THOMAS DEKKER’S career is an extreme instance of the hazardous life led by the professional author in the time of Shakespeare. Born in London about 1570, Dekker first appears certainly as a dramatist about 1598, when we find him working on plays in collaboration with other dramatists in the pay of the manager, Henslowe. He wrote, in partnership or alone, many dramas; and when the market for these was dull he turned to the writing of entertainments, occasional verses, and prose pamphlets on a great variety of subjects. But all his activity seems to have failed to supply a decent livelihood, for he was often in prison for debt, at one time for a period of three years; and most of the biographical details about him which have come down to us are connected with borrowing money or getting into jail or out of it. He disappears from view in the thirties of the seventeenth century.

  “The Shoemaker’s Holiday,” first acted in 1599, is a good example of Dekker’s work in the drama. The story is taken from Thomas Deloney’s “Gentle Craft,” and gives an opportunity for a picture of life among the trades-people of London at a period when the frequency in the drama of Italian Dukes and Cardinals is liable to make us forget that, in spite of vice and frivolity in high places, the world was still kept going by decent work-people who attended to their business. The play is full of an atmosphere of pleasant mirth, varied with characteristic touches of pathos; and it contains in the figure of Simon Eyre a creation of marked individuality and hilarious humor. It is striking that the most high-spirited picture of London life in the time of Elizabeth should come from the pen of the author who seems to have been more hardly treated by fortune than any of his contemporaries.

  THE KING.

  THE EARL OF CORNWALL.

  SIR HUGH LACY, Earl of Lincoln.

  ROWLAND LACY, otherwise HANS, & ASKEW: His Nephews.

  SIR ROGER OATELEY, Lord Mayor of London.

  Master HAMMON, Master WARNER & Master SCOTT: Citizens of London.

  SIMON EYRE, the Shoemaker.

  ROGER, commonly called Hodge, FIRK & RALPH: Eyre’s Journeymen

  LOVELL, a Courtier.

  DODGER, Servant to the EARL OF LINCOLN.

  A DUTCH SKIPPER.

  A BOY.

  ROSE, Daughter of SIR ROGER.

  SYBIL, her Maid.

  MARGERY, Wife of SIMON EYRE.

  JANE, Wife of RALPH.

  Courtiers, Attendants, Officers, Soldiers, Hunters, Shoemakers, Apprentices, Servants.

  SCENE— London and Old Ford

  Lincoln . MY lord mayor, you have sundry times

  Feasted myself and many courtiers more;

  Seldom or never can we be so kind

  To make requital of your courtesy.

  But leaving this, I hear my cousin Lacy

  Is much affected to 2 your daughter Rose.

  L. MAYOR. True, my good lord, and she loves him so well

  That I mislike her boldness in the chase.

  LINCOLN. Why, my lord mayor, think you it then a shame,

  To join a Lacy with an Oateley’s name—

  L. MAYOR. Too mean is my poor girl for his high birth;

  Poor citizens must not with courtiers wed,

  Who will in silks and gay apparel spend

  More in one year than I am worth, by far:

  Therefore your honour need not doubt 3 my girl.

  LINCOLN. Take heed, my lord, advise you what you do!

  A verier unthrift lives not in the world,

  Than is my cousin; for I’ll tell you what:

  ’Tis now almost a year since he requested

  To travel countries for experience.

  I furnished him with coins, bills of exchange,

  Letters of credit, men to wait on him,

  Solicited my friends in Italy

  Well to respect him. But to see the end:

  Scant had he journey’d through half Germany,

  But all his coin was spent, his men cast off,

  His bills embezzl’d, 4 and my jolly coz, 5

  Asham’d to show his bankrupt presence here,

  Became a shoemaker in Wittenberg,

  A goodly science for a gentleman

  Of such descent! Now judge the rest by this:

  Suppose your daughter have a thousand pound,

  He did consume me more in one half year;

  And make him heir to all the wealth you have

  One twelvemonth’s rioting will waste it all.

  Then seek, my lord, some honest citizen

  To wed your daughter to.

  L. MAYOR. I thank your lordship.

  [Aside.] Well, fox, I understand your subtilty.—

  As for your nephew, let your lordship’s eye

  But watch his actions, and you need not fear,

  For I have sent my daughter far enough.

