Chapter XXI: Appendix (4)

=The Background of Folk-Lore.=--Finally, the very _Old Wives' Tale_ itself, with its background of folk-lore, that tryst of ancient splendour with modern poverty and ignorance on the territory of a forgotten faith, is a thing of quietly humorous contrasts. Several elements are to be considered in the charming little medley which Peele has made from the folk-lore of his day--"that curious _mélange_ of nursery tales," as Mr. Joseph Jacobs calls it. The enchanter and his spells, the stolen daughter and her brothers' quest, make a familiar central group. Perhaps Madge set out to tell the story of _Childe Rowland_, familiar to Elizabethans,[1007] although _Jack the Giant Killer_ has his claims. The _fee-fa-fum_, as every one knows, occurs also in Shakespeare's _Lear_. The help of the White Bear--a transformation, like the saws and prophecies, sufficiently familiar in these tales--is similar to that of Merlin in _Childe Rowland_; but the ghost of Jack reminds one of the other story. Mr. Jacobs quotes Kennedy that in a parallel Irish tale "Jack the servant is the spirit of the buried man." One has only to make this substitution, and the vicarious gratitude of the Giant Killer[1008] is better explained. Perhaps, too, Peele has borrowed some of his thunder and lightning, as well as Huanebango's _fee-fa-fum_, from the giants; and the disenchantment at the hands of an invisible hero may belong, in part, to this tale. Two other folk-tales may be named--_The Well of the World's End_, mentioned, if a slight emendation be allowed, in _The Complaynt of Scotland_, and _The Three Heads of the Well_--as known, in some form, to Peele, and used directly in the story of the two daughters. The familiar theme of the so-called "death index"[1009] is touched but slightly; and perhaps it is unnecessary to go to the _Red Ettin_ for a parallel to Huanebango and Corebus, who respectively refuse and give a piece of cake to the helpful old man. The theme is common in folk-lore. It is interesting to note that Beaumont and Fletcher show a liking for folk-tales, as well as for traditional songs and ballads, in that play, which by its induction and general spirit most closely resembles this _Old Wives' Tale_. More dignified sources were long ago pointed out by Warton, who remarked that "the names of some of the characters ... are taken from the _Orlando Furioso_." Meroe, in Apuleius, was invoked. But it seems clear enough that English folk-lore must be the mainstay of critics who think all is done for a work of literature when they have found out every possible and impossible source for plot, sideplot, and allusion.

=Literary Estimate.=--The marvel, after all, is not that these materials are huddled and confused in the combination; the confusion is part of the artistic process, and if the figures move across the stage without firm connection one with the other, that, too, is done after the manner of the old tale. We are on romantic ground, and are to see by glimpses. Here is no comedy of incident, in the usual meaning of the term, no comedy of intrigue or of manners. It is rather a comedy of comedies, a saucy challenge of romance, where art turns, however timidly, upon itself. Perhaps Peele wrote this play, as Dryden wrote _All for Love_, to please himself. Unquestionably, until Mr. Bullen made a plea for mercy, _The Old Wives' Tale_ had been shamefully treated. Collier[1010] calls it "nothing but a beldam's story, with little to recommend it but heavy prose and not much lighter blank verse," a most inadequate summary from any point of view. The play, he thinks, has "a disgusting quantity of trash and absurdity." Dyce, while regarding Peele's "superiority to Greene" as "unquestionable," is not enthusiastic about _The Old Wives' Tale_. Mr. Ward speaks[1011] of "the labyrinthine intricacy of the main scenes," knows not whether to call it farce or interlude, and would pass it by save for the suggestion of _Comus_. But Mr. Bullen very properly objects to this unfair comparison. Symonds, to be sure, uses it even more unfairly. _The Old Wives' Tale_, he makes bold to say, is the sow's ear to Milton's silk purse.[1012] With an unusual blindness to literary perspective, Symonds goes on to judge this flickering little candle of romance, folk-lore, and half-roguish, half-ironical suggestion, by the sun-blaze of Milton's high seriousness and full poetic splendours. Peele, it seems, does not "lift his subject into the heavens of poetry.... The wizard is a common conjurer. The spirit is a vulgar village ghost." Why not, pray? What should they be for the purposes of this old wives' tale? What would be left, say, of Chaucer's charming little story, that "folye, as of a fox, or of a cok and hen," if one were to pulverize it with such critical tools? Peele is not trying to raise comedy into the heavens; he left that for his betters; and the ineffectual Delia is a long remove from Hermia and Helena in the "wood near Athens." What Peele, George Peele of the dingy jests, probably tried to do, and what he surely succeeded in doing, was to bring a new and more subtle strain of humour into the drama. _Itur in antiquam silvam._ Realism left shabby and squalid things, alehouse wit, and laid hold of a sweeter life. Reckless, good-natured scholar, George fairly followed the call which haunted so many academic outcasts, the call which Marlowe and Greene and Dekker answered with those sweet songs of country life, and which led Peele to the making of this play. He wove romance and realism into a fabric that may well show a coarse pattern and often very clumsy workmanship, but, on the whole, it is a pleasing pattern and a new. Moreover, it is all made of sound English stuff. The tales he used for his main drama were familiar to English ears; the persons of his framework play were kindly folk of any English village, and the air of it all is as fresh and wholesome as an English summer morning.

=Sources, Title, Text.=--The sources of the play, so far as one may speak of sources, are indicated in general above, and in particular by notes to the following text. The plural form of the title ought probably to be singular, in spite of common usage, the gloss _ealdra cwéna spel_ (Wright, _Voc._), and 1 Timothy iv, 7; Mr. Fleay, perhaps as a concession to Madge, prints _Old Wifes' Tale_ (_Biog. Chron. Eng. Drama_, II. 154).[1013] He puts the date of composition "clearly 1590," on the theory that Harvey--Huanebango--is here satirized by Peele as a consequence of Harvey's attack upon Lyly in 1589,--circulated then in manuscript though not printed until 1593. Lämmerhirt[1014] argues, but not conclusively, that the play was written before 1588,--partly because of the allusions to Harvey, and partly because style and form point to an early period in the author's development. Until a surer date can be established, however, 1590 will serve as the time of composition for this play. _The Old Wives' Tale_, says Dyce, "had sunk into complete oblivion, till Steevens ... communicated to Reed the account of it which appeared in the _Biographia Dramatica_." In 1783 Steevens writes to Warton: "All I have learned in relation to the original from which the idea of Milton's _Comus_ might be borrowed, I communicated to Mr. Reed.... Only a single copy of his [_sic_] _Old Wives' Tale_ has hitherto appeared, and even that is at present out of my reach...."[1015] As to the rhythmic structure, E. Penner notes[1016] that of 964 lines of this play 192 are five-stress or ordinary heroic verse, 7 are hexameters, and 100 short verses. The rest is prose.

