Chapter IV: Act II: Scene I

_Outside_ Sir HUBERT SUBBOY'S _house, under_ BEATRICE'S
_window_.

_Enter_ FREEVILL, _Pages with torches and Gentlemen with
music_.

_Free._ The morn is yet but young. Here, gentlemen,
This is my Beatrice' window--this the chamber
Of my betrothèd dearest, whose chaste eyes,
Full of loved sweetness and clear cheerfulness,
Have gaged my soul to her enjoyings;
Shredding away all those weak under-branches
Of base affections and unfruitful heats.
Here bestow your music to my voice.

[_A song._

_Enter_ BEATRICE _above_.

Always a virtuous name to my chaste love!

_Bea._ Loved sir, 10
The honour of your wish return to you.
I cannot with a mistress' compliment,
Forcèd discourses, or nice art of wit,
Give entertain to your dear-wishèd presence:
But safely thus,--what hearty gratefulness,
Unsullen silence, unaffected modesty,
And an unignorant shamefastness can express,
Receive as your protested due. 'Faith, my heart,
I am your servant.
O let not my secure simplicity 20
Breed your mislike, as one quite void of skill;
'Tis grace enough in us not to be ill.
I can some good, and, faith, I mean no hurt;
Do not then, sweet, wrong sober ignorance.
I judge you all of virtue, and our vows
Should kill all fears that base distrust can move.
My soul, what say you--still you love?

_Free._ Still!
My vow is up above me, and, like time,
Irrevocable: I am sworn all yours.
No beauty shall untwine our arms, no face 30
In my eyes can or shall seem fair;
And would to God only to me you might
Seem only fair! Let others disesteem
Your matchless graces, so might I safer seem;
Envy I covet not. Far, far be all ostent--
Vain boasts of beauties, soft joys, and the rest:
He that is wise pants on a private breast.
So could I live in desert most unknown,
Yourself to me enough were populous;[28]
Your eyes shall be my joys, my wine that still 40
Shall drown my often cares; your only voice
Shall cast a slumber on my list'ning sense;
You, with soft lip, shall only ope mine eyes
And suck their lids asunder; only you
Shall make me wish to live, and not fear death,
So on your cheeks I might yield latest breath.
O he that thus may live and thus shall die,
May well be envied of a deity.[29]

_Bea._ Dear, my loved heart, be not so passionate;
Nothing extreme lives long. 50

_Free._ But not to be extreme[30]--nothing in love's extreme--
My love receives no mean.

_Bea._ I give you faith; and, prithee, since, poor soul!
I am so easy to believe thee, make it much more pity to
deceive me!
Wear this slight favour in my remembrance.

[_Throweth down a ring to him._

_Free._ Which, when I part from,
Hope, the best of life, ever part from me.

_Bea._ I take you and your word, which may ever live
your servant. See, day is quite broke up--the best of
hours. 61

_Free._ Good morrow, graceful mistress: our nuptial
day holds.

_Bea._ With happy constancy a wishèd day.

[_Exit._

_Free._ Myself and all content rest with you.

_Enter_ MALHEUREUX.

_Mal._ The studious morn, with paler cheek, draws on
The day's bold light. Hark how the free-born birds
Carol their unaffected passions!

[_The nightingales sing._

Now sing they sonnets--thus they cry, We love!
O breath of heaven! thus they, harmless souls, 70
Give entertain to mutual affects.
They have no bawds, no mercenary beds,
No polite restraints, no artificial heats,
No faint dissemblings; no custom makes them blush,
No shame afflicts their name. O you happy beasts!
In whom an inborn heat is not held sin,
How far transcend you wretched, wretched man,
Whom national custom, tyrannous respects
Of slavish order, fetters, lames his power,
Calling that sin in us which in all things else 80
Is Nature's highest virtue.
_O miseri quorum gaudia crimen habent!_
Sure Nature against virtue cross doth fall,
Or virtue's self is oft unnatural.
That I should love a strumpet! I, a man of snow!
Now, shame forsake me--whither am I fallen!
A creature of a public use! my friend's love, too!
To live to be a talk to men--a shame
To my professed virtue! O accursed reason,
How many eyes hast thou to see thy shame, 90
And yet how blind once to prevent defame!

