Chapter VII: Part 7

_Old Mer._ He set her on a milk white Steed, and himself upon a gray,
He never turn'd his face again, but he bore her quite away.

_Merch._ Unworthy of the kindness I have shewn
To thee, and thine: too late, I well perceive
Thou art consenting to my Daughters loss.

_Old Mer._ Your Daughter, what a-stirs here wi' y'r daughter?
Let her go, think no more on her, but sing loud. If both my
sons were on the gallows, I would sing _down, down, down_: they
fall down, and arise they never shall.

_Merch._ Oh might I behold her once again,
And she once more embrace her aged sire.

_Old Mer._ Fie, how scurvily this goes: and she once more
embrace her aged sire? you'll make a dog on her, will ye; she
cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you. She cares not for
her Daddy, nor she cares not for her Mammy. For she is, she is,
she is[, she is] my Lord of _Low-gaves_ Lassie.

_Merch._ For this thy scorn I will pursue
That son of thine to death.

_Old Mer._ Do, and when you ha kill'd him,
Give him flowers i'now Palmer, give him flowers i'now,
Give him red and white, and blue, green, and yellow.

_Merch._ I'll fetch my Daughter.

_Old Mer._ I'll hear no more o' your Daughter, it spoils my
mirth.

_Merch._ I say I'll fetch my Daughter.

_Old Mer._ Was never man for Ladies sake, _down, down_,
Tormented as I [poore] Sir _Guy_? _de derry down_,
For _Lucies_ sake, that Lady bright, _down, down_,
As ever men beheld with eye? _de derry down_.

_Merch._ I'll be reveng'd by heaven. [_Exeunt._ Finis _Act. Secund._

_Musick._

_Wife._ How dost thou like this _George_?

_Cit._ Why this is well Cunnie: but if _Ralph_ were hot once:
thou shouldst see more.

_Wife._ The Fidlers go again Husband.

_Cit._ I _Nell_, but this is scurvy Musick: I gave the whoreson
gallows money, and I think he has not got me the Waits of
_Southwark_, if I hear him not anan, I'll twinge him by the
ears.

[You] Musicians play _Baloo_.

_Wife._ No good _George_, let's ha _Lachrymæ_.

_Cit._ Why this is it Cunny.

_Wife._ It's all the better _George_: now sweet Lamb, what
story is that painted upon the cloth? the confutation of Saint
Paul?

_Cit._ No Lamb, that's _Ralph_ and _Lucrece_.

_Wife. Ralph_ and _Lucrece_? which _Ralph_? our _Ralph_?

_Cit._ No Mouse, that was a _Tartarian_.

_Wife._ A _Tartarian_? well, I wo'd the Fidlers had done, that
we might see our _Ralph_ again.

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Jasper _and_ Luce.

_Jasp._ Come my [deere deere], though we have lost our way,
We have not lost our selves: are you not weary
With this nights wandring, broken from your rest?
And frighted with the terror that attends
The darkness of this wild unpeopled place?

_Luce._ No my best friend, I cannot either fear,
Or entertain a weary thought, whilst you
(The end of all my full desires) stand by me:
Let them that lose their hopes, and live to languish
Amongst the number of forsaken Lovers,
Tell the long weary steps, and number time,
Start at a shadow, and shrink up their bloud,
Whilst I (possest with all content and quiet)
Thus take my pretty love, and thus embrace him.

_Jasp._ You have caught me _Luce_, so fast, that whilst I live
I shall become your faithful prisoner:
And wear these chains for ever. Come, sit down,
And rest your body, too too delicate
For these disturbances; so, will you sleep?
Come, do not be more able than you are,
I know you are not skilful in these Watches,
For Women are no Soldiers; be not nice,
But take it, sleep I say.

_Luce._ I cannot sleep.
Indeed I cannot friend.

_Jasp._ Why then we'll sing,
And try how that will work upon our sences.

_Luce._ I'll sing, or say, or any thing but sleep.

_Jasp._ Come little Mermaid, rob me of my heart
With that inchanting voice.

_Luce._ You mock me _Jasper_.

SONG.

Jasp. _Tell me (dearest) what is Love?_

Luce. _'Tis a lightning from above,_
_'Tis an Arrow, 'tis a Fire,_
_'Tis a Boy they call desire._
_'Tis a smile_
_Doth beguile_

Jasp. _The poor hearts [o]f men that prove,_
_Tell me more, are Women true?_

Luce. _Some Love change, and so do you._

Jasp. _Are they fair, and never kind?_

Luce. _Yes, when men turn with the wind._

Jasp. _Are they froward?_

Luce. _Ever toward_
_Those that love, to love anew._

_Jasp._ Dissemble it no more, I see the God
Of heavy sleep, lay on his heavy Mace,
Upon your eye-lids.

_Luce._ I am very heavy.

_Jasp._ Sleep, sleep, and quiet rest crown thy sweet thoughts:
Keep from her fair blood distempers, startings,
Horrors and fearful shapes: let all her dreams
Be joys, and chaste delights, embraces, wishes,
And such new pleasures as the ravish'd soul
Gives to the sences. So my charms have took.
Keep her you powers divine, whilst I contemplate
Upon the wealth and beauty of her mind.
She is only fair, and constant: only kind,
And only to thee _Jasper_. Oh my joyes!
Whither will you transport me? let not fulness
Of my poor buried hopes come up together,
And over-charge my spirits; I am weak,
Some say (how ever ill) the Sea and Women
Are govern'd by the Moon, both ebb and flow,
Both full of changes: yet to them that know,
And truly judge, these but opinions are,
And heresies to bring on pleasing War
Between our tempers, that without these were
Both void of after-love, and present fear.
Which are the best of _Cupid_. O thou child!
Bred from despair, I dare not entertain thee,
Having a love without the faults of Women,
And greater in her perfect goods than men:
Which to make good, and please my self the stronger,
Though certainly I am certain of her love,
I'll try her, that the world and memory
May sing to after-times her constancy.
_Luce, Luce,_ awake.

_Luce._ Why do you fright me friend,
With those distempered looks? what makes your sword
Drawn in your hand? who hath offended you?
I prethee _Jasper_ sleep, thou art wild with watching.

_Jasp._ Come make your way to Heaven, and bid the world
(With all the villanies that stick upon it)
Farewell; you're for another life.

_Luce._ Oh _Jasper_.
How have my tender years committed evil,
(Especially against the man I love)
Thus to be cropt untimely?