The best edition is, of course, that of Bullen, in 3 vols., 1888-[B]; but there were excellent editions by Dyce, one in 1828 ff., and another in 1861-[Dy.]. The present text of _The Old Wives' Tale_ is from the 1595 quarto in the British Museum; the title-page is, with the exception of the vignettes, a fair representation of the original.

F. B. GUMMERE.

FOOTNOTES:

[989] "To the Gentlemen Students of both Universities," prefixed to Greene's _Menaphon_, a well-known passage. Little, if anything, can be made of Meres when (Haslewood, II., 153) he couples Peele now with Ariosto, now, as tragical poet, with Apollodorus Tarsensis. He does not name Peele among the writers of comedy. Later, in _Have with You to Saffron Walden_ (Grosart, III. 196), Nashe, with no mention of Peele, concedes to Greene mastery, above all the craft, in "plotting of plaies." This dramatic art of words, by the way, must not be confused with Euphuistic feats. Greene, Nashe, even Harvey, turned with Sidney against mere "playing with words and idle similies," and Peele is anything but a follower of Guevara.

[990] _Merrie conceited Jests of George Peele, Gentleman, sometimes a Student in Oxford Wherein is shewed the course of his life, how he lived: a man very well knowne in the Citie of London and elsewhere...._ There was an edition in 1607, hardly ten years after Peele's death.

[991] _The Looking Glasse for London and England_ has some boisterous comedy, but no humour. In _George-a-Greene_, good play that it is, the ballad material is taken quite seriously. In _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_ there is exquisite idyllic work, a dash of passable, though quite traditional, comedy, but no trace of the peculiar element, presently to be described as the dominant note of treatment in _The Old Wives' Tale_.

[992] _Fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 109 f. So in his _Geburt der Tragödie_, p. 89, speaking of the prologue as used by Euripides, which told in advance the action of the play, Nietzsche asserts that the Athenians were less interested in the plot than in the pathos of situations and the rhetoric of the players.

[993] "The romantic play, the English Farsa, may be called in a great measure his discovery." _Shakespeare's Predecessors_, p. 580.

[994] "A matter in which he certainly anticipated Marlowe," _Biog. Chron._ II. 151.

[995] Ed. Shakespeare Society, 1841, p. 52.

[996] Peele is not of the extreme group whose feats in diction remind one of what Dr. Johnson said about the metaphysical poets, that "their wish was only to say what they hoped had never been said before."

[997] Gosson, in a well-known passage, puts brave language first among dramatic attractions: "sweetness of words, fitness of epithets, with metaphors, allegories...."

[998] Lämmerhirt counts nearly 84 per cent of the verses in the _Arraignment of Paris_ as rhymed; _David and Bethsabe_ has less than 7 per cent, and _The Battle of Alcazar_ barely 3 per cent.

[999] The diction of _The Old Wives' Tale_ differs from Lyly's comic prose much as Nashe's style in his pamphlets differs from the periods of Lyly's _Euphues_.

[1000] Ed. W. C. Hazlitt, Roxburgh Library, 1869, p. 145.

[1001] See the song in _Appius_, "Hope so and hap so."--In _Misogonus_, the Vice appears as a domestic fool.

[1002] Compare the French and broken English in _Three Lords and Three Ladies of London_, the dialect of Boban the Scot in Greene's _James IV._, and the inevitable Welshman.

[1003] _Das Schauspiel im Schauspiel_, Wien and Leipzig, 1896.

[1004] "A new _motiv_," says Schwab. Fleay (work quoted, I. 266) thinks _The Old Wives' Tale_ fairly parodies the induction in _James IV._

[1005] See a similar bit of horse-play in _Wily Beguiled_.

[1006] The delicate irony of later triflings with romance--as in Wieland's _Oberon_--is, of course, quite out of the question.

[1007] See _English Fairy Tales_, J. Jacobs, edition of 1898, pp. 243, 245. A monograph could be written on the folk-lore of this play, where, it is to be conjectured, Peele has followed no single tale, but has combined parts of separate stories, and flung in bits of rhyme and fragments of superstition, as fancy bade him.

[1008] _English Fairy Tales_, p. 104. This theme of the _Thankful Dead_ is extremely common. It is found in an old English romance, _Sir Amadace_, and has been treated by Max Hippe, in Herrig's _Archiv_, Vol. LXXXI, p. 141.

[1009] Jacobs, _English Fairy Tales_, Notes, p. 252. See also Frazer's _Golden Bough_.

[1010] _Annals of Stage_, etc., III. 197.

[1011] _Eng. Dram. Lit._ I. 372.

[1012] _Shakespeare's Predecessors_, p. 563 ff. Mr. Jacobs thinks that both poets went to folk-lore for their materials. _Childe Rowland_ is the probable source.

[1013] It is entered on the Stationers' Registers to Raphe Hancock, April 16, 1595, _the owlde wifes tale_. Cf. "an olde wives tale," Greene, _Groatsw._ (Grosart XII. 119).--Gen. Ed.

[1014] _G. P. Untersuchungen_, etc., Rostock, 1862, pp. 62 ff.

[1015] _Biogr. Mem. of the late Jos. Warton, DD._, London, 1806, p. 398.

[1016] _Metrische Untersuchungen zu George Peele_, in the _Archiv fur das Studium d. neueren Spracben_, etc. (1890), LXXXV. 279.

[Decoration]

THE

Old Wiues Tale.

A pleasant conceited Comedie
played by the Queenes Maiesties
players

Written by _G. P._

VIGNETTE

Printed at London by _Iohn Danter_, and are to
be sold by _Raph Hancocke_, and _Iohn
Hardie_, _1595_.

[The Persons of the Play[1017]

SACRAPANT.
First Brother, named CALYPHA.
Second Brother, named THELEA.
EUMENIDES.
ERESTUS.
LAMPRISCUS.
HUANEBANGO.
COREBUS.
WIGGEN.
Churchwarden.
Sexton.
Ghost of JACK.
Friar, Harvest-men, Furies, Fiddlers, etc.
DELIA, _sister to_ CALYPHA _and_ THELEA.
VENELIA, _betrothed to_ ERESTUS.
ZANTIPPA, } _daughters to_ LAMPRISCUS.
CELANTA, }
Hostess.
ANTIC.
FROLIC.
FANTASTIC.
CLUNCH, _a smith_.
MADGE, _his wife_.]