_Free._ _Diaboli virtus in lumbis est!_ Morrow, my
friend. Come, I could make a tedious scene of this
now; but what----Pah! thou art in love with a
courtezan! Why, sir, should we loathe all strumpets,
some men should hate their own mothers or sisters: a
sin against kind, I can tell you.

_Mal._ May it beseem a wise man to be in love?

_Free._ Let wise men alone, 'twill beseem thee and me
well enough. 100

_Mal._ Shall I not offend the vowe[d] band of our
friendship?

_Free._ What, to affect that which thy friend affected?
By Heaven, I resign her freely; the creature and I
must grow off; by this time she has assure[d]ly heard of
my resolved marriage, and no question swears "God's
sacrament, ten towsand divells." I'll resign, i'faith.

_Mal._ I would but embrace her, hear her speak, and
at the most, but kiss her.

_Free._ O friend, he that could live with the smoke of
roast-meat might live at a cheap rate! 111

_Mal._ I shall ne'er prove heartily received;
A kind of flat ungracious modesty,
An insufficient dulness stains my 'haviour.

_Free._ No matter, sir; insufficiency and sottishness
are much commendable in a most discommendable
action: now could I swallow thee, thou hadst wont to
be so harsh and cold: I'll tell thee,--hell and the prodigies
of angry Jove are not so fearful to a thinking mind
as a man without affection. Why, friend, philosophy
and nature are all one; love is the centre in which all
lines close, the common bond of being. 122

_Mal._ O but a chaste reservèd privateness,
A modest continence!

_Free._ I'll tell thee what, take this as firmest sense:--
Incontinence will force a continence;
Heat wasteth heat, light defaceth light,
Nothing is spoiled but by his proper might.
This is something too weighty for thy floor.

_Mal._ But howsoe'er you shade it, the world's eye 130
Shines hot and open on't;
Lying, malice, envy, are held but slidings,
Errors of rage, when custom and the world
Calls lust a crime spotted with blackest terrors.

_Free._ Where errors are held crimes, crimes are but errors.
Along, sir, to her; she's an arrant strumpet; and a
strumpet is a sarpego, venom'd gonorrhy to man--things
actually possessed [_Offers to go out, and suddenly
draws back_]--yet since thou art in love,--and again, as
good make use of a statue--a body without a soul, a carcass
three months dead--yet since thou art in love----

_Mal._ Death, man! my destiny I cannot choose. 142

_Free._ Nay, I hope so. Again, they sell but only flesh,
No jot affection; so that even in the enjoying,
_Absentem marmoreamque putes_.[31] Yet since you needs
must love----

_Mal._ Unavoidable, though folly--worse than madness!

_Free._ It's true; but since you needs must love, you
must know this,--
He that must love, a fool and he must kiss.

_Enter_ COCLEDEMOY.

Master Cocledemoy, _ut vales, Domine_! 150

_Coc._ _Ago tibi gratias_, my worshipful friend, how does
your friend?

_Free._ Out, you rascal!

_Coc._ Hang toasts, you are an ass; much o' your
worship's brain lies in your calves; bread o' god, boy, I
was at supper last night with a new-wean'd bulchin;
bread o' god, drunk, horribly drunk--horribly drunk!
there was a wench, one Frank Frailty, a punk, an honest
polecat, of a clean instep, sound leg, smooth thigh, and
the nimble devil in her buttock. Ah, feast o' grace!
when saw you, Tysefew, or Master Caqueteur, that
prattling gallant of a good draught, common customs,
fortunate impudence, and sound fart? 163

_Free._ Away, rogue!

_Coc._ Hang toasts, my fine boy, my companion as
worshipful.

_Mal._ Yes, I hear you are taken up with scholars and
churchmen.

_Enter_ HOLIFERNES _the barber_.