_Jasp._ Foolish girl,
Canst thou imagine I could love his daughter
That flung me from my fortune into nothing?
Discharged me his service, shut the doors
Upon my poverty, and scorn'd my prayers,
Sending me, like a boat without a mast,
To sink or swim? Come, by this hand you dye,
I must have life and blood to satisfie
Your fathers wrongs.

_Wife._ Away _George_, away, raise the Watch at _Ludgate_, and
bring a _Mittimus_ from the Justice for this desperate Villain.
Now I charge you Gentlemen, see the Kings peace kept. O my
heart what a varlet's this, to offer Man-slaughter upon the
harmless Gentlewoman?

_Cit._ I warrant thee (sweet heart) we'll have him hampered.

_Luce._ Oh _Jasper_! be not cruel,
If thou wilt kill me, smile, and do it quickly,
And let not many deaths appear before me.
I am a woman made of fear and love
A weak, weak woman, kill not with thy eyes,
They shoot me through and through. Strike I am ready.
And dying still I love thee.

_Enter_ Merchant, Humphrey, _and his Men._

_Merch._ Where abouts?

_Jasp._ No more of this, now to my self again.

_Hum._ There, there he stands with Sword like martial Knight.
Drawn in his hand, therefore beware the fight
You that are wise: for were I good Sir _Bevis_,
I would not stay his coming, by your leaves.

_Merc._ Sirrah, restore my daughter.

_Jasp._ Sirrah, no.

_Merch._ Upon him then.

_Wife._ So, down with him, down with him, down with him: cut
him i'the leg boyes, cut him i'th' leg.

_Merc._ Come your ways Minion, I'll provide a Cage for you,
you're grown so tame. Horse her away.

_Hum._ Truly I'm glad your forces have the day.

[_Exeunt manet Jasper._

_Jasp._ They are gone, and I am hurt, my Love is lost,
Never to get again. Oh me unhappy!
Bleed, bleed, and dye, I cannot: Oh my folly!
Thou hast betray'd me, Hope where art thou fled?
Tell me if thou be'st any where remaining.
Shall I but see my love again? Oh no!
She will not dain to look upon her Butcher,
Nor is [it] fit she should; yet I must venter.
Oh chance, or fortune, or what ere thou art
That men adore for powerful, hear my cry,
And let me loving live; or loosing dye. [_Exit_]

_Wife._ Is a gone _George_?

_Cit._ I conny.

_Wife._ Marry and let him go (sweet heart) by the faith a
my body a has put me into such a fright, that I tremble (as
they say) as 'twere an Aspine leaf: look a my little finger
_George_, how it shakes: now in truth every member of my body
is the worse for't.

_Cit._ Come, hug in mine arms sweet Mouse, he shall not fright
thee any more: alass mine own dear heart how it quivers.

_Enter_ Mistris Merry-thought, Rafe, Michael, Squire,
Dwar[f]e, Host, _and a_ Tapster.

_Wife._ O _Rafe_, how dost thou _Rafe_? how hast thou slept to
night? has the Knight us'd thee well?

_Cit._ Peace _Nell_, let _Rafe_ alone.

_Tapst._ Master, the reckoning is not paid.

_Rafe._ Right courteous Knight, who for the orders sake
Which thou hast tane, hang'st out the holy _Bell_,
As I this flaming Pestle bear about,
We render thanks to your puissant self,
Your beauteous Lady, and your gentle Squires,
For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs,
Stifned with hard atchievements in wild Desart.

_Tapst._ Sir, there is twelve shillings to pay.

_Rafe._ Thou merry Squire _Tapstero_, thanks to thee,
For comforting our souls with double Jug,
And if adventurous Fortune prick thee forth,
Thou jovial Squire, to follow feats of Arms,
Take heed thou tender every Ladies cause,
Every true Knight, and every Damsel fair
But spill the blood of treacherous _Sarazens_,
And false inchanters, that with Magick spels,
Have done to death full many a noble Knight.

_Host._ Thou valiant Knight of the _burning Pestle_, give ear
to me, there is twelve shillings to pay, and as I am a true
Knight, I will not bate a penny.

_Wife. George_, I prethee tell me, must _Rafe_ pay twelve
shillings now?

_Cit._ No, _Nel_, no, nothing but the old Knight is merry with
_Rafe_.

_Wife._ O is't nothing else? _Rafe_ will be as merry as he.

_Rafe._ Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes you well,
But to requite this liberal courtesie,
If any of your Squires will follow Arms,
He shall receive from my Heroick hand
A Knig[h]thood, by the virtue of this Pestle.

_Host._ Fair Knight, I thank you for your noble offer,
Therefore gentle Knight,
Twelve shillings you must pay, or I must cap you.

_Wife._ Look _George_, did not I tell thee as much, the Knight
of the _Bell_ is in earnest, _Rafe_ shall not be beholding to
him, give him his money _George_, and let him go snick up.

_Cit._ Cap _Rafe_? no, hold your hand sir Knight of the _Bell_,
there's your Money, have you any thing to say to _Rafe_ now?
cap _Rafe_?

_Wife._ I would you should know it, _Rafe_ has friends that
will not suffer him to be capt for ten times so much, and ten
times to the end of that, now take thy course _Rafe_.

_Mist. mer._ Come _Michael_, thou and I will go home to thy
father, he hath enough left to keep us a day or two, and we'll
set fellows abroad to cry our Purse and Casket: Shall we
_Michael_?

_Mich._ I, I pray mother, in truth my feet are full of
chilblains with travelling.

_Wife._ Faith and those chilblaines are a foul trouble, Mistris
_Merry-thought_ when your youth comes home, let him rub all
the soles of his feet, and his heels, and his ankles, with
a Mouseskin; or if none of your [people] can catch a Mouse,
when he goes to bed, let him rowl his feet in the warm embers,
and I warrant you he shall be well, and you may make him put
his fingers between his toes, and smell to them, it's very
soveraign for his head, if he be costive.

_Mist. mer._ Master Knight of the burning Pestle, my son
_Michael_, and I bid you farewell, I thank your Worship hartily
for your kindness.

_Rafe._ Fare-well fair Lady, and your tender Squire.
If pricking through these Desarts, I do hear
Of any traiterous Knight who through his guile,
Hath light upon your Casket and your Purse,
I will despoil him of them and restore them.