  And yet your cousin Rowland might do well,

  Now he hath learn’d an occupation;

  And yet I scorn to call him son-in-law.

  LINCOLN. Ay, but I have a better trade for him.

  I thank his grace, he hath appointed him

  Chief colonel of all those companies

  Must’red in London and the shires about,

  To serve his highness in those wars of France.

  See where he comes!—

  Lovell, what news with you—

  LOVELL. My Lord of Lincoln, ’tis his highness’ will,

  That presently 6 your cousin ship for France

  With all his powers; he would not for a million,

  But they should land at Dieppe within four days.

  LINCOLN. Go certify his grace, it shall be done. Exit LOVELL.

  Now, cousin Lacy, in what forwardness

  Are all your companies—

  LACY. All well prepared.

  The men of Hertfordshire lie at Mile-end,

  Suffolk and Essex train in Tothill-fields,

  The Londoners and those of Middlesex,

  All gallantly prepar’d in Finsbury,

  With frolic spirits long for their parting hour.

  L. MAYOR. They have their imprest, 7 coats, and furniture; 8

  And, if it please your cousin Lacy come

  To the Guildhall, he shall receive his pay;

  And twenty pounds besides my brethren

  Will freely give him, to approve our loves

  We bear unto my lord, your uncle here.

  LACY. I thank your honour.

  LINCOLN. Thanks, my good lord mayor.

  L. MAYOR. At the Guildhall we will expect your coming. Exit.

  LINCOLN. To approve your loves to me— No subtilty!

  Nephew, that twenty pound he doth bestow

  For joy to rid you from his daughter Rose.

  But, cousins both, now here are none but friends,

  I would not have you cast an amorous eye

  Upon so mean a project as the love

  Of a gay, wanton, painted citizen.

  I know, this churl even in the height of scorn

  Doth hate the mixture of his blood with thine.

  I pray thee, do thou so! Remember, coz,

  What honourable fortunes wait on thee.

  Increase the king’s love, which so brightly shines,

  And gilds thy hopes. I have no heir but thee,—

  And yet not thee, if with a wayward spirit

  Thou start from the true bias 9 of my love.

  LACY. My lord, I will for honour, not desire

  Of land or livings, or to be your heir,

  So guide my actions in pursuit of France,

  As shall add glory to the Lacys’ name.

  LINCOLN. Coz, for those words here’s thirty Portuguese, 10

  And, nephew Askew, there’s a few for you.

  Fair Honour, in her loftiest eminence,

  Stays in France for you, till you fetch her thence.

  Then, nephews, clap swift wings on your designs.

  Begone, begone, make haste to the Guildhall;

  There presently I’ll meet you. Do not stay:

  Where honour beckons, shame attends delay. Exit.

  ASKEW. How gladly would your uncle have you gone!

  LACY. True, coz, but I’ll o’erreach his policies.

  I have some serious business for three days,

  Which nothing but my presence can dispatch.

  You, therefore, cousin, with the companies,

  Shall haste to Dover; there I’ll meet with you:

  Or, if I stay past my prefixed time,

  Away for France; we’ll meet in Normandy.

  The twenty pounds my lord mayor gives to me

  You shall receive, and these ten Portuguese,

  Part of mine uncle’s thirty. Gentle coz,

  Have care to our great charge; I know, your wisdom

  Hath tried itself in higher consequence.

  ASKEW. Coz, all myself am yours: yet have this care,

  To lodge in London with all secrecy;

  Our uncle Lincoln hath, besides his own,

  Many a jealous eye, that in your face

  Stares only to watch means for your disgrace.

  LACY. Stay, cousin, who be these—

  EYRE. Leave whining, leave whining! Away with this whimpering, this puling, these blubbering tears, and these wet eyes! I’ll get thy husband discharg’d, I warrant thee, sweet Jane; go to!

  HODGE. Master, here be the captains.

  EYRE. Peace, Hodge; hush, ye knave, hush!

  FIRK. Here be the cavaliers and the colonels, master.

  EYRE. Peace, Firk; peace, my fine Firk! Stand by with your pishery-pashery, 12 away! I am a man of the best presence; I’ll speak to them, an 13 they were Popes.—Gentlemen, captains, colonels, commanders! Brave men, brave leaders, may it please you to give me audience. I am Simon Eyre, the mad shoemaker of Tower Street; this wench with the mealy mouth that will never tire, is my wife, I can tell you; here’s Hodge, my man and my foreman; here’s Firk, my fine firking 14 journeyman, and this is blubbered Jane. All we come to be suitors for this honest Ralph. Keep him at home, and as I am a true shoemaker and a gentleman of the gentle craft, buy spurs yourselves, and I’ll find ye boots these seven years.