FOOTNOTES:

[1017] Not in Q.; inserted by Dy. On the history of the characters see Appendix _A_.

The Old Wives Tale.

_Enter_ ANTICKE, FROLICKE, _and_ FANTASTICKE.

ANTICKE.

HOW nowe fellowe Franticke,[1018] what, all a mort?[1019] Doth this
sadnes become thy madnes? What though wee have lost our way in the
woodes, yet never hang the head, as though thou hadst no hope to
live till to morrow: for Fantasticke and I will warrant thy life to
night for twenty in the hundred. 5

_Frolicke._ Anticke and Fantasticke, as I am frollicke franion,[1020]
never in all my life was I so dead slaine. What? to loose our way in
the woode, without either fire or candle so uncomfortable? _O caelum!
O terra! O maria! O Neptune!_[1021] 10

_Fantas._ Why makes thou it so strange, seeing Cupid hath led our yong
master to the faire Lady and she is the only saint that he hath sworne
to serve?

_Frollicke._ What resteth then but wee commit him to his wench, and
each of us take his stand up in a tree, and sing out our ill 15
fortune to the tune of _O man in desperation_.[1022]

_Ant._ Desperately spoken, fellow Frollicke in the darke: but seeing
it falles out thus, let us rehearse the old proverb.[1023]

_Three merrie men, and three merrie men,
And three merrie men be wee. 20
I in the wood, and thou on the ground.
And Jacke sleepes in the tree._

_Fan._ Hush! a dogge in the wood, or a wooden dogge.[1024] O
comfortable hearing! I had even as live the chamberlaine of the
White Horse had called me up to bed. 25

_Frol._ Eyther hath this trotting cur gone out of his cyrcuit, or els
are we nere some village, which should not be farre off, for I

_Enter a_ SMITH _with a lanthorne & candle_.

perceive the glymring of a gloworme, a candle, or a cats eye, my life
for a halfe pennie. In the name of my own father, be thou oxe or asse
that appearest, tell us what thou art. 30

_Smith._ What am I? Why I am Clunch the Smith; what are you, what make
you in my territories at this time of the night?

_Ant._ What doe we make, dost thou aske? Why we make faces for feare:
such as if thy mortall eyes could behold, would make thee water the
long seames of thy side slops,[1025] Smith. 35

_Frol._ And in faith, sir, unlesse your hospitalitie doe releeve us,
wee are like to wander with a sorrowfull hey ho, among the owlets,
& hobgoblins of the forrest: good Vulcan, for Cupids sake that hath
cousned us all, befriend us as thou maiest, and commaund us howsoever,
wheresoever, whensoever, in whatsoever, for ever and ever.[1026] 40

_Smith._ Well, masters, it seemes to mee you have lost your waie in
the wood: in consideration whereof, if you will goe with Clunch[1027]
to his cottage, you shall have house roome, and a good fire to sit by,
althogh we have no bedding to put you in.

_All._ O blessed Smith, O bountifull Clunch. 45

_Smith._ For your further intertainment, it shall be as it may be, so
and so.

_Heare a dogge barke._

Hearke![1028] this is Ball my dogge that bids you all welcome in his
own language; come, take heed for[1029] stumbling on the threshold.
Open dore, Madge, take in guests. _Enter old woman._ 50

_Cl._ Welcome Clunch & good fellowes al that come with my good man;
for my good mans sake come on, sit downe; here is a peece of cheese &
a pudding of my owne making.

_Anticke._ Thanks, Gammer; a good example for the wives of our
towne. 55

_Frolicke._ Gammer, thou and thy good man sit lovingly together;
we come to chat and not to eate.

_Smith._ Well, masters, if you will eate nothing, take away. Come,
what doo we to passe away the time? Lay a crab[1030] in the fire to
rost for lambes-wooll. What, shall wee have a game at trumpe or 60
ruffe[1031] to drive away the time, how say you?

_Fantasticke._ This Smith leads a life as merrie as a king[1032] with
Madge his wife. Syrrha Frolicke, I am sure thou art not without
some round or other; no doubt but Clunch can beare his part.

_Frolicke._ Els thinke you mee ill brought up;[1033] so set to it 65
when you will. _They sing._

SONG.

When as the Rie reach to the chin,
And chopcherrie,[1034] chopcherrie ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the creame,
And schoole boyes playing in the streame: 70
Then O, then O, then O my true love said,
Till that time come againe,
Shee could not live a maid.

_Ant._ This sport dooes well: but me thinkes, Gammer, a merry
winters tale would drive away the time trimly. Come, I am sure 75
you are not without a score.

_Fantast._ I faith, Gammer, a tale of an howre long were as good
as an howres sleepe.

_Frol._ Looke you, Gammer, of the Gyant and the Kings Daughter,[1035]
and I know not what. I have seene the day when I was a little one, 80
you might have drawne mee a mile after you with such a discourse.

_Old woman._ Well, since you be so importunate, my good man
shall fill the pot and get him to bed; they that ply their worke must
keepe good howres. One of you goe lye with him; he is a cleane
skind man, I tell you, without either spavin or windgall; so I am 85
content to drive away the time with an old wives winters tale.

_Fantast._ No better hay in Devonshire,[1036] a my word, Gammer, Ile
be one of your audience.

_Frolicke._ And I another: thats flat.

_Anticke._ Then must I to bed with the good man. _Bona nox_ Gammer; 90
God night, Frolicke.

_Smith._ Come on, my lad, thou shalt take thy unnaturall[1037] rest
with me.

_Exeunt_ ANTICKE _and the_ SMITH.

_Frollicke._ Yet this vantage shall we have of them in the morning,
to bee ready at the sight thereof extempore.[1038] 95

_Old wom._ Nowe this bargaine, my masters, must I make with you, that
you will say _hum_ & _ha_ to my tale, so shall I know you are awake.

_Both._ Content, Gammer, that will we doo.

_Old wom._ Once uppon a time there was a King or a Lord, or a
Duke, that had a faire daughter, the fairest that ever was; as 100
white as snowe, and as redd as bloud: and once uppon a time his
daughter was stollen away, and hee sent all his men to seeke out his
daughter, and hee sent so long, that he sent all his men out of his
land.

_Frol._ Who drest his dinner then?