_Mist. mer._ I thank your Worship. [_Exit with Michael._

_Rafe._ Dwarf bear my shield, Squire elevate my lance,
And now farewell you Knight of holy _Bell_.

_Cit._ I, I _Rafe_, all is paid.

_Rafe._ But yet before I go, speak worthy Knight,
If [ought] you do of sad adventures know,
Where errant Knights may through his prowess win
Eternal fame, and free some gentle souls,
From endless [bonds] of steel and lingring pain.

_Host._ Sirrah go to _Nick_ the _Barber_, and bid him prepare
himself, as I told you before quickly.

_Tap._ I am gone Sir. [_Exit Tapster._

_Host._ Sir Knight, this wilderness affordeth none
But the great venture, where full many a Knight
Hath tried his prowess, and come off with shame,
And where I would not have you loose your life,
Against no man, but furious fiend of Hell.

_Rafe._ Speak on Sir Knight, tell what he is, and where:
For here I vow upon my blazing badge,
Never to blaze a day in quietness;
But bread and water will I only eat,
And the green herb and rock shall be my couch
Till I have queld that man, or beast, or fiend,
That works such damage to all Errant Knights.

_Host._ Not far from hence, near [to] a craggy cliff
At the North end of this distressed Town,
There doth stand a lowly house
Ruggedly builded, and in it a Cave
In which an ugly Giant now doth won,
Ycleped _Barbaroso_: in his hand
He shakes a naked Lance of purest steel,
With sleeves turn'd up, and him before he wears,
A motly garment to preserve his clothes
From blood of those Knights which he massacres,
And Ladies Gentle: without his door doth hang
A copper bason, on a prickant Spear;
At which, no sooner gentle Knights can knock,
But the shrill sound, fierce _Barbaroso_ hears,
And rushing forth, brings in the Errant Knight,
And sets him down in an inchanted chair:
Then with an Engine, which he hath prepar'd
With forty teeth, he claws his courtly crown,
Next makes him wink, and underneath his chin,
He plants a brazen piece of mighty board,
And knocks his bullets round about his cheeks,
Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument
With which he snaps his hair off, he doth fill
The wretches ears with a most hideous noyse.
Thus every Knight Adventurer he doth trim,
And now no creature dares encounter him.

_Rafe._ In Gods name, I will fight with him, kind sir,
Go but before me to this dismal Cave
Where this huge Giant _Barbaroso_ dwells,
And by that virtue that brave _Rosicleere_,
That damn'd brood of ugly Giants slew,
And _Palmerin Frannarco_ overthrew:
I doubt not but to curb this Traytor foul,
And to the Devil send his guilty Soul.

_Host._ Brave sprighted Knight, thus far I will perform
This your request, I'll bring you within sight
Of this most loathsome place, inhabited
By a more lothsome man: but dare not stay,
For his main force swoops all he sees away.

_Rafe._ Saint _George_ set on before, march Squire and Page.
[_Exeunt._

_Wife. George_, dost think _Rafe_ will confound the Giant?
_Cit._ I hold my cap to a farthing he does: why _Nell_, I saw
him wrestle with the great Dutchman, and hurle him.

_Wife._ Faith and that Dutchman was a goodly man, if all things
were answerable to his bigness: and yet they say there was a
Scottishman higher than he, and that they two and a Knight
met, and saw one another for nothing: but of all the sights
that ever were in _London_, since I was married, methinks the
little child that was so fair grown about the members, was the
prettiest, that and the _Hermaphrodite_.

_Cit._ Nay, by your leave _Nil_, _Ninivie_ was better.

_Wife. Ninivie_, O that was the story of _Jone_ and the wall,
was it not _George_?

_Cit._ Yes lamb. [_Enter Mistris Merry-t[hou]ght._

_Wife._ Look _George_, here comes Mistris _Merry-though[t]_
[ag]ain, and I would have _Rafe_ come and fight with the Gyant,
I tell you true I long to see't.

_Cit._ Good Mistriss _Merri-thought_ be [g]one, I pray you for
my sake, I pray you forbear a little, you shall have audience
presently, I have a little business.

_Wife._ Mistris _Merri-thought_, if it please you to refrain
your passion a little, till _Rafe_ have dispatcht the Giant out
of the way, we shall think our selves much bound to thank you:
I thank you good Mistris _Merri-thought_.

[_Exit Mist. Merry-thought._

_Enter a Boy._

_Cit._ Boy, come hither, send away _Rafe_ and this whoreson
Giant quickly.

_Boy._ In good faith sir we cannot, you'l utterly spoil our
Play, and make it to be hist, and it cost money, you will not
suffer us to go on with our plots, I pray Gentlemen rule him.

_Cit._ Let him come now and dispatch this, and I'll trouble you
no more.

_Boy._ Will you give me your hand of that?

_Wife._ Give him thy hand _George_, do, and I'll kiss him, I
warrant thee the youth means plainly.

_Boy._ I'll send him to you presently. [_Exit Boy._

_Wife._ I thank you little youth, feth the child hath a sweet
breath _George_, but I think it be troubled with the Worms,
_Carduus Benedictus_ and Mares milk were the only thing in the
world for't. O _Rafe_'s here _George_; God send thee good luck
_Rafe_.

_Enter_ Rafe, Host, Squire, _and_ Dwarf.

_Host._ Puissant Knight yonder his Mansion is,
Lo, where the Spear and Copper Bason are,
Behold the string on which hangs many a tooth,
Drawn from the gentle jaw of wandring Knights,
I dare not stay to sound, he will appear. [_Exit Host._

_Rafe._ O faint not heart, _Susan_ my Lady dear:
The Coblers Maid in Milkstreet, for whose sake,
I take these Arms, O let the thought of thee,
Carry thy Knight through all adventurous deeds,
And in the honor of thy beauteous self,
May I destroy this monster _Barbaroso_,
Knock Squire upon the Bason till it break [_Enter Barba._
With the shrill strokes, or till the Giant spake.

_Wife._ O _George_, the Giant, the Giant, now _Rafe_ for thy
life.

_Bar._ What fond unknowing wight is this, that dares,
So rudely knock at _Barbarossa_'s Cell,
Where no man comes, but leaves his fleece behind?

_Rafe._ I, traiterous Caitiffe, who am sent by fate
To punish all the sad enormities
Thou hast committed against Ladies gentle,
And Errant Knights, Traytor to God and men:
Prepare thy self, this is the dismal hour
Appointed for thee to give strict account
Of all thy beastly treacherous villanies.