  MARG. Seven years, husband—

  EYRE. Peace, midriff, 15 peace! I know what I do. Peace!

  FIRK. Truly, master cormorant, 16 you shall do God good service to let Ralph and his wife stay together. She’s a young new-married woman; if you take her husband away from her a-night, you undo her; she may beg in the day-time; for he’s as good a workman at a prick and an awl, as any is in our trade.

  JANE. O let him stay, else I shall be undone.

  FIRK. Ay, truly, she shall be laid at one side like a pair of old shoes else, and be occupied for no use.

  LACY. Truly, my friends, it lies not in my power:

  The Londoners are press’d, 17 paid, and set forth

  By the lord mayor; I cannot change a man.

  HODGE. Why, then you were as good be a corporal as a colonel, if you cannot discharge one good fellow; and I tell you true, I think you do more than you can answer, to press a man within a year and a day of his marriage.

  EYRE. Well said, melancholy Hodge; gramercy, my fine foreman.

  MARG. Truly, gentlemen, it were ill done for such as you, to stand so stiffly against a poor young wife, considering her case, she is new-married, but let that pass. I pray, deal not roughly with her; her husband is a young man, and but newly ent’red, but let that pass.

  EYRE. Away with our pishery-pashery, your pols and your edipols! 18 Peace, midriff; silence, Cicely Bumtrinket! Let your head speak.

  FIRK. Yea, and the horns too, master.

  EYRE. Too soon, my fine Firk, too soon! Peace, scoundrels! See you this man— Captains, you will not release him— Well, let him go; he’s a proper shot; let him vanish! Peace, Jane, dry up thy tears, they’ll make his powder dankish. 19 Take him, brave men; Hector of Troy was an hackney to him, Hercules and Termagant 20 scoundrels. Prince Arthur’s Round-table-by the Lord of Ludgate—ne’er fed such a tall, such a dapper swordsman; by the life

  of Pharaoh, a brave, resolute swordsman! Peace, Jane! I say no more, mad

  knaves.

  FIRK. See, see, Hodge, how my master raves in commendation of Ralph!

  HODGE. Ralph, th’art a gull, 21 by this hand, an thou goest not.

  ASKEW. I am glad, good Master Eyre, it is my hap

  To meet so resolute a soldier.

  Trust me, for your report and love to him,

  A common slight regard shall not respect him.

  LACY. Is thy name Ralph—

  RALPH. Yes, sir.

  LACY. Give me thy hand;

  Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman.

  Woman, be patient; God, no doubt, will send

  Thy husband safe again; but he must go,

  His country’s quarrel says it shall be so.

  HODGE. Th’art a gull, by my stirrup, if thou dost not go. I will not have thee strike thy gimlet into these weak vessels; prick thine enemies, Ralph.

  DODGER. My lord, your uncle on the Tower-hill

  Stays with the lord mayor and the aldermen,

  And doth request you with all speed you may,

  To hasten thither.

  ASKEW. Cousin, let’s go.

  LACY. Dodger, run you before, tell them we come.—

  This Dodger is mine uncle’s parasite, Exit DODGER.

  The arrant’st varlet that e’er breath’d on earth;

  He sets more discord in a noble house

  By one day’s broaching of his pickthank tales, 22

  Than can be salv’d 23 again in twenty years,

  And he, I fear, shall go with us to France,

  To pry into our actions.

  ASKEW. Therefore, coz,

  It shall behove you to be circumspect.

  LACY. Fear not, good cousin.—Ralph, hie to your colours. [Exit LACY and ASKEW.]

  RALPH. I must, because there’s no remedy;

  But, gentle master and my loving dame,

  As you have always been a friend to me,

  So in mine absence think upon my wife.

  JANE. Alas, my Ralph.

  MARG. She cannot speak for weeping.

  EYRE. Peace, you crack’d groats, 24 you mustard tokens, 25 disquiet not the brave soldier. Go thy ways, Ralph!