_Old woman._ Nay, either heare my tale, or kisse my taile. 105

_Fan._ Well sed, on with your tale, Gammer.

_Old woman._ O Lord, I quite forgot, there was a Conjurer, and this
Conjurer could doo any thing, and hee turned himselfe into a great
Dragon, and carried the Kinges Daughter away in his mouth to a
Castle that hee made of stone, and there he kept hir I know not how
long, till at last all the Kinges men went out so long, that 110
hir two Brothers went to seeke hir.[1039] O, I forget: she (he I
would say) turned a proper[1040] yong man to a Beare in the night,
and a man in the day, and keeps[1041] by a crosse that parts three
severall waies, & he[1042] made his Lady run mad ... Gods me bones,
who comes here? 115
_Enter the two Brothers._

_Frol._ Soft, Gammer, here some come to tell your tale for you.[1043]

_Fant._ Let them alone, let us heare what they will say.

1 _Brother._ Upon these chalkie cliffs of Albion[1044]
We are arived now with tedious toile, 120
And compassing the wide world round about
To seeke our sister, to[1045] seeke faire Delya forth,
Yet cannot we so much as heare of hir.

_2 Brother._ O fortune cruell, cruell & unkind,
Unkind in that we cannot find our sister; 125
Our sister haples in hir cruell chance!
Soft, who have we here?

_Enter_ SENEX _at the Crosse, stooping to gather_.

_1 Brother._ Now, father, God be your speed,
What doo you gather there?

_Old man._ Hips and hawes, and stickes and straws, and thinges 130
that I gather on the ground, my sonne.[1046]

_1 Brother._ Hips and hawes, and stickes and strawes! Why, is that all
your foode, father?

_Old man._ Yea, sonne.

_2 Brother._ Father, here is an almes pennie for mee, and if I speede
in that I goe for, I will give thee as good a gowne of gray[1047] 135
as ever thou diddest weare.

_1 Brother._ And, father, here is another almes pennie for me, and
if I speede in my journey, I will give thee a palmers staffe of
yvorie, and a scallop shell of beaten gold.[1048] 140

_Old man._ Was shee fayre?[1049]

_2 Brother._ I, the fairest for white, and the purest for redd, as the
blood of the deare, or the driven snow.

_Old m._ Then harke well and marke well, my old spell:
Be not afraid of every stranger, 145
Start not aside at every danger:
Things that seeme are not the same,
Blow a blast at every flame:
For when one flame of fire goes out,
Then comes your wishes well about: 150
If any aske who told you this good,
Say the White Beare of Englands wood.

_1 Brother._ Brother, heard you not what the old man said?
Be not afraid of every stranger,
Start not aside for every danger: 155
Things that seeme are not the same,
Blow a blast at every flame:
If any aske who told you this good,
Say the White Beare of Englands wood.[1050]

_2 Brother._ Well, if this doo us any good, 160
Wel fare the White Bear of Englands wood. _Ex._

_Old man._ Now sit thee here & tel a heavy tale.
Sad in thy moode, and sober in thy cheere,
Here sit thee now and to thy selfe relate,
The hard mishap of thy most wretched state. 165
In Thessalie I liv'd in sweete content,
Untill that Fortune wrought my overthrow;
For there I wedded was unto a dame,
That liv'd in honor, vertue, love, and fame:
But Sacrapant, that cursed sorcerer, 170
Being besotted with my beauteous love,
My deerest love, my true betrothed wife,
Did seeke the meanes to rid me of my life.
But worse than this, he with his chanting[1051] spels,
Did turne me straight unto an ugly Beare; 175
And when the sunne doth settle in the west,
Then I begin to don my ugly hide:
And all the day I sit, as now you see,
And speake in riddles all inspirde with rage,
Seeming an olde and miserable man: 180
And yet I am in Aprill of my age.

_Enter_ VENELIA _his Lady mad; and goes in againe_.

See where Venelya, my betrothed love,
Runs madding all inrag'd about the woods,
All by his curssed and inchanting spels.

_Enter_ LAMPRISCUS _with a pot of honny_.

But here comes Lampriscus, my discontented neighbour. How now, 185
neighbour, you looke towarde the ground as well as I; you muse on
something.

_Lamp._ Neighbour on nothing, but on the matter I so often mooved to
you: if you do any thing for charity, helpe me; if for neighborhood
or brotherhood, helpe me: never was one so combered as is poore 190
Lampryscus: and to begin, I pray receive this potte of honny to
mend[1052] your fare.

_Old man._ Thankes, neighbor, set it downe;
Honny is alwaies welcome to the Beare.
And now, neighbour, let me heere the cause of your comming. 195

_Lampriscus._ I am (as you knowe, neighbour) a man unmaried, and lived
so unquietly with my two wives, that I keepe every yeare holy the day
wherein I buried the_m_ both: the first was on Saint Andrewes day, the
other on Saint Lukes.[1053]

_Old man._ And now, neighbour, you of this country say, your 200
custome is out: but on with your tale, neighbour.

_Lamp._ By my first wife, whose tongue wearied me alive, and
sounded in my eares like the clapper of a great bell, whose talke
was a continuall torment to all that dwelt by her, or lived nigh her,
you have heard me say I had a handsome daughter. 205

_Old man._ True, neighbour.

_Lampr._ Shee it is that afflictes me with her continuall clamoures,
and hangs on me like a burre: poore shee is, and proude shee is; as
poore as a sheepe new shorne, and as proude of her hopes, as a peacock
of her taile well growne. 210

_Old man._ Well said, Lampryscus, you speake it like an Englishman.

_Lampr._ As curst as a waspe, and as frowarde as a childe new
taken from the mothers teate; shee is to my age, as smoake to the
eyes, or as vinegar to the teeth. 215

_Old man._ Holily praised, neighbour, as much for the next.

_Lampr._ By my other wife I had a daughter, so hard favoured, so foule
and ill faced, that I thinke a grove full of golden trees, and the
leaves of rubies and dyamonds, would not bee a dowrie annswerable to
her deformitie. 220

_Old man._ Well, neighbour, nowe you have spoke, heere me speake; send
them to the well for the water of life:[1054] there shall they finde
their fortunes unlooked for. Neighbour, farewell. _Exit._

_Lampr._ Farewell and a thousand;[1055] and now goeth poore Lampryscus
to put in execution this excellent counsell. _Exeunt._ 225

_Frol._ Why this goes rounde without a fidling stick. But doo you
heare, Gammer, was this the man that was a beare in the night, and a
man in the day?