_Bar._ Fool-hardy Knight, full soon thou shalt aby
This fond reproach, thy body will I bang, [_He takes down his pole._
And loe upon that string thy teeth shall hang:
Prepare thy self, for dead soon shalt thou be.

_Rafe._ Saint _George_ for me. [_They fight._

_Barba. Gargantua_ for me.

_Wife._ To him _Rafe_, to him, hold up the Giant, set out thy
leg before _Rafe_.

_Cit._ Falsifie a blow _Rafe_, falsifie a blow, the Giant lies
open on the left side.

_Wife._ Bear't off, bear't off still; there boy, O _Rafe_'s
almost down, _Rafe_'s almost down.

_Rafe. Susan_ inspire me, now have up again.

_Wife._ Up, up, up, up, up, so _Rafe_, down with him, down with
him _Rafe_.

_Cit._ Fetch him over the hip boy.

_Wife._ There boy, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, _Rafe_.

_Cit._ No _Rafe_, get all out of him first.

_Rafe._ Presumptuous man, see to what desperate end
Thy treachery hath brought thee, the just Gods,
Who never prosper those that do despise them,
For all the villanies which thou hast done
To Knights and Ladies, now have paid thee home,
By my stiff arm, a Knight adventurous.
But say, vile wretch, before I send thy soul
To sad _Avernus_, whither it must go,
What captives holdst thou in thy sable cave?

_Barba._ Go in and free them all, thou hast the day.

_Rafe._ Go Squire and Dwarf, search in this dreadful cave,
And free the wretched prisoners from their bonds.

[_Exit Squire and Dwarf._

_Barb._ I crave for mercy as thou art a Knight,
And scornst to spill the blood of those that beg.

_Rafe._ Thou shewest no mercy, nor shalt thou have any,
Prepare thy self, for thou shalt surely dye.

_Enter Squire leading one winking, with a Bason under his chin._

_Squire._ Behold brave Knight here is one prisoner,
Whom this wild man hath used as you see.

_Wife._ This is the [first] wise word I hear[d] the Squire speak.

_Rafe._ Speak what thou art, and how thou hast been us'd,
That I may give him condign punishment.

_1. Kni._ I am a Knight that took my journey post
Northward from _London_, and in courteous wise,
This Gyant train'd me to his [loathsome] den,
Under pretence of killing of the itch,
And all my body with a powder strew'd,
That smarts and stings, and cut away my beard,
And my curl'd locks wherein were Ribands ty'de,
And with a water washt my tender eyes,
Whilst up and down about me still he skipt,
Whose virtue is, that till my eyes be wip't
With a dry cloth, for this my foul disgrace,
I shall not dare to look a dog i'th' face.

_Wife._ Alass poor Knight, relieve him _Rafe_, relieve poor
Knights whilst you live.

_Rafe._ My trusty Squire convey him to the Town,
Where he may find relief, adieu fair Knight. [_Exit Knight._

_Enter Dwarf leading one with a patch o'er his Nose._

_Dwar._ Puissant Knight of the _burning Pestle_ height,
See here another wretch, whom this foul beast
Hath scorcht and scor'd in this inhumane wise.

_Rafe._ Speak me thy name, and eke thy place of birth,
And what hath been thy usage in this Cave.

_2. Knight._ I am a Knight, Sir _Pock-hole_ is my name,
And by my birth I am a _Londoner_,
Free by my Copy, but my Ancestors
Were _Frenchmen_ all, and riding hard this way,
Upon a trotting horse my bones did ake,
And I faint Knight to ease my weary limbes,
Light at this Cave, when straight this furious fiend,
With sharpest instrument of purest steel,
Did cut the gristle of my Nose away,
And in the place this velvet plaster stands,
Relieve me gentle Knight out of his hands.

_Wife._ Good _Rafe_ relieve Sir _Pockhole_, and send him away,
for in truth his breath stinks.

_Rafe._ Convey him straight after the other Knight:
Sir _Pockhole_ fare you well.

_[2]. Knight._ Kind Sir goodnight. [_Exit._

[_Cryes within._

_Man._ Deliver us.

_Woman._ Deliver us.

_Wife._ Harke _George_, what a woful cry there is, I think some
woman lyes in there.

_Man._ Deliver us.

_Woman._ Deliver us.

_Rafe._ What gastly noise is this? speak _Barbaroso_
Or by this blazing steel thy head goes off.

_Barb._ Prisoners of mine, whom I in diet keep,
Send lower down into the Cave,
And in a Tub that's heated smoaking hot,
There may they find them and deliver them.

_Rafe._ Run Squire and Dwarf, deliver them with speed.

_Exeunt Squire and Dwarf._

_Wife._ But will not _Raf[e]_ kill this Giant, surely I am
afraid if he let him go he will do as much hurt, as ever he did.

_Citizen._ Not so Mouse neither, if he could convert him.

_Wife._ I _George_, if he could convert him; but a Gyant is
not so soon converted as one of us ordinary people. There's a
pretty tale of a Witch, that had the Divels mark about her,
God bless us, that had a Gyant to her son, that was call'd
_Lob-lie-by-the-fire_, didst never hear it _George_.

_Enter Squire leading a man with a glass of Lotion in his hand,_
_and the Dwarf leading a woman, with Dyet-bread and Drink._

_Cit._ Peace _Nell_, here comes the prisoners.

_Dwar._ Here be these pined wretches, manfull Knight,
That for this six weeks have not seen a wight.

_Raph._ Deliver what you are, and how you came
To this sad Cave, and what your usage was?

_Man._ I am an errant Knight that followed Arms,
With spear and shield, and in my tender years
I strucken was with _Cupids_ fiery shaft,
And fell in love with this my Lady dear,
And stole her from her friends in Turne-ball street,
And bore her up and down from Town to Town,
Where we did eat and drink and Musick he[a]re;
Till at the length at this unhappy Town
We did arrive, and coming to this Cave,
This beast us caught, and put us in a Tub,
Where we this two months sweat, and should have done
Another Month if you had not relieved us.

_Wom._ This bread and water hath our dyet been,
Together with a rib cut from a neck
Of burned Mutton, hard hath been our fare,
Release us from this ugly Gyants snare.