  JANE. Ay, ay, you bid him go; what shall I do

  When he is gone—

  FIRK. Why, be doing with me or my fellow Hodge; be not idle.

  EYRE. Let me see thy hand, Jane. This fine hand, this white hand, these pretty fingers must spin, must card, must work; work, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; work for your living, with a pox to you.—Hold thee, Ralph, here’s five sixpences for thee; fight for the honour of the gentle craft, for the gentlemen shoemakers, the courageous cordwainers, the flower of St. Martin’s, the mad knaves of Bedlam, Fleet Street, Tower Street and Whitechapel; crack me the crowns of the French knaves; a pox on them, crack them; fight, by the Lord of Ludgate; fight, my fine boy!

  FIRK. Here, Ralph, here’s three twopences: two carry into France, the third shall wash our souls at parting, for sorrow is dry. For my sake, firk the Basa mon cues.

  HODGE. Ralph, I am heavy at parting; but here’s a shilling for thee. God send 26 thee to cram thy slops 27 with French crowns, and thy enemies’ bellies with bullets.

  RALPH. I thank you, master, and I thank you all.

  Now, gentle wife, my loving lovely Jane,

  Rich men, at parting, give their wives rich gifts,

  Jewels and rings, to grace their lily hands.

  Thou know’st our trade makes rings for women’s heels:

  Here take this pair of shoes, cut out by Hodge,

  Stitch’d by my fellow Firk, seam’d by myself,

  Made up and pink’d 28 with letters for thy name.

  Wear them, my dear Jane, for thy husband’s sake,

  And every morning, when thou pull’st them on,

  Remember me, and pray for my return.

  Make much of them; for I have made them so

  That I can know them from a thousand mo. Drum sounds. Enter the LORD MAYOR, the EARL OF LINCOLN, LACY, ASKEW, DODGER, and Soldiers. They pass over the stage; RALPH falls in amongst them; FIRK and the rest cry “Farewell,” etc., and so exeunt.

  Note 1. A street in London

  Note 2. In love with.

  Note 3. Fear.

  Note 4. Wasted.

  Note 5. Cousin; used of any relative not of one’s immediate family.

  Note 6. At once.

  Note 7. Regimental badge.

  Note 8. Equipment.

  Note 9. Inclination.

  Note 10. A gold coin, worth about three pounds twelve shillings.

  Note 11. Piece of leather.

  Note 12. Twiddle-twaddle.

  Note 13. If.

  Note 14. Frisky, tricky.

  Note 15. Used as a term of contempt.

  Note 16. Quibbling on colonel.

  Note 17. Impressed into service.

  Note 18. Solemn declarations.

  Note 19. Damp.

  Note 20. An imaginary Saracen god.

  Note 21. Fool.

  Note 22. Tales told to curry favor.

  Note 23. Healed.

  Note 24. Fourpenny-pieces.

  Note 25. Yellow spots on the body denoting the infection of the plague.

  Note 26. Grant.

  Note 27. Breeches (=pockets).

  Note 28. Perforated.

  ROSE. Here sit thou down upon this flow’ry bank,

  And make a garland for thy Lacy’s head.

  These pinks, these roses, and these violets,

  These blushing gilliflowers, these marigolds,

  The fair embroidery of his coronet,

  Carry not half such beauty in their cheeks,

  As the sweet countenance of my Lacy doth.

  O my most unkind father! O my stars,

  Why lower’d you so at my nativity,

  To make me love, yet live robb’d of my love—

  Here as a thief am I imprisoned

  For my dear Lacy’s sake within those walls,

  Which by my father’s cost were builded up

  For better purposes. Here must I languish

  For him that doth as much lament, I know,

  Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.

  SYBIL. Good morrow, young mistress. I am sure you make that garland for me; against 2 I shall be Lady of the Harvest.

  ROSE. Sybil, what news at London—

  SYBIL. None but good; my lord mayor, your father, and master Philpot, your uncle, and Master Scot, your cousin, and Mistress Frigbottom by Doctors’ Commons, do all, by my troth, send you most hearty commendations.

  ROSE. Did Lacy send kind greetings to his love—

  SYBIL. O yes, out of cry, by my troth. I scant knew him; here ’a wore a scarf; and here a scarf, here a bunch of feathers, and here precious stones and jewels, and a pair of garters,—O, monstrous! like one of our yellow silk curtains at home here in Old Ford House here, in Master Belly-mount’s chamber. I stood at our door in Cornhill, look’d at him, he at me indeed, spake to him, but he not to me, not a word; marry go-up, thought I, with a wanion! 3 He passed by me as proud—Marry foh! are you grown humorous, 4 thought I; and so shut the door, and in I came.

