You hear how matters go;
I am undone, my child is cast away;
You did your best, at least I think the best:
But we are all cross'd; flatly, all is dash'd.

HIL. Alas! good knights, how might the matter be?
Let me understand your grief for charity.

SIR ARTH. Who does not understand my grief?
Alas! alas!
And yet you do not: will the church permit
A nun in approbation of her habit
To be ravished?

HIL. A holy woman, benedicite!
Now God forfend,[307] that any should presume
To touch the sister of a holy house.

SIR ARTH. Jesus deliver me!

SIR RALPH. Why, Millicent, the daughter of this knight,
Is out of Cheston taken this last night.

HIL. Was that fair maiden late become a nun?

SIR RALPH. Was she, quoth a? Knavery, knavery, knavery,
knavery; I smell it, I smell it. I' faith, is the wind in that
door? Is it even so? Dost thou ask me that now?

HIL. It is the first time that e'er I heard of it.

SIR ARTH. That's very strange.

SIR RALPH. Why, tell me, friar, tell me: thou art counted a
holy man? Do not play the hypocrite with me, nor[308] bear with
me: I cannot dissemble. Did I aught but by thy own consent, by
thy allowance--nay, further, by thy warrant?

HIL. Why, reverend knight--

SIR RALPH. Unreverend friar--

HIL. Nay, then give me leave, sir, to depart in quiet:
I had hop'd you had sent for me to some other end.

SIR ARTH. Nay, stay, good friar, if anything hath happ'd
About this matter in thy love to us,
That thy strict order cannot justify,
Admit it to be so, we will cover it;
Take no care, man:
Disclaim not yet my counsel and advice,
The wisest man that is may be o'erreach'd.

HIL. Sir Arthur, by my order and my faith, I know not what you
mean.

SIR RALPH. By your order and by your faith? This is most
strange of all. Why, tell me, friar, are not you confessor to
my son Frank?

HIL. Yes, that I am.

SIR RALPH. And did not this good knight here and myself
Confess with you, being his ghostly father,
To deal with him about th' unbanded marriage
Betwixt him and that fair young Millicent?

HIL. I never heard of any match intended.

SIR ARTH. Did not we break our minds that very time,
That our device in making her a nun
Was but a colour and a very plot
To put by young Mounchensey? Is't not true?

HIL. The more I strive to know what you should mean,
The less I understand you.

SIR RALPH. Did not you tell us still, how Peter Fabel
At length would cross us, if we took not heed?

HIL. I have heard of one that is a great magician;
But he's about the university.

SIR RALPH. Did not you send your novice Benedic
To persuade the girl to leave Mounchensey's love,
To cross that Peter Fabel in his art,
And to that purpose made him visitor?

HIL. I never sent my novice from my house,
Nor have we made our visitation yet.

SIR ARTH. Never sent him! Nay, did he not go? and did not I
direct him to the house, and confer with him by the way? and
did not he tell me what charge he had received from you, word
by word, as I requested at your hands?

HIL. That you shall know; he came along with me,
And stays without. Come hither, Benedic.

_Enter_ BENEDIC.

Young Benedic, were you e'er sent by me
To Cheston nunnery for a visitor?

BEN. Never, sir, truly.

SIR RALPH. Stranger than all the rest!

SIR ARTH. Did not I direct you to the house:
Confer with you from Waltham Abbey
Unto Cheston wall?

BEN. I never saw you, sir, before this hour.

SIR RALPH. The devil thou didst not! Ho, chamberlain!

_Enter_ CHAMBERLAIN.

CHAM. Anon, anon.

SIR RALPH. Call mine host Blague hither.

CHAM. I will send one over, sir, to see if he be up. I think he
be scarce stirring yet.

SIR RALPH. Why, knave, didst thou not tell me an hour ago mine
host was up!

CHAM. Ay, sir, my master's up.

SIR RALPH. You knave, is he up, and is he not up? Dost thou
mock me?

CHAM. Ay, sir, my master is up; but I think Master Blague
indeed be not stirring.

SIR RALPH. Why, who's thy master? Is not the master of the
house thy master?

CHAM. Yes, sir; but Master Blague dwells over the way.