_Man._ This hath been [all] the food we have receiv'd,
But only twice a day for novelty,
He gave a spoonful of his hearty broth [_Pulls out a siringe._
To each of us, through this same [sl]ender quill.

_Raph._ From this infernall Monster you shall go,
That useth Knights and gentle Ladies so.
Convey them hence. [_Exeunt man and woman._

_Cit._ Cunny, I can tell thee the Gentlem[e]n like _Rafe_.

_Wife._ I _George_, I see it well enough. Gentlemen I thank you
all heartily for gracing my man _Raph_, and I promise you, you
shall see him oftner.

_Bar._ Mercy great Knight, I do recant my ill,
And henceforth never gentle blood will spill.

_Raph._ I give thee mercy, but yet thou shalt swear
Upon my burning Pestle to perform
Thy promise utter'd.

_Bar._ I swear and kiss.

_Raph._ Depart then and amend.
Come Sq[u]ire and Dwarf, the Sun grows towards his set,
And we have many more adventures yet. [_Exeunt._

_Cit._ Now _Raph_ is in this humor, I know he would ha beaten
all the boys in the house, if they had been set on him.

_Wife._ I _George_, but it is well as it is: I warrant you the
gentlemen do consider what it is to overthrow a Gyant: but look
_George_, here comes Mistriss _Merri-thought_, and her son
_Michael_, now you are welcome Mistris _Merri-thought_, now
_Raph_ has done you may go on.

_Enter_ Mistriss Merry-thought _and_ Michael.

_Mist. mer. Micke_ My Boy?

_Mich._ I forsooth Mother.

_Mist. mer._ Be merry _Micke_, we are at home now: where I
warrant you, yo[u] shall find the house flung out of the
windows: Hark: hey dogs, hey, this is the old world y'faith
with my Husband: [if I] get in amo[n]g them, I'll play them
such [a] les[s]on, that they shall have little list to come
scraping hither again. Why Master _Merry-thought_, Husband,
_Charles Merry-thought_.

_Old Mer. within._ If you will sing, and dance, and laugh, and
hollow, and laugh again: and then cry there boys there: why
then,

One, two, three, and four,
We shall be merry within this hour.

_Mist. Mer._ Why _Charles_ do you not know your own natural
wife? I say open the door, and turn me out those mangy
companions; 'tis more than time that they were fellow like with
you: you are a Gentleman _Charles_, and an old man, and father
of two children; and I my self, (though I say it) by my mothers
side, Niece to a Worshipful Gentleman, and a Conductor, he has
been three times in his Majesties service at _Chester_, and is
now the fourth time, God bless him, and his charge upon his
journey.

Old Mer. _Go from my window, love go:_
_Go from my window my dear,_
_The wind and the rain will drive you back again,_
_You cannot be lodged here._

Hark you Mistriss _Merri-thought_, you that walk upon
Adventures, and forsake your Husband, because he sings with
never a penny in his purse; what shall I think my self the
worse? Faith no, I'll be merry.

You come not here, here's none but Lads of mettle, lives of a
hundred years, and upwards, care never drunk their bloods, nor
want made them warble.

Hey-ho, my heart is heavy.

_Mist. Mer._ Why M. _Merri-thought_, what am I that you should
laugh me to scorn thus abruptly? am I not your fellow-feeler,
(as we may say) in all our miseries? your comforter in health
and sickness? have I not brought you Children? are they not
like you _Charles_? look upon thine own Image, hardhearted man;
and yet for all this--

_Old Mer. within._ Begon, begon my juggy, my puggy, begon my
love my dear.
The weather is warm, 'twill do thee no harm, thou canst not be
lodged here.
Be merry boys, some light musick, and more wine.

_Wife._ He's not in earnest, I hope _George_, is he?

_Cit._ What if he be, sweet heart?

_Wife._ Marry if he be _George_, I'll make bold to tell him
he's an ingrant old man, to use his bed-fellow so scurvily.

_Cit._ What how does he use her Honey?

_Wife._ Marry come up sir sauce-box, I think you'll take his
part, will you not? Lord how hot are you grown: you are a fine
man an you had a fine Dog, it becomes you sweetly.

_Cit._ Nay, prethee _Nell_ chide not: for as I am an honest
man, and a true Christian Grocer, I do not like his doings.

_Wife._ I cry you mercy then _George_, you know we are
all frail, and full of infirmities. Dee hear Master
_Merri-thought_, may I crave a word with you?

_Old Mer. within._ Strike up lively lads.

_Wife._ I had not thought in truth, Master _Merri-thought_,
that a man of your age and discretion (as I may say) being
a Gentleman, and therefore known by your gentle conditions,
could have used so little respect to the weakness of his wife:
for your wife is your own flesh, the staff of your age, your
yoke-fellow, with whose help you draw through the myre of this
transitory world: Nay, she's your own rib. And again--

_Old Mer._ I come not hither for thee to teach,
I have no pulpit for thee to preach,
I would thou hadst kist me under the breech,
As thou art a Lady gay.

_Wife._ Marry with a vengeance, I am heartily sorry for the
poor Gentlewoman: but if I were thy wife, i'faith gray-beard,
i'faith--

_Cit._ I prethee sweet Hony-suckle, be content.

_Wife._ Give me such words that am a Gentlewoman born, hang him
hoary Rascal. Get me some drink _George_, I am almost molten
with fretting: now beshrew his Knaves heart for it.

_Old mer._ Play me a light _Lavalto_: come, be frollick, fill
the good fellows wine.

_Mist. mer._ Why Master _Merri-thought_, are you disposed to
make me wait here: you'll open I hope, i'll fetch them that
shall open else.

_Old mer._ Good woman, if you will sing, I'll give you
something, if not--

SONG.

_You are no love for me_ Marget, _I am no love for you._
_Come aloft Boys, aloft._

_Mist. mer._ Now a Churles fart in your teeth Sir: Come _Mick_,
we'll not trouble him, a shall not ding us i'th' teeth with his
bread and his broth, that he shall not: come boy, I'll provide
for thee, I warrant thee: wee'll go to Master _Venterwels_
the Merchant, I'll get his letter to mine Host of the _Bell_
in _Waltham_, there I'll place thee with the Tapster, will
not that do well for thee _Mick_? and let me alone for that
old Cuckoldly Knave your father, I'll use him in his kind, I
warrant ye.

_Wife._ Come _George_, where's the beer?

_Cit._ Here Love.