_Coc._ _Quanquam_[32] _te, Marce, fili_, my fine boy.

_Hol._ Does[33] your worship want a barber-surgeon? 170

_Free._ Farewell, knave; beware the Mulligrubs.

[_Exeunt_ FREEVILL _and_ MALHEREUX.

_Coc._ Let the Mulligrubs beware the knave. What, a
barber-surgeon, my delicate boy?

_Hol._ Yes, sir, an apprentice to surgery.

_Coc._[34] 'Tis, my fine boy. To what bawdy-house doth
your master belong? What's thy name?

_Hol._ Holifernes Reinscure.

_Coc._ Reinscure! Good Master Holifernes, I desire
your further acquaintance; nay, pray ye be covered,
my fine boy: kill thy itch, and heal thy scabs. Is thy
master rotten? 181

_Hol._ My father, forsooth, is dead----

_Coc._ _And laid in his grave.
Alas! what comfort shall Peggy then have!_[35]

_Hol._ None but me, sir; that's my mother's son, I
assure you.

_Coc._ Mother's son? A good witty boy, would live to
read an homily well: and to whom are you going now?

_Hol._ Marry, forsooth, to trim Master Mulligrub the
vintner. 190

_Coc._ Do you know Master Mulligrub?

_Hol._ My godfather, sir.

_Coc._ Good boy: hold up thy chops. I pray thee do
one thing for me: my name is Gudgeon.

_Hol._ Good Master Gudgeon.

_Coc._ Lend me thy basin, razor, and apron.

_Hol._ O Lord, sir![36]

_Coc._ Well spoken; good English. But what's thy
furniture worth?

_Hol._ O Lord, sir, I know not. 200

_Coc._ Well spoken; a boy of a good wit: hold this
pawn; where dost dwell?

_Hol._ At the sign of the Three Razors, sir.

_Coc._ A sign of good shaving, my catastrophonical fine
boy. I have an odd jest to trim Master Mulligrub, for
a wager; a jest, boy; a humour. I'll return thy things
presently. Hold!

_Hol._ What mean you, good Master Gudgeon?

_Coc._ Nothing, faith, but a jest, boy: drink that; I'll
recoil presently. 210

_Hol._ You'll not stay long.

_Coc._ As I am an honest man. The Three Razors?

_Hol._ Ay, sir.

[_Exit_ HOLIFERNES.

_Coc._ Good; and if I shave not Master Mulligrub, my
wit has no edge, and I may[37] go cack in my pewter. Let
me see,--a barber: my scurvy tongue will discover me:
must dissemble, must disguise; for my beard, my false
hair; for my tongue--Spanish, Dutch or Welsh--no, a
Northern barber; very good. Widow Reinscure's man,
well; newly entertain'd, right; so, hang toasts! all cards
have white backs, and all knaves would seem to have
white breasts: so proceed now, worshipful Cocledemoy.

[_Exit_ COCLEDEMOY, _in his barber's furniture_.

[28] "It is impossible to resist the idea that Marston was here
thinking of Shakespeare: 'Nor doth this wood lack worlds of
company. For you, in my respect, are all the
world.'"--_Halliwell._

[29] Ed. 1. "dietie,"--a recognised form of the word _deity_. See
the index to _Old Plays_, ed. Bullen, _sub_ DIETY.

[30] I suggest the following arrangement:--

"_Free._ _Be not extreme!_
Nothing in love's extreme, my love receives
No mean.
_Bea._ I give you faith, and prithee since,
Poor soul! I am so easy to believe thee,
Make it much more [a] pity to deceive me."

[31] Martial, xi. 60.

[32] The opening words of Cicero's _De Officiis_.

[33] "Does ... surgeon" given to Cocledemoy in the old eds.

[34] Not marked in old eds.

[35] On 26th September 1588 "A ballad intytuled _Peggies
Complaint for the Death of her Willye_" was entered in the
Stationers' Registers: I suppose that Cocledemoy is quoting from
this ballad. In _The Three Lords and Three Ladies of London,_
1590 (Hazlitt's _Dodsley_, vi. 393), the ballad of "Peggy and
Willy" is mentioned.