  ROSE. O Sybil, how dost thou my Lacy wrong!

  My Rowland is as gentle as a lamb.

  No dove was ever half so mild as he.

  SYBIL. Mild— yea, as a bushel of stamped crabs. 5 He looked upon me as sour as verjuice. 6 Go thy ways, thought I: thou may’st be much in my gaskins, 7 but nothing in my nether-stocks. 8 This is your fault, mistress, to love him that loves not you; he thinks scorn to do as he’s done to; but if I were as you, I’d cry, ‘Go by, Jeronimo, go by!’ 9

  I’d set mine old debts against my new driblets,

  And the hare’s foot against the goose giblets,

  For if ever I sigh, when sleep I should take,

  Pray God I may lose my maidenhead when I wake.

  ROSE. Will my love leave me then, and go to France—

  SYBIL. I know not that, but I am sure I see him stalk before the soldiers. By my troth, he is a proper man; but he is proper that proper doth. Let him go snick-up, 10 young mistress.

  ROSE. Get thee to London, and learn perfectly

  Whether my Lacy go to France, or no.

  Do this, and I will give thee for thy pains

  My cambric apron and my Romish gloves,

  My purple stockings and a stomacher.

  Say, wilt thou do this, Sybil, for my sake—

  SYBIL. Will I, quoth’a— At whose suit— By my troth, yes, I’ll go. A cambric apron, gloves, a pair of purple stockings, and a stomacher! I’ll sweat in purple, mistress, for you; I’ll take anything that comes a’ God’s name. O rich! a cambric apron! Faith, then have at ‘up tails all.’ I’ll go jiggy-joggy to London, and be here in a trice, young mistress. Exit.

  ROSE. Do so, good Sybil. Meantime wretched I

  Will sit and sigh for his lost company. Exit.

  Note 1. A garden at Old Ford.

  Note 2. In preparation.

  Note 3. With a vengeance.

  Note 4. Capricious.

  Note 5. Crushed crab apples.

  Note 6. Juice of green fruits.

  Note 7. Wide trousers.

  Note 8. Stockings. The meaning seems to be that though we may be acquainted we are not intimate friends.

  Note 9. A phrase from Kyd’s Spanish Tragedy.

  Note 10. Go and be hanged!

  LACY. How many shapes have gods and kings devis’d,

  Thereby to compass their desired loves!

  It is no shame for Rowland Lacy, then,

  To clothe his cunning with the gentle craft,

  That, thus disguis’d, I may unknown possess

  The only happy presence of my Rose.

  For her have I forsook my charge in France,

  Incurr’d the king’s displeasure, and stirr’d up

  Rough hatred in mine uncle Lincoln’s breast.

  O love, how powerful art thou, that canst change

  High birth to baseness, and a noble mind

  To the mean semblance of a shoemaker!

  But thus it must be. For her cruel father,

  Hating the single union of our souls,

  Has secretly convey’d my Rose from London,

  To bar me of her presence; but I trust,

  Fortune and this disguise will further me

  Once more to view her beauty, gain her sight.

  Here in Tower Street with Eyre the shoemaker

  Mean I a while to work; I know the trade,

  I learnt it when I was in Wittenberg.

  Then cheer thy hoping spirits, be not dismay’d,

  Thou canst not want: do Fortune what she can,

  The gentle craft if living for a man. Exit.

  Note 1. A street in London,

  EYRE. Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels— They wallow in the fat brewiss 3 of my bounty, and lick up the crumbs of my table, yet will not rise to see my walks cleansed. Come out, you powder-beef 4 queans! What, Nan! what, Madge Mumble-crust. Come out, you fat midriff-swag-belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels 5 that the noisome stench offend not the noses of my neighbours. What, Firk, I say; what, Hodge! Open my shop-windows! What, Firk, I say!

  FIRK. O master, is’t you that speak bandog 6 and Bedlam 7 this morning— I was in a dream, and mused what madman was got into the street so early. Have you drunk this morning that your throat is so clear—

  EYRE. Ah, well said, Firk; well said, Firk. To work, my fine knave, to work! Wash thy face, and thou’t be more blest.