_Wife._ This old fornicating fellow will not out of my mind
yet; Gentlemen, I'll begin to you all, I desire more of your
acquaintance, with all my heart. Fill the Gentlemen some beer
_George_.

_Finis Actus Tertii. Musick._

_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._

_Boy danceth._

_Wife._ Look _George_, the little boy's come again, methinks
he looks something like the Prince of _Orange_ in his long
stocking, if he had a little harness about his neck. _George_,
I will have him dance _Fading_; _Fading_, is a fine Jig I'll
assure you Gentlemen: begin brother, now a capers sweet heart,
now a turn a th' toe, and then tumble: cannot you tumble youth?

_Boy._ No indeed forsooth.

_Wife._ Nor eat fire?

_Boy._ Neither.

_Wife._ Why then I thank you heartily, there's two pence to buy
you points withall.

_Enter_ Jasper _and_ Boy.

_Jasp._ There boy, deliver this: but do it well. Hast thou
provided me four lusty fellows?

Able to carry me? and art thou perfect
In all thy business?

_Boy._ Sir you need not fear,
I have my lesson here, and cannot miss it:
The men are ready for you, and what else
Pertains to this imployment.

_Jasp._ There my boy,
Take it, but buy no land.

_Boy._ Faith sir 'twere rare
To see so young a purchaser: I flie,
And on my wings carry your destiny. [_Exit._

_Jasp._ Go, and be happy: Now my latest hope
Forsake me not, but fling thy Anchor out,
And let it hold: stand fix[t] thou rolling stone,
Till I enjoy my dearest: hear me all
You powers that rule in men celestial. [_Exit._

_Wife._ Go thy ways, thou art as crooked a sprig as ever grew,
in _London_, I warrant him he'll come to some naughty end or
other: for his looks say no less: Besides, his father (you know
_George_) is none of the best, you heard him take me up like a
Gill flirt: and sing bawdy Songs upon me: but i'faith if I live
_George_--

_Cit._ Let me alone sweet-heart, I have a trick in my head
shall lodge him in the Arches for one year, and make him sing
_Peccavi_, 'ere I leave him, and yet he shall never know who
hurt him neither.

_Wife._ Do my good _Ge[o]rge_, do.

_Cit._ What shall we have _Rafe_ do now boy?

_Boy._ You shall have what you will sir.

_Cit._ Why so sir, go and fetch me him then, and let the Sophy
of _Persia_ come and christen him a child.

_Boy._ Believe me Sir, that will not do so well, 'tis stale, it
has been had before at the Red Bull.

_Wife. George_, let _Rafe_ travell over great hills, and
let him be [very] weary, and come to the King of _Cracovia_'s
house, covered with velvet, and there let the Kings daughter
stand in her window all in beaten gold, combing her golden
locks with a comb of Ivory, and let her spye _Rafe_, and fall
in love with him, and come down to him, and carry him into her
fathers house, and then let _Rafe_ talk with her.

_Cit._ Well said _Nel_, it shall be so: boy let's ha't done
quickly.

_Boy._ Sir, if you will imagine all this to be done already,
you shall hear them talk together: but we cannot present a
house covered with black Velvet, and a Lady in beaten gold.

_Cit._ Sir Boy, lets ha't as you can then.

_Boy._ Besides, it will shew ill-favoredly to have a Grocers
Prentice to court a Kings daughter.

_Cit._ Will it so Sir? you are well read in Histories: I pray
you what was Sir _Dagonet_? was not he Prentice to a Grocer
in _London_? read the Play of the _Four Prentices of London_,
where they toss their Pikes so: I pray you fetch him in Sir,
fetch him in.

_Boy._ It shall be done, it is not our fault Gentlemen. [_Exit._

_Wife._ Now we shall see fine doings I warrant thee _George_. O
here they come; how prettily the King of _Cracovia_'s daughter
is drest.

_Enter_ Rafe _and the Lady, Squire and Dwarf_.

_Cit._ I _Nell_, it is the fashion of that Countrey, I warrant
thee.

_Lady._ Welcome sir Knight unto my fathers Court.
King of _Moldavia_, unto me _Pompiona_
His daughter dear: but sure you do not like
Your entertainment, that will stay with us
No longer but a night.

_Raph._ Damsell right fair,
I [a]m on many sad adventures bound,
That call me forth into the Wilderness:
Besides, my horses back is something gal'd,
Which will enforce me ride a sober pace.
But many thanks (fair Lady) be to you,
For using errant Knight with courtesie.

_Lady._ But say (brave Knight) what is your name and birth?

_Rafe._ My name is _Rafe_, I am an Englishman,
As true as steel, a hearty Englishman,
And Prentice to a Grocer in the _Strand_,
By deed indent, of which I have one part:
But fortune calling me to follow Arms,
On me this holy Order I did take,
Of _burning Pestle_, which in all mens eyes,
I bear, confounding Ladies enemies.

_Lady._ Oft have I heard of your brave Countrymen,
And fertile soil, and store of wholesome food;
My father oft will tell me of a drink
In _England_ found, and _Nipitato_ call'd,
Which driveth all the sorrow from your hearts.

_Rafe._ Lady 'tis true, you need not lay your lips
To better _Nipitato_ than there is.

_Lady._ And of a wild-fowl he will often speak,
Which poudred beef and mustard called is:
For there have been great Wars 'twixt us and you,
But truely _Rafe_, it was not long of me.
Tell me then _Rafe_ could you contented be,
To wear a Ladies favor in your shield?

_Rafe._ I am a Knight of Religious Order,
And will not wear a favor of a Ladies
That trusts in Antichrist, and false traditions.

_Cit._ Well said _Rafe_, convert her if thou canst.

_Rafe._ Besides, I have a Lady of my own
In merry _England_; for whose virtuous sake
I took these Arms, and _Susan_ is her name,
A Coblers maid in Milkstreet, whom I vow
Nere to forsake, whilst life and Pestle last.

_Lady._ Happy that Cobling Dame, who ere she be
That for her own (dear _Rafe_) hath gotten thee.
Unhappy I, that nere shall see the day
To see thee more, that bear'st my heart away.

_Rafe._ Lady farewell, I must needs take my leave.

_Lady._ Hard-hearted _Rafe_, that Ladies dost deceive.

_Cit._ Hark thee _Rafe_, there's money for thee; give something
in the King of _Cracovia_'s house, be not beholding to him.