[36] See note 2, vol. i. p. 32.

[37] Omitted in ed. 2.

SCENE II.

_Franceschina's lodging._

_Enter_ MARY FAUGH, _and_ FRANCESCHINA _with her hair
loose, chafing_.

_Mar._ Nay, good sweet daughter, do not swagger so;
you hear your love is to be married, true; he does cast
you off, right; he will leave you to the world,--what then?
though blue and white, black and green, leave you, may
not red and yellow entertain you? is there but one
colour in the rainbow?

_Fra._ Grand grincome[38] on your sentences! God's
sacrament, ten towsand divels take you!--you ha'
brought mine love, mine honour, mine body, all to
noting! 10

_Mar._ To nothing! I'll be sworn I have brought them
to all the things I could; I ha' made as much o' your
maidenhead--and you had been mine own daughter, I
could not ha' sold your maidenhead oft'ner than I ha'
done. I ha' sworn for you, God forgive me! I have
made you acquainted with the Spaniard, Don Skirtoll,--with
the Italian, Messer Beieroane,--with the Irish lord,
S. Patrick,--with the Dutch merchant, Haunce Herkin
Glukin Skellam Flapdragon,--and specially with the
greatest French, and now lastly with this English, yet, in
my conscience, an honest gentleman. And am I now
grown one of the accursed with you for my labour? Is
this my reward? Am I call'd bawd? Well, Mary Faugh,
go thy ways, Mary Faugh; thy kind heart will bring thee
to the hospital. 25

_Fra._ Nay, good naunt, you'll help me to an oder love,
vil you not?

_Mar._ Out, thou naughty belly! wouldst thou make
me thy bawd?--thou'st best make me thy bawd. I ha'
kept counsel for thee: who paid the apothecary,--was't
not honest Mary Faugh? who redeem'd thy petticoat
and mantle,--was't not honest Mary Faugh? who helped
thee to thy custom,--not swaggering Ireland captains,
nor of two-shilling inns-o'-court men,--but with honest
flat-caps,[39] wealthy flat-caps, that pay for their pleasure
the best of any men in Europe, nay, which is more, in
London? And dost thou defy me, vile creature? 37

_Fra._ Foutra[40] pon you,--vitch, bawd, polecat,--paugh!
Did not you praise Freevill to mine love?

_Mar._ I did praise, I confess, I did praise him; I said
he was a fool, an unthrift, a true whoremaster, I confess;
a constant drab-keeper, I confess: but what, the wind is
turn'd!

_Fra._ It is, it is, vile woman!--reprobate woman!--naughty
woman! it is: vat sall become of mine poor
flesh now? mine body must turn Turk for twopence.
O Divela, life o' mine art! ick sall be reveng'd!--do ten
thousand hell damn me, ick sall have the rogue trote
cut! and his love, and his friend, and all his affinity, sall
smart! sall dye! sall hang! Now legion of devil seize
him!--de gran pest, St. Anthony's fire, and de hot
Neapolitan poc, rot him! 52

_Enter_ FREEVILL _and_ MALHEUREUX.

_Free._ Franceschina!

_Fra._ O mine seet, dear'st, kindest, mine loving! O
mine towsand, ten towsand, delicated, petty[41] seet art!

[_Cantat Gallicè._

A[h] mine, a[h] dear leevest affection!

_Free._ Why, monkey, no fashion in you! Give entertain
to my friend.

_Fra._ Ick sall make de most of you dat courtesy may.
Aunt Mary, Mettre Faugh, stools, stools, for des gallants!
_Mine mettre sing non oder song_,[42]--frolic, frolic, sir!-- 61
_but still complain me do her wrong_. Lighten your heart,
sir; for _me did but kiss her_,--for me did but kiss her--and
_so let go_. Your friend is very heavy; ick sall ne'er
like such sad company.

_Free._ No, thou delightest only in light company.