_Old woman._ I, this is hee; and this man that came to him was a
beggar, and dwelt uppon a greene. But soft, who comes here? O 230
these are the harvest men; ten to one they sing a song of mowing.

_Enter the harvest men a singing, with this_ SONG double repeated.[1056]

All yee that lovely lovers be, pray you for me.
Loe here we come a sowing, a sowing,
And sowe sweete fruites of love:
In your sweete hearts well may it proove. _Exeunt._ 235

_Enter_ HUANEBANGO[1057] _with his two hand sword, and_ BOOBY[1058]
_the Clowne_.

_Fant._ Gammer, what is he?

_Old woman._ O this is one that is going to the Conjurer; let him
alone; here what he sayes.

_Huan._ Now by Mars and Mercury, Jupiter and Janus, Sol and
Saturnus, Venus and Vesta, Pallas and Proserpina, and by the honor
of my house Polimackeroeplacydus,[1059] it is a wonder to see 240
what this love will make silly fellowes adventure, even in the wane
of their wits and infansie of their discretion. Alas, my friend,
what fortune calles thee foorth to seeke thy fortune among brasen
gates, inchanted towers, fire and brimstone, thunder and lightning?
Beautie, I tell thee, is peerelesse, and she precious whom thou 245
affectest: do off these desires, good countriman, good friend,
runne away from thy selfe, and so soone as thou canst, forget her;
whom none must inherit but he that can monsters tame, laboures
atchive, riddles absolve, loose inchantments, murther magicke, and
kill conjuring: and that is the great and mighty Huanebango. 250

_Booby._ Harke you sir, harke you. First know I have here the
flurting feather, and have given the parish the start for the long
stocke.[1060] Nowe sir, if it bee no more but running through a
little lightning and thunder, and riddle me, riddle me, what's
this,[1061] Ile have the wench from the Conjurer if he were ten 255
Conjurers.

_Huan._ I have abandoned the court and honourable company, to
doo my devoyre against this sore sorcerer and mighty magitian: if
this Ladie be so faire as she is said to bee, she is mine, she is
mine. _Meus, mea, meum, in contemptum omnium grammaticorum._ 260

_Booby._ _O falsum Latinum!_ the faire maide is _minum, cum
apurtinantibus gibletes_ and all.

_Huan._ If shee bee mine, as I assure my selfe the heavens will
doo somewhat to reward my worthines, shee shall bee allied to
none of the meanest gods, but bee invested in the most famous 265
stocke of Huanebango Polimackeroeplacidus, my grandfather, my
father Pergopolyneo, my mother Dyonora de Sardynya, famouslie
descended.

_Booby._ Doo you heare, sir, had not you a cosen, that was called
Gustecerydis? 270

_Huan._ Indeede I had a cosen, that sometime followed the court
infortunately, and his name Bustegustecerydis.

_Booby._ O Lord I know him well; hee is the[1062] knight of the
neates feete.

_Huan._ O he lov'd no capon better. He hath oftentimes deceived 275
his boy of his dinner; that was his fault, good Bustegustecerydis.

_Booby._ Come, shall we goe along?[1063] Soft, here is an olde man at
the Crosse; let us aske him the way thither. Ho, you Gaffer, I pray
you tell where the wise man the Conjurer dwells.

_Huan._ Where that earthly Goddesse keepeth hir abode, the 280
commander of my thougts, and faire Mistres of my heart.

_Old man._ Faire inough, and farre inough from thy fingering,
sonne.

_Huan._ I will followe my fortune after mine owne fancie, and
doo according to mine owne discretion. 285

_Old man._ Yet give some thing to an old man before you goe.

_Huan._ Father, mee thinkes a peece of this cake might serve
your turne.

_Old man._ Yea, sonne.

_Huan._ Huanebango giveth no cakes for almes; aske of them 290
that give giftes for poore beggars. Faire Lady, if thou wert once
shrined in this bosome, I would buckler thee hara-tantara. _Exit._

_Booby._ Father, doo you see this man? You litle thinke heele run
a mile or two for such a cake, or passe for[1064] a pudding. I tell
you, Father, hee has kept such a begging of mee for a peece of 295
this cake! Whoo, he comes uppon me with a superfantiall substance,
and the foyson[1065] of the earth, that I know not what he meanes.
Iff hee came to me thus, and said, 'my friend Booby,' or so, why I
could spare him a peece with all my heart; but when he tells me how
God hath enriched mee above other fellowes with a cake, why hee 300
makes me blinde and deafe at once. Yet, father, heere is a peece of
cake for you,[1066] as harde as the world goes.[1067]

_Old man._ Thanks, sonne, but list to mee:
He shall be deafe when thou shalt not see.
Farewell, my sonne; things may so hit, 305
Thou maist have wealth to mend thy wit.

_Booby._ Farewell, father, farewell; for I must make hast after my
two-hand sword that is gone before. _Exeunt omnes._

_Enter_ SACRAPANT _in his studie_.

_Sacrapant._ The day is cleare, the welkin bright and gray,
The larke is merrie, and records[1068] hir notes; 310
Each thing rejoyseth underneath the skie,
But onely I whom heaven hath in hate,
Wretched and miserable Sacrapant.
In Thessalie was I borne and brought up.[1069]
My mother Meroe hight, a famous witch, 315
And by hir cunning I of hir did learne,
To change and alter shapes of mortall men.
There did I turne my selfe into a dragon,
And stole away the daughter to the king,
Faire Delya, the mistres of my heart, 320
And brought hir hither to revive the man
That seemeth yong and pleasant to behold,
And yet is aged, crooked, weake and numbe.
Thus by inchaunting spells I doo deceive
Those that behold and looke upon my face; 325
But well may I bid youthfull yeares adue.

_Enter_ DELYA _with a pot in hir hand_.

See where she coms from whence my sorrows grow.
How now, faire Delya, where have you bin?

_Delya._ At the foote of the rocke for running water, and gathering
rootes for your dinner, sir. 330

_Sacr._ Ah, Delya, fairer art thou than the running water, yet harder
farre than steele or adamant.

_Delya._ Will it please you to sit downe, sir?

_Sacr._ I, Delya, sit & aske me what thou wilt; thou shalt have it
brought into thy lappe. 335

_Delya._ Then I pray you, sir, let mee have the best meate from the
king of Englands table, and the best wine in all France, brought in by
the veriest knave in all Spaine.[1070]

_Sacr._ Delya, I am glad to see you so pleasant.
Well, sit thee downe. 340
Spred, table, spred; meat, drinke & bred;
Ever may I have what I ever crave,
When I am spred, for[1071] meate for my black cock,
And meate for my red.