  FIRK. Let them wash my face that will eat it. Good master, send for a souse-wife, 8 if you’ll have my face cleaner.

  EYRE. Away, sloven! avaunt, scoundrel!—Good-morrow, Hodge; good-morrow, my fine foreman.

  HODGE. O master, good-morrow; y’are an early stirrer. Here’s a fair morning.—Good-morrow, Firk, I could have slept this hour. Here’s a brave day towards. 9

  EYRE. Oh, haste to work, my fine foreman, haste to work.

  FIRK. Master, I am dry as dust to hear my fellow Roger talk of fair weather; let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and ploughboys and those that work in the fields pray for brave days. We work in a dry shop; what care I if it rain—

  EYRE. How now, Dame Margery, can you see to rise— Trip and go, call up the drabs, your maids.

  MARG. See to rise— I hope ’tis time enough, ’tis early enough for any woman to be seen abroad. I marvel how many wives in Tower Street are up so soon. Gods me, ’tis not noon,—here’s a yawling! 10

  EYRE. Peace, Margery, peace! Where’s Cicely Bumtrinket, your maid— She has a privy fault, she farts in her sleep. Call the quean up; if my men want shoe-thread, I’ll swinge her in a stirrup.

  FIRK. Yet, that’s but a dry beating; here’s still a sign of drought.

  Der was een bore van Gelderland

  Frolick sie byen;

  He was als dronck he cold nyet stand,

  Upsolce sie byen.

  Tap eens de canneken,

  Drincke, schone mannekin. 11

  FIRK. Master, for my life, yonder’s a brother of the gentle craft; if he bear not Saint Hugh’s bones, 12 I’ll forfeit my bones; he’s some uplandish workman: hire him, good master, that I may learn some gibble-gabble; ’twill; make us work the faster.

  EYRE. Peace, Firk! A hard world! Let him pass, let him vanish; we have journeymen enow. Peace, my fine Firk!

  MARG. Nay, nay, y’are best follow your man’s counsel; you shall see what will come on’t. We have not me enow, but we must entertain every butter-box; 13 but let that pass.

  HODGE. Dame, ’fore God, if my master follow your counsel, he’ll consume little beef. He shall be glad of men an he can catch them.

  FIRK. Ay, that he shall.

  HODGE. ’Fore God, a proper man, and I warrant, a fine workman. Master, farewell; dame, adieu; if such a man as he cannot find work, Hodge is not for you. Offers to go.

  EYRE. Stay, my fine Hodge.

  FIRK. Faith, an your foreman go, dame, you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman; if Roger remove, Firk follows. If Saint Hugh’s bones shall not be set a-work, I may prick mine awl in the walls, and go play. Fare ye well, master; good-bye, dame.

  EYRE. Tarry, my fine Hodge, my brisk foreman! Stay, Firk! Peace, pudding-broth! By the Lord of Ludgate, I love my men as my life. Peace, you gallimaufry! 14 Hodge, if he want work, I’ll hire him. One of you to him; stay,—he comes to us.

  LACY. Goeden dach, meester, ende u vro oak. 15

  FIRK. Nails, 16 if I should speak after him without drinking, I should choke. And you, friend Oake, are you of the gentle craft—

  LACY. Yaw, yaw, ik bin den skomawker. 17

  FIRK. Den skomaker, quoth ’a! And hark you, skomaker, have you all your tools, a good rubbing-pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your four sorts of awls, and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand- and thumb-leathers, and good St. Hugh’s bones to smooth up your work—

  LACY. Yaw, yaw; be niet vorveard. Ik hab all de dingen voour mack skooes groot and cleane. 18

  FIRK. Ha, ha! Good master, hire him; he’ll make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth than I can in earnest.

  EYRE. Hear ye, friend, have ye any skill in the mystery of cordwainers—

  LACY. Ik weet niet wat yow seg; ich verstaw you niet. 19

  FIRK. Why, thus, man: [Imitating by gesture a shoemaker at work.] Ich verste u niet, quoth ’a.

  LACY. Yaw, yaw, yaw; ick can dat wel doen. 20

  FIRK. Yaw, yaw! He speaks yawing like a jackdaw that gapes to be fed with cheese-curds. Oh, he’ll give a villanous pull at a can of double-beer; but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeymen.