_Fra._ By mine trot, he been very sad; vat ail you, sir?

_Mal._ A tooth-ache, lady, a paltry rheum.

_Fra._ De diet is very goot for de rheum.

_Free._ How far off dwells the house-surgeon, Mary
Faugh? 71

_Mar._ You are a profane fellow, i'faith; I little thought
to hear such ungodly terms come from your lips.

_Fra._ Pre de now, 'tis but a toy, a very trifle.

_Free._ I care not for the value, Frank, but i'faith----

_Fra._ I'fait, me must needs have it (dis is Beatrice'
ring, oh could I get it!); seet, pre de now, as ever you
have embraced me with a hearty arm, a warm thought,
or a pleasing touch, as ever you will profess to love me,
as ever you do wish me life, give me dis ring, dis little
ring. 81

_Free._ Prithee be not uncivilly importunate; sha' not
ha't; faith, I care not for thee, nor thy jealousy; sha'
not ha't, i'faith.

_Fra._ You do not love me. I hear of Sir Hubert
Subboys' daughter, Mistress Beatrice. God's sacrament,
ick could scratch out her eyes, and suck the holes!

_Free._ Go; y' are grown a punk rampant!

_Fran._ So, get thee gone; ne'er more behold min eyes,
by thee made wretched! 90

_Free._ Mary Faugh, farewell!--farewell, Frank!

_Fra._ Sall I not ha' de ring?

_Free._ No, by the Lord!

_Fra._ By te Lord?

_Free._ By the Lord!

_Fra._ Go to your new blouze,--your unproved sluttery,--your
modest mettre, forsooth!

_Free._ Marry, will I, forsooth!

_Fra._ Will you marry, forsooth?

_Free._ Do not turn witch before thy time.-- 100
With all my heart, sir, you will stay.

_Mal._ I am no whit myself. _Video meliora proboque_,
But raging lust my fate all strong doth move;
The gods themselves cannot be wise and love.

_Free._ Your wishes to you!

[_Exit_ FREEVILL.

_Mal._ Beauty entirely choice--

_Fra._ Pray ye prove a man of fashion, and neglect
the neglected.

_Mal._ Can such a rarity be neglected?--can there be
measure or sin in loving such a creature?

_Fra._ O min poor forsaken heart! 110

_Mal._ I cannot contain,--he saw thee not that left thee.
If there be wisdom, reason, honour, grace,
Of any foolishly-esteemèd virtue,
In giving o'er possession of such beauty,
Let me be vicious, so I may be loved.
Passion, I am thy slave; sweet, it shall be my grace,
That I account thy love my only virtue:
Shall I swear I am thy most vowèd servant?

_Fra._ Mine vowed? Go! go! go! I cannot more of
love. No! no! no! You bin all unconstant. O unfaithful
men--tyrants--betrayers--de very enjoying us loseth
us; and when you only ha' made us hateful, you only
hate us. O mine forsaken heart! 123

_Mal._ I must not rave. Silence and modesty two
customary virtues. Will you be my mistress?

_Fra._ Mettres? Ha! ha! ha!

_Mal._ Will you lie with me?

_Fra._ Lie with you? O no; you men will out-lie any
woman; fait, me no more can love.

_Mal._ No matter, let me enjoy your bed. 130

_Fra._ O! vile man, vat do you tinck on me? Do you
take me to be a beast--a creature that for sense only
will entertain love, and not only for love--love? O!
brutish abomination!

_Mal._ Why, then I pray thee love, and with thy love
enjoy me----

_Fra._ Give me reason to affect you. Will you swear
you love me?

_Mal._ So seriously, that I protest no office so dangerous--no
deed so unreasonable--no cost so heavy, but I vow
to the utmost tentation of my best being to effect it. 141

_Fra._ Sall I, or can I trust again? O fool!
How natural 'tis for us to be abused!
Sall ick be sure that no satiety,
No enjoying,
Not time shall languish your affection?

_Mal._ If there be ought in brain, heart, or hand,
Can make you doubtless, I am your vow'd servant.