_Rafe._ Lady before I go, I must remember
Your fathers Officers, who truth to tell,
Have been about me very diligent:
Hold up thy snowy hand thou princely maid,
There's twelvepence for your fathers Chamberlain.
And another shilling for his Cook,
For by my troth the Goose was rosted well.
And twelve pence for your fathers Horse-keeper,
For nointing my horse back, and for his butter
There is another shilling. [T]o the maid
That washt my boot-hose, there's an English groat,
And twopence to the boy that wip't my boots.
And last, fair Lady, there is for your self
Three pence to buy you pins at _Bumbo_ Fair.

_Lady._ Full many thanks, and I will keep them safe
Till all the heads be off, for thy sake _Rafe_.

_Rafe._ Advance my Squire and Dwarf, I cannot stay.

_Lady._ Thou kil'st my heart in parting thus away. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ I commend _Rafe_, yet that he will not stoop to a
_Cracovian_, there's properer women in _London_ than any are
there I-wis. But here comes Master _Humphrey_, and his love
again, now _George_.

_Cit._ I Cunny, peace.

_Enter Merchant_, Humphrey, Luce, _and Boy_.

_Merc._ Go get you up, I will not be intreated.
And Gossip mine I'll keep you sure hereafter
From gadding out again, with boys and unthrifts,
Come they are womens tears, I know your fashion.
Go sirrah, lock her in, and keep the key, [_Exit Luce and Boy._
Safe as [you love] your life. Now my son _Humphrey_,
You may both rest assured of my love
In this, and reap your own desire.

_Hum._ I see this love you speak of, through your daughter.
Although the hole be little, and hereafter
Will yield the like in all I may or can,
Fitting a Christian, and a Gentleman.

_Merc._ I Do believe you (my good son) and thank you.
For 'twere an impudence to think you flattered.

_Hum._ It were indeed, but shall I tell you why,
I have been beaten twice about the lye.

_Merc._ Well son, no more of complement, my daughter
Is yours again; appoint the time and take her.
Wee'll have no stealing for it, I my self
And some few of our friends will see you married.

_Hum._ I would you would i'faith, for be it known
I ever was afraid to lye alone.

_Mer._ Some three days hence then.

_Hum._ Three days, let me see,
'Tis somewhat of the most, yet I agree,
Because I mean against the pointed day,
To visit all my friends in new array. [_Enter servant._

_Ser._ Sir, there's a Gentlewoman without would speak with your
Worship.

_Mer._ What is she?

_Ser._ Sir I askt her not.

_Mer._ Bid her come in.

_Enter Mistriss Merry-thought, and_ Michael.

_Mist. mer._ Peace be to your Worship, I come as a poor Suitor
to you Sir, in the behalf of this child.

_Mer._ Are you not wife to _Merri-thought_?

_Mist. mer._ Yes truly, would I had nere seen his eyes, he has
undone me and himself, and his children, and there he lives
at home and sings, and hoyts, and revels among his drunken
companions, but I warrant you, where to get a penny to put
bread in his mouth, he knows not: And therefore if it like your
Worship, I would intreat your Letter, to the honest Host of
the _Bell_ in _Waltham_, that I may place my child under the
protection of his _Tapster_, in some setled course of life.

_Mer._ I'm glad the heavens have heard my prayers: thy
Husband
When I was ripe in sorrows laught at me,
Thy son, like an unthankful wretch, I having
Redeem'd him from his fall, and made him mine,
To shew his love again, first stole my daughter:
Then wrong'd this Gentleman, and last of all,
Gave me that grief, had almost brought me down
Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand
Reliev'd my sorrows, go, and weep as I did,
And be unpittied, for here I profess
An everlasting hate to all thy name.

_Mist. mer._ Will you so Sir, how say you by that? come
_Micke_, let him keep his wind to cool his Pottage, we'll go to
thy Nurses, _Micke_, she knits silk stockings boy, and we'll
knit too boy, and be beholding to none of them all.

[_Exeunt Michael and Mother._

_Enter a Boy with a Letter._

_Boy._ Sir, I take it you are the Master of this house.

_Mer._ How then boy?

_Boy._ Then to your self Sir, comes this Letter.

_Mer._ From whom my pretty boy?

_Boy._ From him that was your servant, but no more
Shall that name ever be, for he is dead,
Grief of your purchas'd anger broke his heart,
I saw him dye, and from his hand receiv'd
This paper with a charge to bring it hither,
Read it, and satisfie your self in all.

LETTER.

Merch. _Sir that I have wronged your love, I must confess, in
which I have purchast to my self, besides mine own undoing,
the ill opinion of my friends, let not your anger, good_
_Sir, outlive me, but suffer me to rest in peace with your
forgiveness; let my body (if a dying man may so much prevail
with you) be brought to your daughter, that she may [truely]
know my hot flames are now buried, and withall, receive a
testimony of the zeal I bore her virtue: farewell for ever,
and be ever happy._

_Jasper._

Gods hand is great in this, I do forgive him,
Yet am I glad he's quiet, where I hope
He will not bite again: boy bring the bo[d]y,
And let him have his will, if that be all.

_Boy._ 'Tis here without Sir.

_Mer._ So Sir, if you please
You may conduct it in, I do not fear it.

_Hum._ I'll be your Usher boy, for though I say it,
He ow'd me something once, and well did pay it. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Luce _alone_.

_Luce._ If there be any punishment inflicted
Upon the miserable, more than yet I feell,
Let it together seize me, and at once
Press down my soul, I cannot bear the pain
Of these delaying tortures: thou that art
The end of all, and the sweet rest of all;
Come, come oh death bring me to thy peace,
And blot out all the memory I nourish
Both of [my] father and my cruel friend.
O wretch'd maid still living to be wretched,
To be a say to fortune in her changes,
And grow to number times and woes together,
How happy had I been, if being born
My grave had been my cradle! [_Enter servant._

_Ser._ By your leave
Young Mistris, here's a boy hath brought a Coffin,
What a would say I know not: but your father
Charg'd me to give you notice, here they come.

_Enter two bearing a Coffin_, Jasper _in it_.

_Luce._ For me I hope 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome.

_Boy._ Fair Mistriss, let me not add greater grief
To that great store you have already; _Jasper_
That whilst he liv'd was yours, now dead,
And here inclos'd, commanded me to bring
His body hither, and to crave a tear
From those fair eyes, though he deserve not pitty,
To deck his Funeral; for so he bid me
Tell her for whom he di'd.