_Enter a_ FRIER _with a chine of beefe and a pot of wine_.

_Sacr._ Heere, Delya, will yee fall to? 345

_Del._ Is this the best meate in England?

_Sacr._ Yea.

_Del._ What is it?

_Sacr._ A chine of English beefe, meate for a king
And a king's followers. 350

_Del._ Is this the best wine in France?

_Sacr._ Yea.

_Del._ What wine is it?

_Sacr._ A cup of neate wine of Orleance,
That never came neer the brewers in England.[1072] 355

_Del._ Is this the veriest knave in all Spaine?

_Sacr._ Yea.

_Del._ What, is he a fryer?

_Sacr._ Yea, a frier indefinit, & a knave infinit.

_Del._ Then I pray ye, sir Frier, tell me before you goe, which is 360
the most greediest Englishman?

_Fryer._ The miserable and most covetous usurer.

_Sacr._ Holde thee there, Friar. _Exit Friar._
But soft, who have we heere? Delia, away, begon.[1073]

_Enter the two Brothers._

Delya, away, for beset are we; 365
But heaven or hell shall rescue her for me.[1074]

_1. Br._ Brother, was not that Delya did appeare?
Or was it but her shadow that was here?

_2. Bro._ Sister, where art thou? Delya, come again;
He calles, that of thy absence doth complaine. 370
Call out, Calypha, that she may heare,
And crie aloud, for Delya is neere.

_Eccho._ Neere.[1075]

_1. Br._ Neere? O where, hast thou any tidings?

_Eccho._ Tidings. 375

_2. Br._ Which way is Delya then,--or that, or this?

_Eccho._ This.

_1. Br._ And may we safely come where Delia is?

_Eccho._ Yes.

_2. Bro._ Brother, remember you the white 380
Beare of Englands wood:
Start not aside for every danger;
Be not afeard of every stranger;
Things that seeme, are not the same.

_1. Br._ Brother, why do we not the_n_ coragiously enter? 385

_2. Br._ Then, brother, draw thy sword & follow me.

_Enter the Conjurer; it lightens & thunders; the 2. Brother falls downe._

_1. Br._ What, brother, doost thou fall?

_Sacr._ I, and thou to, Calypha.

_Fall 1. Brother. Enter two Furies._

_Adeste Dæmones_: away with them;
Go cary them straight to Sacrapantos cell, 390
There in despaire and torture for to dwell.
These are Thenores sonnes of Thessaly,
That come to seeke Delya their sister forth;
But with a potion, I to her have given,
My arts hath made her to forget her selfe. 395

_He remooves a turfe, and shewes a light in a glasse._[1076]

See heere the thing which doth prolong my life;
With this inchantment I do any thing.
And till this fade, my skill shall still endure,
And never none shall breake this little glasse,
But she that's neither wife, widow, nor maide. 400
Then cheere thy selfe; this is thy destinie,
Never to die, but by a dead mans hand. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ EUMENIDES _the wandering knight, and the Old Man_[1077] _at
the Crosse._

_Eum._ Tell me, Time, tell me, just Time,
When shall I Delia see?
When shall I see the loadstar of my life? 405
When shall my wandring course end with her sight,
Or I but view my hope, my hearts delight!
Father, God speede; if you tell fortunes, I pray, good father, tell me
mine.

_Old man._ Sonne, I do see in thy face, 410
Thy blessed fortune worke apace;
I do perceive that thou hast wit,
Beg of thy fate to governe it;
For wisdome govern'd by advise
Makes many fortunate and wise. 415
Bestowe thy almes, give more than all,
Till dead men's bones come at thy call.
Farewell, my sonne, dreame of no rest,
Til thou repent that thou didst best. _Exit Old M._

_Eum._ This man hath left me in a laborinth: 420
He biddeth me give more than all,
Till dead mens bones come at thy call:
He biddeth me dreame of no rest,
Till I repent that I do best.

_Enter_ WIGGEN, COROBUS,[1078] CHURCHWARDEN _and_ SEXTEN.

_Wiggen._ You may be ashamed, you whorson scald Sexton and 425
Churchwarden, if you had any shame in those shamelesse faces of
yours, to let a poore man lie so long above ground unburied. A
rot on you all, that have no more compassion of a good fellow
when he is gone.

_Simon._ What, would you have us to burie him, and to aunswere 430
it our selves to the parrishe?

_Sexton._ Parish me no parishes; pay me my fees, and let the rest
runne on in the quarters accounts, and put it downe for one of your
good deedes a Gods name; for I am not one that curiously stands
upon merits. 435

_Corobus._ You whoreson, sodden-headed sheepes-face, shall a good
fellow do lesse service and more honestie to the parish, & will you
not, when he is dead, let him have Christmas[1079] buriall?

_Wiggen._ Peace Corebus, as sure[1080] as Jack was Jack, the
frollickst frannion[1081] amongst you, and I Wiggen his sweete
sworne brother,[1082] Jack shall have his funerals, or some of 440
them shall lie on Gods deare earth for it, thats once.[1083]

_Churchwa._ Wiggen, I hope thou wilt do no more then thou
darst aunswer.

_Wig._ Sir, sir, dare or dare not, more or lesse, aunswer or not 445
aunswer, do this, or have this.

_Sex._ Helpe, helpe, helpe![1084] Wiggen sets upon the parish with a
pike staffe.

EUMENIDES _awakes and comes to them_.

_Eum._ Hould thy hands, good fellow.

_Core._ Can you blame him, sir, if he take Jacks part against this 450
shake-rotten parish that will not burie Jack.

_Eum._ Why, what was that Jack?

_Coreb._ Who Jack, sir, who our Jack, sir? as good a fellow as
ever troade uppon neats leather.

_Wiggen._ Looke you, sir, he gave foure score and nineteene 455
mourning gownes to the parish when he died, and because he would
not make them up a full hundred, they would not bury him; was
not this good dealing?