SIR ARTH. Is not this the George? Before Jove, there's some
villany in this.

CHAM. Foot, our sign's removed; this is strange!

_Enter_ BLAGUE, _trussing his points_.

HOST. Chamberlain, speed[309] up to the new lodgings;
Bid Nell look well to the bak'd meat--
How now, my old jennet's back?[310] my house
[Is] my castle: lie in Waltham all night, and
Not under the canopy of your host Blague's house?

SIR ARTH. Mine host, mine host, we lay all night at the George
in Waltham; but whether the George be your fee-simple or no,
'tis a question. Look upon your sign.

HOST. Body of St George, this is mine over-thwart neighbour
hath done this to seduce my blind customers. I'll tickle his
catastrophe for this; if I do not indict him at the next
assizes for burglary, let me die of the yellows;[311] for I see
it is no boot in these days to serve the good Duke of Norfolk.
The villanous world is turned mangy;[312] one jade deceives
another, and your ostler plays his part commonly for the fourth
share. Have we comedies in hand, you whoreson, villanous male
London lecher?

SIR ARTH. Mine host, we have had the moilingest night of it
that ever we had in our lives.

HOST. Is it certain?

SIR ARTH. We have been in the forest all night almost.

HOST. Foot, how did I miss you? Heart! I was stealing of a buck
there.

SIR ARTH. A plague on you; we were stayed for you.

HOST. Were you, my noble Romans? Why, you shall share; the
venison is a-footing. _Sine Cerere et Baccho friget Venus_,
that is, there is a good breakfast provided for a marriage that
is in my house this morning.

SIR ARTH. A marriage, mine host!

HOST. A conjunction copulative; a gallant match between your
daughter and Raymond Mounchensey, young juventus.

SIR ARTH. How?

HOST. Tis firm; 'tis done.
We'll show you a precedent in the civil law fort.

SIR RALPH. How! married?

HOST. Leave tricks and admiration; there's a cleanly pair of
sheets on the bed in the Orchard-chamber, and they shall lie
there. What? I'll do it. I serve the good Duke of Norfolk.

SIR ARTH. Thou shalt repent this, Blague.

SIR RALPH. If any law in England will make thee smart for this,
expect it with all severity.

HOST. I renounce your defiance; if you parley so roughly, I'll
barricado my gates against you. Stand fair, bully; priest,
come off from the rearward. What can you say now? 'Twas done
in my house. I have shelter in the court for't. Do you see yon
bay-window? I serve the good Duke of Norfolk, and 'tis his
lodging. Storm, I care not, serving the good Duke of Norfolk.
Thou art an actor in this, and thou shalt carry fire in thy
face eternally.

_Enter_ SMUG, MOUNCHENSEY, HARRY CLARE, _and_
MILLICENT.

SMUG. Fire! nouns, there's no fire in England like your
Trinidado sack.[313] Is any man here humorous?[314] We stole
the venison, and we'll justify it: say you now?

HOST. In good sooth, Smug, there's more sack on the fire, Smug.

SMUG. I do not take any exceptions against your sack: but if
you lend me a pike-staff, I'll cudgel them all hence, by this
hand.

HOST. I say thou shalt into the cellar.

SMUG. 'Sfoot, mine host, shall's not grapple? Pray you, pray
you; I could fight now for all the world like a cockatrice's
egg. Shall's not serve the Duke of Norfolk? [_Exit._

HOST. In, skipper, in.

SIR ARTH. Sirrah, hath young Mounchensey married your sister?

H. CLARE. 'Tis certain, sir; here's the priest that coupled
them, the parties joined, and the honest witness that cried
amen.

MOUN. Sir Arthur Clare, my new-created father, I beseech you
hear me.

SIR ARTH. Sir, sir, you are a foolish boy; you have done that
you cannot answer; I dare be bold to seize her from you, for
she's a professed nun.

MIL. With pardon, sir, that name is quite undone;
This true-love knot cancels both maid and nun.
When first you told me, I should act that part,
How cold and bloody it crept o'er my heart.
To Cheston with a smiling brow I went,
But yet, dear sir, it was to this intent,
That my sweet Raymond might find better means,
To steal me thence. In brief, disguis'd he came,
Like novice to old father Hildersham;
His tutor here did act that cunning part,
And in our love hath join'd much wit to art.