_Fra._ Will you do one ting for me?

_Mal._ Can I do it? 150

_Fra._ Yes, yes; but ick do not love dis same Freevill.

_Mal._ Well?

_Fra._ Nay, I do hate him.

_Mal._ So.

_Fra._ By this kiss I hate him.

_Mal._ I love to feel such oaths; swear again.

_Fra._ No, no. Did you ever hear of any that loved at
the first sight?

_Mal._ A thing most proper.

_Fra._ Now fait, I judge it all incredible until this hour
I saw you: pretty fair-eyed yout, would you enjoy
me? 162

_Mal._ Rather than my breath, even as my being.

_Fra._ Vel! had ick not made a vow----

_Mal._ What vow?

_Fra._ O let me forget it; it makes us both despair!

_Mal._ Dear soul, what vow?

_Fra._ Ha, good morrow, gentle sir; endeavour to forget
me, as I must be enforced to forget all men. Sweet
mind rest in you. 170

_Mal._ Stay, let not thy desire burst me. O my
impatient heat endures no resistance--no protraction!
there is no being for me but your sudden enjoying.

_Fra._ I do not love Freevill.

_Mal._ But what vow? what vow?

_Fra._ So long as Freevill lives, I must not love.

_Mal._ Then he--

_Fra._ Must--

_Mal._ Die!

_Fra._ I [k]no[w] there is no such vehemence in your affects. 180
Would I were anything, so he were not!

_Mal._ Will you be mine when he is not?

_Fra._ Will I? Dear, dear breast, by this most zealous
kiss! but I will not persuade you; but if you hate him
that I loathe most deadly; yet as you please--I'll
persuade noting.

_Mal._ Will you be only mine?

_Fra._ Vill I? How hard 'tis for true love to dissemble.
I am only yours.

_Mal._ 'Tis as irrevocable as breath: he dies. 190
Your love!

_Fra._ My vow,--not until he be dead;
Which that I may be sure not to infringe,
Dis token of his death sall satisfy:
He has a ring, as dear as the air to him,
His new love's gift; tat got and brought to me,
I shall assurèd your professèd rest.

_Mal._ To kill a man?

_Fra._ O! done safely; a quarrel sudden pick'd,
With an advantage strike--then bribe--a little coin,
All's safe, dear soul; but I'll not set you on. 200

_Mal._ Nay, he is gone--the ring! Well, come, little
more liberal of thy love.

_Fra._ Not yet; my vow.

_Mal._ O Heaven! there is no hell but love's prolongings.
Dear, farewell.

_Fra._ Farewell.
Now does my heart swell high, for my revenge
Has birth and form; first friend sall kill his friend.
He dat survives I'll hang; besides de chaste
Beatrice I'll vex. Only de ring; 210
Dat got, the world sall know the worst of evils:
Woman corrupted is the worst of devils.

[_Exit_ FRANCESCHINA.

_Mal._ To kill my friend! O 'tis to kill myself!
Yet man's but man's excrement--man breeding man
As he does worms; or this, to spoil this nothing.

[_He spits._

The body of a man is of the self-same mould[43]
As ox or horse; no murder to kill these.
As for that only part which makes us man,
Murder wants power to touch't. O wit, how vile!
How hellish art thou, when thou raisest nature 220
'Gainst sacred faith! Think more: to kill a friend
To gain a woman! to lose a virtuous self
For appetite and sensual end, whose very having
Loseth all appetite, and gives satiety!
That corporal end, remorse and inward blushings,
Forcing us loathe the steam of our own heats;
Whilst friendship closed in virtue, being spiritual,
Tastes no such languishings, and moments' pleasure
With much repentance; but like rivers flow,
And further that they run they bigger grow. 230
Lord, how was I misgone! how easy 'tis to err,
When passion will not give us leave to think!
A learn'd, that is an honest man, may fear,
And lust, and rage, and malice,[44] and anything,
When he is taken uncollected suddenly:
'Tis sin of cold blood, mischief with waked eyes,
That is the damnèd and the truly[45] vice;
Not he that's passionless, but he 'bove passion's wise.
My friend shall know it all.