_Churchwar._ Oh Lord, sir, how he lies; he was not worth a
halfe-penny, and drunke out every penny: and nowe his fellowes, his
drunken companions, would have us to burie him at the[1085] 460
charge of the parish. And we make many such matches, we may pull
downe the steeple, sell the belles, and thatche the chauncell.
He shall lie above ground till he daunce a galliard about the
churchyard for Steeven Loache. 465

_Wiggen._ _Sic argumentaris, domine Loache_;--and we make many
such matches, we may pull downe the steeple, sell the belles, and
thatche the chauncell: in good time, sir, and hang your selves in
the bell ropes when you have done. _Domine oponens, præpono tibi
hanc questionem_, whether you will have the ground broken, or your
pates broken first? For one of them shall be done presently, 470
and to begin mine[1086] Ile seale it upon your cockescome.

_Eum._ Hould thy hands, I pray thee, good fellow; be not too hastie.

_Coreb._ You capons face, we shall have you turnd out of the 475
parish one of these dayes, with never a tatter to your arse; then you
are in worse taking then Jack.

_Eumen._ Faith and he is bad enough. This fellow does but the part
of a friend, to seeke to burie his friend; how much will burie him?

_Wiggen._ Faith, about some fifteene or sixteene shillings will 480
bestow him honestly.

_Sexton._ I, even there abouts, sir.

_Eumen._ Heere, hould it then, and I have left me but one poore three
halfe pence; now do I remember the wordes the old man spake at the
crosse: 'bestowe all thou hast,'--and this is all,--'till dead 485
mens bones comes at thy call.' Heare, holde it,[1087] and so farewell.

_Wig._ God, and all good, bee with you sir; naie, you cormorants,
Ile bestowe one peale of[1088] Jack at mine owne proper costs and
charges.

_Coreb._ You may thanke God the long staffe and the bilbowe 490
blade crost not your cockescombe. Well, weele to the church
stile,[1090] and have a pot, and so tryll lyll.

_Both._ Come, lets go. _Exeunt._

_Fant._ But harke you, gammer, me thinkes this Jack bore a great
sway in the parish. 495

_Old woman._ O this Jack was a marvelous fellow; he was but a
poore man, but very well beloved: you shall see anon what this
Jack will come to.

_Enter the harvest men singing, with women in their hands._

_Frol._ Soft, who have wee heere? our amorous harvest starres.[1089]

_Fant._ I, I, let us sit still and let them alone. 500

_Heere they begin to sing, the song doubled._[1090]

Soe heere we come a reaping, a reaping,
To reape our harvest fruite,
And thus we passe the yeare so long,
And never be we mute. _Exit the harvest men._[1091]

_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _and_ COREBUS _the clowne_.[1092]

_Frol._ Soft, who have we here? 505

_Old w._ O this is a cholerick gentleman; all you that love your
lives, keepe out of the smell of his two-hand sworde: nowe goes he
to the conjurer.

_Fant._ Me thinkes the Conjurer should put the foole into a
jugling boxe. 510

_Huan._ Fee, fa, fum,[1093] here is the Englishman,
Conquer him that can, came for his lady bright,
To proove himselfe a knight,
And win her love in fight.

_Cor._ Who-hawe, maister Bango, are you here? heare you, you 515
had best sit downe heere, and beg an almes with me.

_Huan._ Hence, base cullion, heere is he that commaundeth ingresse
and egresse with his weapon, and will enter at his voluntary,
whosover saith no.

_A voice and flame of fire_: HUANEBANGO _falleth downe_.

_Voice._ No. 520

_Old w._ So with that, they kist, and spoiled the edge of as good
a two hand sword, as ever God put life in; now goes Corebus in,
spight of the conjurer.

_Enter the Conjurer, & strike_ COREBUS _blinde_.[1094]

_Sacr._ Away with him into the open fields,
To be a ravening pray to crowes and kites:[1095] 525
And for this villain, let him wander up & downe
In nought but darkenes and eternall night.[1096]

_Cor._ Heer hast thou slain Huan, a slashing knight,
And robbed poore Corebus of his sight. _Exit._

_Sacr._ Hence, villaine, hence. 530
Now I have unto Delya given a potion of forgetfulnes,
That when shee comes, shee shall not know hir brothers.
Lo where they labour, like to country slaves,
With spade and mattocke on this inchaunted ground!
Now will I call hir by another name, 535
For never shall she know hir selfe againe,
Untill that Sacrapant hath breathd his last.
See where she comes. _Enter Delya._
Come hither, Delya, take this gode.[1097]
Here, hard[1098] at hand, two slaves do worke and dig for gold; 540
Gore them with this & thou shalt have inough.

_He gives hir a gode._

_Del._ Good sir, I know not what you meane.

_Sacra._ She hath forgotten to be Delya,
But not forgot the same[1099] she should forget:
But I will change hir name. 545
Faire Berecynthia, so this country calls you,
Goe ply these strangers, wench, they dig for gold. _Exit Sacrapant._

_Delya._ O heavens! how am I beholding to[1100] this faire yong man.
But I must ply these strangers to their worke.
See where they come. 550

_Enter the two Brothers in their shirts, with spades, digging._

_1. Brother._ O Brother, see where Delya is!

_2. Brother._ O Delya, happy are we to see thee here.

_Delya._ What tell you mee of Delya, prating swaines?
I know no Delya nor know I what you meane;
Ply you your work, or else you are like to smart. 555

_1. Brother._ Why, Delya, knowst thou not thy brothers here?
We come from Thessalie to seeke thee forth,
And thou deceivest thy selfe, for thou art Delya.

_Delya._ Yet more of Delya? then take this and smart:
What, faine you shifts for to defer your labor? 560
Worke, villaines, worke, it is for gold you digg.

_2. Br._ Peace, brother, peace, this vild inchanter
Hath ravisht Delya of hir sences cleane,
And she forgets that she is Delya.

_1. Br._ Leave, cruell thou, to hurt the miserable; 565
Digg, brother, digg, for she is hard as steele.

_Here they dig & descry the light under a little hill._

_2. Br._ Stay, brother, what hast thou descride?

_Del._ Away & touch it not; it is some thing that my lord hath hidden
there. _She covers it agen._

_Enter_ SACRAPANT.

_Sacr._ Well sed,[1101] thou plyest these pyoners well. Goe, get 570
you in, you labouring slaves.
Come, Berecynthia, let us in likewise,
And heare the nightingale record hir notes. _Exeunt omnes._

_Enter_ ZANTYPPA, _the curst daughter, to the Well,[1102] with a pot
in hir hand_.

_Zant._ Now for a husband, house and home; God send a good one or
none, I pray God. My father hath sent me to the well for the water
of life, and tells mee, if I give faire wordes, I shall have a 575
husband.