_Luce._ He shall have many: [_Exeunt Coffin-carrier and Boy._
Good friends depart a little, whilst I take
My leave of this dead man, that once I lov'd:
Hold, yet a little, life, and then I give thee
To thy first heavenly being; O my friend!
Hast thou deceiv'd me thus, and got before me?
I shall not long be after, but believe me,
Thou wert too cruel _Jasper_ 'gainst thy self,
In punishing the fault I could have pardoned,
With so untimely death; thou didst not wrong me,
But ever wer't most kind, most true, most loving;
And I the most unkind, most false, most cruell.
Didst thou but ask a tear? I'll give thee all,
Even all my eyes can pour down, all my sigh's
And all my self, before thou goest from me
There are but sparing Rites: But if thy soul
Be yet about this place, and can behold
And see what I prepare to deck thee with,
It s[h]all go up, born on the wings of peace,
And satisfied: first will I sing thy Dirge,
Then kiss thy pale lips, and then dye my self,
And fill one Coffin and one grave together.

SONG.

_Come you whose loves are dead,_
_And whilst I sing_
_Weep and wring_
_Every hand and every head,_
_Bind with Cipress and sad Ewe,_
_Ribbands black, and Candles blue,_
_For him that was of men most true._

_Come with heavy mourning,_
_And on his grave_
_Let him have_
_Sacrifice of sighs and groaning,_
_Let him have fair flowers enow,_
_White and purple, green and yellow,_
_For him that was of men most true._

Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joys,
I lift thee up, and thus I meet with death.

_Jasp._ And thus you meet the living.

_Luce._ Save me Heaven.

_Jasp._ Nay, do not flye me fair, I am no spirit,
Look better on me, do you know me yet?

_Luce._ O thou dear shadow of my friend.

_Jasp._ Dear substance,
I swear I am no shadow feel my hand,
It is the same it was, I am your _Jasper_,
Your _Jasper_ that's yet living, and yet loving,
Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proof
I put in practice of your constancy:
For sooner should my sword have drunk my blood,
And set my soul at liberty, than drawn
The least drop from that body, for which boldness
Doom me to any thing: if death, I take it
And willingly.

_Luce._ This death I'll give you for it,
So, now I am satisfied: you are no spirit,
But my own truest, truest, truest friend,
Why do you come thus to me?

_Jasp._ First, to see you,
Then to convey you hence.

_Luce._ It cannot be,
For I am lockt up here, and watcht at all hours,
That 'tis impossible for me to scape.

_Jasp._ Nothing more possible, within this Coffin
Do you convey your self, let me alone,
I have the wits of twenty men about me,
Only I crave the shelter of your Closet
A little, and then fear me not; creep in
That they may presently convey you hence:
Fear nothing dearest love, I'll be your second,
Lye close, so, all goes well yet; boy.

_Boy._ At hand Sir.

_Jasp._ Convey away the Coffin, and be wary.

_Boy._ 'Tis done already.

_Jasp._ Now must I go conjure. [_Exit._

_Enter Merchant._

_Merch._ Boy, boy.

_Boy._ Your servant Sir.

_Merch._ Do me this kindness boy, hold here's a crown: before
thou bury the body of this fellow, carry it to his old merry
father, and salute him from me, and bid him sing, he hath cause.

_Boy._ I will Sir.

_Merch._ And then bring me word what tune he is in, and have
another crown: but do it truly. I have fitted him a bargain,
now, will vex him.

_Boy._ God bless your Worships health Sir.

_Merch._ Farewell boy. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Master Merry-thought.

_Wife._ Ah old _Merry-thought_, art thou there again? let's
hear some of thy Songs.

Old Mer. _Who can sing a merrier note_
_Than he that cannot change a gr[o]at?_

Not a D[eni]er left, and yet my heart leaps; I do wonder yet,
as old as I am, that any man will follow a Trade, or serve,
that may sing and laugh, and walk the streets: my wife and both
my sons are I know not where, I have nothing left, nor know I
how to come by meat to supper, yet am I merry still; for I know
I shall find it upon the Table at six a Clock; therefore hang
Thought

I would not be a Servingman to carry the cloke-bag still.
Nor would I be a Fawlconer the greedy Hawkes to fill.
But I would be in a good house, and have a good Master too:
B[u]t I would eat and drink of the best, and no work would I do.

This is [it] that keeps life and soul together, mirth: this is
the Philosophers stone that they write so much on, that keeps a
man ever young.

_Enter a Boy._

_Boy._ Sir, they say they know all your Money is gone, and they
will trust you for no more drink.

_Old mer._ Will they not? let 'em chuse: the best is I have
mirth at home, and need not send abroad for that; let them keep
their drink to themselves.

For _Jillian_ of _Berry_, she dwells on a hill,
And she hath good Beer and Ale to sell,
And of good fellows she thinks no ill,
And thither will we go now, now, now, and thither
Will we go now.
And when you have made a little stay,
You need not [aske] what is to pay,
But kiss your Hostess and go your way. And thither, &c.

_Enter another Boy._

_2. Boy._ Sir, I can get no bread for supper.

_Old mer._ Hang bread and supper, let's preserve our mirth,
and we shall never feel hunger, I'll warrant you, let's have a
Catch, boy follow me, come sing this Catch.

_Ho, ho, no body at home, meat, nor drink, nor money ha we
none, fill the pot_ Eedy, _never more need I_.

_Old mer._ So boyes enough, follow me, let's change our place
and we shall laugh afresh. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ Let him go _George_, a shall not have any countenance
from us, not a good word from any i'th' Company, if I may
strike stroke in't.

_Cit._ No more, a shannot love; but _Nell_, I will have _Rafe_
do a very notable matter now, to the eternal honour and glory
of all _Grocers_: sirrah, you there, boy, can none of you hear?

_Boy._ Sir, your pleasure.

_Cit._ Let _Rafe_ come out on May day in the morning, and speak
upon a Conduit with all his Scarfs about him, and his Feathers,
and his Rings, and his Knacks.

_Boy._ Why sir, you do not think of our plot, what will become
of that then?

_Cit._ Why sir, I care not what become on't, I'll have him come
out, or I'll fetch him out my self, I'll have something done
in honor of the City: besides he hath been long enough upon
Adventures, bring him out quickly, [or if] I come [in] amongst
you--