[_Exit._

[38] "Grand grincome"--the pox.

[39] A nickname for citizens. (Ed. 1. "atte-cappes;" ed. 2.
"art-caps.")

[40] A contemptuous exclamation.

[41] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "pretty."

[42] From a song in Robert Jones's _First Book of Songs and Airs_
[1601]:
"My mistress sings no other song
But still complains I did her wrong:
Believe her not, it is not so,
I did but kiss her and let her go," &c.

[43] Old eds. "soule."

[44] The verb _malice_ is not uncommon. It is used by Spenser,
Marlowe, Ben Jonson, &c.

[45] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "truest."

SCENE III.

_A Tavern._

_Enter_ Master MULLIGRUB _and_ Mistress MULLIGRUB,
_she with a bag of money_.

_Mistress Mul._ It is right, I assure you, just fifteen
pounds.

_Mul._ Well, Cocledemoy, 'tis thou putt'st me to this
charge; but, and I catch thee, I'll charge thee with as
many irons. Well, is the barber come? I'll be trimm'd,
and then to Cheapside to buy a fair piece of plate, to
furnish the loss. Is the barber come?

_Mistress Mul._ Truth, husband, surely heaven is not
pleased with our vocation. We do wink at the sins of
our people. Our wines are protestants; and I speak
it to my grief, and to the burthen of my conscience, we
fry our fish with salt butter. 12

_Mul._ Go, look to your business; mend the matter,
and score false with a vengeance.

[_Exit_ Mistress MULLIGRUB.

_Enter_ COCLEDEMOY _like a barber_.

Welcome, friend, whose man?

_Coc._ Widow Reinscure's man; and shall please your
good worship, my name's Andrew Shark.

_Mul._ How does my godson, good Andrew?

_Coc._ Very well, he's gone to trim Master Quicquid,
our parson. Hold up your head. 20

_Mul._ How long have you been a barber, Andrew?

_Coc._ Not long, sir; this two year.

_Mul._ What! and a good workman already. I dare
scarce trust my head to thee.

_Coc._ O, fear not; we ha' poll'd better men than you;
we learn the trade very quickly. Will your good worship
be shaven or cut?

_Mul._ As you will. What trade didst live by before
thou turnedst barber, Andrew?

_Coc._ I was a pedlar in Germany; but my countrymen
thrive better by this trade. 31

_Mul._ What's the news, barber? thou art sometimes at
court.

_Coc._ Sometimes poll a page or so, sir.

_Mul._ And what's the news? How do all my good
lords and all my good ladies, and all the rest of my
acquaintance?

_Coc._ What an arrogant knave's this! I'll acquaintance
ye! 'Tis cash!--[_He spieth the bag._]--Say ye, sir?

_Mul._ And what news--what news, good Andrew? 40

_Coc._ Marry, sir, you know the Conduit at Greenwich,
and the under-holes that spouts up water?

_Mul._ Very well; I was wash'd there one day, and so
was my wife--you might have wrung her smock, i'faith!
But what o' those holes?

_Coc._ Thus, sir. Out of those little holes, in the midst
of the night, crawl'd out twenty-four huge, horrible, monstrous,
fearful, devouring----

_Mul._ Bless us! 49

_Coc._ Serpents, which no sooner were beheld, but they
turn'd to mastiffs, which howl'd; those mastiffs instantly
turn'd to cocks, which crowed; those cocks, in a moment,
were changed to bears, which roar'd; which bears are at
this hour to be yet seen in Paris Garden, living upon
nothing but toasted cheese and green onions.

_Mul._ By the Lord! and this may be, my wife and I
will go see them. This portends something.

_Coc._ [_aside._] Yes, worshipful fist,[46] thou'st feel what
portends by and by. 59

_Mul._ And what more news? You shave the world--especially
you barber-surgeons--you know the ground of
many things. You are cunning privy searchers: by the
mass, you scour all. What more news?