_Enter the fowle wench to the Well for water, with a pot in hir hand._

But heere comes Celanta, my sweete sister; Ile stand by and heare
what she saies.

_Celant._ My father hath sent mee to the well for water, and he 580
tells me if I speake faire, I shall have a husband, and none of the
worst. Well, though I am blacke,[1103] I am sure all the world will
not forsake mee; and as the olde proverbe is, though I am blacke, I am
not the divell.

_Zant._ Marrie gup with a murren, I knowe wherefore thou speakest 585
that; but goe thy waies home as wise as thou camst, or Ile set thee
home with a wanion.

_Here she strikes hir pitcher against hir sisters, and breakes them
both and goes hir way._

_Celant._ I thinke this be the curstest queane in the world. You see
what she is, a little faire, but as prowd as the divell, and the
veriest vixen that lives upon Gods earth. Well, Ile let hir alone, and
goe home and get another pitcher, and for all this get me to the 590
well for water. _Exit._

_Enter two Furies out of the Conjurers cell and laies_ HUANEBANGO _by
the Well of Life_.

_Enter_ ZANTIPPA _with a pitcher to the Well_.

_Zant._ Once againe for a husband, & in faith, Celanta, I have got the
start of you. Belike husbands growe by the Well side. Now my father
sayes I must rule my tongue: why, alas, what am I then? A woman 595
without a tongue is as a souldier without his weapon; but Ile have my
water and be gon.

_Heere she offers to dip her pitcher in, and a head speakes in the
Well._

_Head._ Gently dip, but not too deepe,[1104]
For feare you make the golden birde[1105] to weepe,
Faire maiden, white and red, 600
Stroke me smoothe, and combe my head,
And thou shalt have some cockell bread.

_Zant._ What is this,--Faire maiden white & red,
Combe me smooth, and stroke my head,
And thou shall have some cockell bread.[1106] 605
Cockell callst thou it, boy?--faith, Ile give you cockell bread.

_Shee breakes hir pitcher uppon his heade, then it thunders and
lightens,[1107] and_ HUANEBANGO _rises up_: HUANEBANGO _is deafe and
cannot heare_.[1108]

_Huan._ Phylyda phylerydos, Pamphylyda floryda flortos,
Dub dub a dub, bounce quoth the guns, with a sulpherous huffe
snuffe.[1109]
Wakte with a wench, pretty peat, pretty love and my sweet prettie 610
pigsnie;
Just by thy side shall sit surnamed great Huanebango
Safe in my armes will I keepe thee, threat Mars or thunder Olympus.

_Zant._ Foe, what greasie groome have wee here? Hee looks as 615
though hee crept out of the backeside of the Well; and speakes like
a drum perisht at the west end.

_Huan._ O that I might, but I may not, woe to my destenie
therefore,[1110]
Kisse that I claspe,--but I cannot; tell mee my destenie 620
where-fore?

_Zant._ Whoope nowe I have my dreame, did you never heare so
great a wonder as this?
Three blue beanes in a blue bladder, rattle, bladder, rattle.[1111]

_Huan._ Ile nowe set my countenance and to hir in prose; it may 625
be this _rim ram ruffe_[1112] is too rude an incounter.

Let me, faire Ladie, if you be at leisure, revell with your sweetnes,
and raile uppon that cowardly Conjurer, that hath cast me or congealed
mee rather into an unkinde sleepe and polluted my carcasse.

_Zantyppa._ Laugh, laugh, Zantyppa, thou hast thy fortune, a foole 630
and a husbande under one.

_Huan._ Truely, sweete heart, as I seeme, about some twenty
yeares, the very Aprill of mine age.

_Zantyppa._ Why, what a prating asse is this?

_Huanebango._ Hir corall lippes, hir crimson chinne, 635
Hir silver teeth so white within:
Hir golden locks, hir rowling eye,
Hir pretty parts, let them goe by:
Hey ho, hath wounded me,
That I must die this day to see. 640

_Za._ By gogs bones, thou art a flouting knave.
"Hir corall lippes, hir crimson chinne," ka, "wilshaw."[1113]

_Huan._ True, my owne, and my owne because mine, & mine because
mine, ha ha! Above a thousand pounds in possibilitie, and
things fitting thy desire in possession. 645

_Zan._ The sott thinkes I aske of his landes. Lobb[1114] be your
comfort, and cuckold bee your destenie. Heare you, sir; and if you
will have us, you had best say so betime.

_Huan._ True, sweete heart, and will royallize thy progeny with
my petigree. _Exeunt omnes._ 650

_Enter_ EUMENIDES _the wandring knight_.

_Eu._ Wretched Eumenides, still unfortunate,
Envied by fortune, and forlorne by fate;
Here pine and die, wretched Eumenides.
Die in the spring, the Aprill of my[1115] age?
Here sit thee down, repent what thou hast don: 655
I would to God that it were nere begon.

_Enter_ JACKE.[1116]

_Jacke._ You are well overtaken, sir.

_Eum._ Who's that?

_Jacke._ You are heartily well met, sir.

_Eum._ Forbeare, I say, who is that which pincheth mee? 660

_Jacke._ Trusting in God, good Master Eumenides, that you are in so
good health as all your friends were at the making hereof, God give
you God morrowe, sir, lacke you not a neate, handsome and cleanly
yong lad, about the age of fifteene or sixteene yeares, that can
runne[1117] by your horse,[1118] and for a neede make your 665
master-shippes shooes as blacke as incke,--howe say you sir?

_Eum._ Alasse, pretty lad, I know not how to keepe my selfe, and much
lesse a servant, my pretty boy, my state is so bad.

_Jacke._ Content your selfe, you shall not bee so ill a master
but ile bee as bad a servant. Tut, sir, I know you, though you
know not me. Are not you the man, sir, denie it if you can, 670
sir,[1119] that came from a strange place in the land of Catita,
where Jacke-a-napes flies with his taile in his mouth, to seeke out
a Ladie as white as snowe, and as redd as blood; ha, ha, have I
toucht you now?

_Eum._ I thinke this boy be a spirit. 675
How knowst thou all this?

_Jacke._ Tut, are not you the man, sir, denie it if you can, sir, that
gave all the money you had to the burying of a poore man, and but
one three-halfe-pence left in your pursse? Content you, sir, Ile serve
you, that is flat. 680

_Eum._ Well, my lad, since thou art so impornate, I am content to
entertaine thee, not as a servant, but a copartner in my journey. But
whither shall we goe? for I have not any money more than one bare
three halfe-pence.