SIR ARTH. Is it even so?

MIL. With pardon therefore we entreat your smiles!
Love (thwarted) turns itself to thousand wiles.

SIR ARTH. Young Master Jerningham, were you an actor
In your own love's abuse?

JER. My thoughts, good sir,
Did labour seriously unto this end--
To wrong myself, ere I'd abuse my friend.

HOST. He speaks like a bachelor of music; all in numbers.
Knights, if I had known you would have let this covey of
partridges sit thus long upon their knees under my signpost. I
would have spread my door with coverlids.

SIR ARTH. Well, sir, for this your sign was removed, was it?

HOST. Faith, we followed the directions of the devil, Master
Peter Fabel; and Smug (lord bless us!) could never stand
upright since.

SIR ARTH. You, sir--'twas you was his minister, that married
them?

SIR JOHN. Sir, to prove myself an honest man, being that I
was last night in the forest stealing venison--now, sir, to
have you stand my friend, if the matter should be called in
question, I married your daughter to this worthy gentleman.

SIR ARTH. I may chance to requite you, and make your neck crack
for't.

SIR JOHN. If you do, I am as resolute as my neighbour-vicar of
Waltham Abbey; ahem! grass and hay! we are all mortal; let's
live till we be hanged, mine host, and be merry; and there's an
end.

_Enter_ FABEL.[315]

FAB. Now, knights, I enter: now my part begins.
To end this difference, know, at first I knew
What you intended, ere your love took flight
From old Mounchensey: you, Sir Arthur Clare,
Were minded to have married this sweet beauty
To young Frank Jerningham: to cross this match,
I us'd some pretty sleights; but I protest
Such as but sat upon the skirts of art:
No conjurations, nor such weighty spells
As tie the soul to their performancy.
These for his love, who once was my dear pupil,
Have I effected. Now (methinks) 'tis strange
That you, being old in wisdom, should thus knit
Your forehead on this match; since reason fails,
No law can curb the lover's rash attempt;
Years, in resisting this, are sadly spent.
Smile then upon your daughter and kind son;
And let our toil to future ages prove,
The Devil of Edmonton did good in love.

SIR ARTH. Well, 'tis in vain to cross thee, Providence:
Dear son, I take thee up into my heart;
Rise, daughter.

MIL. This is a kind father's part.

HOST. Why, Sir John.[316] send for Spindle's noise[317] presently:
Ha! ere't be night, I'll serve the good Duke of Norfolk.

SIR JOHN. Grass and hay! mine host, let's live till we die, and
be merry; and there's an end.

SIR ARTH. What, is breakfast ready, mine host?

HOST. 'Tis, my little Hebrew.

SIR ARTH. Sirrah! ride straight to Cheston nunnery,
Fetch thence my lady; the house, I know,
By this time misses their young votary.
Come, knights, let's in.

BIL. I will to horse presently, sir. A plague on my lady,
I shall miss a good breakfast. Smug, how chance you cut so
plaguely behind, Smug?

SMUG. Stand away, I'll founder you else.

BIL. Farewell, Smug, thou art in another element.

SMUG. I will be by and by; I will be Saint George again.

SIR ARTH. Take heed the fellow do not hurt himself.

SIR RALPH. Did we not last night find two Saint Georges here?

FAB. Yes, knights, this martialist was one of them.

CLARE. Then thus conclude your night of merriment.

[_Exeunt omnes._

FINIS.

RAM-ALLEY

OR

MERRY TRICKS.

_EDITIONS._

(1.) _Ram-Alley: Or Merrie Trickes. A Comedy Divers times
here-to-fore acted by the Children of the Kings Reuels.
Written by Lo: Barrey. At London Printed by G. Eld, for
Robert Wilson, and are to be sold at his shop in Holborne,
at the new yate of Grayes-Inne._ 1611. 4.

(2.) _Ram-Alley; Or Merry-Trickes. A Comedy. Divers times
here-to-fore acted by the Children of the Kings Revels.
Written by Lo. Barrey. London. Printed by John Norton, for
Robert Wilson._ 1636. 4.