_Coc._ They say, sir, that twenty-five couple of Spanish
jennets are to be seen, hand in hand, dance the old
measures,[47] whilst six goodly Flaunders mares play to
them on a noise[48] of flutes.

_Mul._ O monstrous! this is a lie o' my word. Nay,
and this be not a lie--I am no fool, I warrant--nay,
make an ass of me once? 70

_Coc._ Shut your eyes close--wink; sure, sir, this ball
will make you smart.

_Mul._ I do wink.

_Coc._ Your head will take cold;

[COCLEDEMOY _puts on a coxcomb on_ MULLIGRUB'S _head_.]

I will put on your good worship's nightcap whilst I
shave you. So, mum, hang toasts! Faugh, _via!_[49] sparrows
must peck and Cocledemoy munch. 77

_Mul._ Ha, ha, ha! Twenty-five couple of Spanish
jennets to dance the old measures. Andrew makes my
worship laugh, i'faith. Dost take me for an ass, Andrew?--dost
know one Cocledemoy in town? He made me an
ass last night, but I'll ass him! Art thou free, Andrew?
Shave me well--I shall be one of the common council
shortly--and then, Andrew--why, Andrew, Andrew,
dost leave me in the suds?

CANTAT.

Why, Andrew, I shall be blind with winking. Ha!
Andrew--wife--Andrew, what means this? Wife!--my
money, wife! 88

_Enter_ Mistress MULLIGRUB.

_Mistress Mul._ What's the noise with you? What ail
you?

_Mul._ Where's the barber?

_Mistress Mul._ Gone. I saw him depart long since.
Why, are not you trimm'd?

_Mul._ Trimm'd! O wife! I am shaved. Did you
take hence the money?

_Mistress Mul._ I touch'd it not, as I am religious.

_Mul._ O Lord! I have wink'd fair.

_Enter_ HOLIFERNES.

_Hol._ I pray, godfather, give me your blessing.

_Mul._ O Holifernes--O where's thy mother's Andrew? 100

_Hol._ Blessing, godfather!

_Mul._ The devil choke thee! where's Andrew, thy
mother's man?

_Hol._ My mother hath none such, forsooth.

_Mul._ My money--fifteen pounds--plague of all Andrews!
who was't trimm'd me?

_Hol._ I know not, godfather; only one met me, as I
was coming to you, and borrowed my furniture, as he
said, for a jest' sake.

_Mul._ What kind of fellow? 110

_Hol._ A thick, elderly, stub-bearded fellow.

_Mul._ Cocledemoy, Cocledemoy! Raise all the wise
men in the street! I'll hang him with mine own hands!
O wife! some _rosa solis_.[50]

_Mistress Mul._ Good husband, take comfort in the
Lord; I'll play the devil, but I'll recover it. Have a
good conscience, 'tis but a week's cutting[51] in the term!

_Mul._ O, wife! O, wife! O, Jack! how does thy
mother? Is there any fiddlers in the house?

_Mistress Mul._ Yes, Master Creak's[52] noise? 120

_Mul._ Bid 'em play, laugh, make merry; cast up my
accounts, for I'll go hang myself presently. I will not
curse, but a pox on Cocledemoy; he has poll'd and
shaved me, he has trimm'd me!

[_Exeunt._

[46] Old eds. "fiest." _Fist_ is a term of contempt (= fister,
stinkard). "_Vessifier_, to breed a _fyste_, to make breake wind
or let a fyste."--_Cotgrave._

[47] A grave stately dance.

[48] _Noise_ in old writers usually means a company of musicians.

[49] See note, p. 20. [Transcriber's Note: Footnote [27]]

[50] A cordial.

[51] Mistress Mulligrub consoles her husband with the thought
that in one week of term-time the fifteen pounds may be recovered
by help of a little _sharping_ (in the way of adulterating the
liquors, frothing the cans, &c.).

[52] So in _2 Henry IV._ we have a mention of "Sneak's noise."