  EYRE. What is thy name—

  LACY. Hans—Hans Meulter.

  EYRE. Give me thy hand; th’art welcome.—Hodge, entertain him; Firk, bid him welcome; come, Hans. Run, wife, bid your maids, your trullibubs, 21 make ready my fine men’s breakfasts. To him, Hodge!

  HODGE. Hans, th’art welcome; use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows; if not, thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a giant.

  FIRK. Yea, and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua. My master keeps no cowards, I tell thee.—Ho, boy, bring him an heel-block, here’s a new journeyman.

  LACY. O, ich wersto you; ich moet een halve dossen cans betaelen; here, boy, nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke. 22Exit Boy.

  EYRE. Quick, snipper-snapper, away! Firk, scour thy throat; thou shalt wash it with Castilian liquor.

  Come, my last of the fives, give me a can. Have to thee, Hans; here, Hodge; here, Firk; drink, you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre, the shoemaker.—Here, Hans, and th’art welcome.

  FIRK. Lo, dame, you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh. This beer came hopping in well.

  MARG. Simon, it is almost seven.

  EYRE. Is’t so, Dame Clapper-dudgeon— 23 Is’t seven a clock, and my men’s breakfast not ready— Trip and go, you soused conger, 24 away! Come, you mad hyperboreans; follow me, Hodge; follow me, Hans; come after, my fine Firk; to work, to work a while, and then to breakfast! [Exit.

  FIRK. Soft! Yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have no more wit but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman. [Exeunt.

  Note 1. Before Eyre’s house.

  Note 2. Dressing himself.

  Note 3. Beef broth.

  Note 4. Salted beef.

  Note 5. Gutters.

  Note 6. Watch-dog.

  Note 7. Madman.

  Note 8. A woman who washed and pickled pigs’ faces.

  Note 9. Coming.

  Note 10. Bawling.

  Note 11. The language is, of course, meant for Dutch. ‘There was a boor from Gelderland’

  Note 12. The bones of St. Hugh, the patron saint of shoemakers, were supposed to have been made into shoemaker’s tools.

  Note 13. Dutchman.

  Note 14. A dish of different hashed meats. Many of Eyre’s words have no particular appropriateness.

  Note 15. Good day, master, and your wife too.

  Note 16. An oath.

  Note 17. Yes, yes, I am a shoemaker.

  Note 18. Yes, yes; be not afraid. I have everything to make boots big and little.

  Note 19. I don’t know what you say; I don’t understand you

  Note 20. Yes, yes, yes; I can do that well.

  Note 21. Slatterns.

  Note 22. O, I understand you; I must pay for half-a-dozen cans; here,

  Note 23. Slang for beggar.

  Note 24. Conger-eel.

  HAM. Cousin, beat every brake, the game’s not far,

  This way with winged feet he fled from death,

  Whilst the pursuing hounds, scenting his steps,

  Find out his highway to destruction.

  Besides, the miller’s boy told me even now,

  He saw him take soil, 2 and he holloaed him

  Affirming him to have been so embost 3

  That long he could not hold.

  WARN. If it be so,

  ’Tis best we trace these meadows by Old Ford.

  HAM. How now, boy— Where’s the deer— speak, saw’st thou him—

  BOY. O yea; I saw him leap through a hedge, and then over a ditch, then at my lord mayor’s pale, over he skipp’d me, and in he went me, and ‘holla’ the hunters cried, and ‘there, boy; there, boy!’ But there he is, a’ mine honesty.

  HAM. Boy, Godamercy. Cousin, let’s away; I hope we shall find better sport to-day. Exeunt.

  Note 1. A field near Old Ford

  Note 2. Cover.

  Note 3. Exhausted.

  ROSE. Why, Sybil, wilt thou prove a forester—

  SYBIL. Upon some, no. Forester— Go by; no, faith, mistress. The deer came running into the barn through the orchard and over the pale; I wot well, I looked as pale as a new cheese to see him. But whip, says Goodman Pin-close, up with his flail, and our Nick with a prong, and down he fell, and they upon him, and I upon them. By my troth, we had such sport; and in the end we ended him; his throat we cut, flayed him, unhorn’d him, and my lord mayor shall eat of him anon, when he comes. Horns sound within.

  Hark, hark, the hunters come; y’are best take heed,

  They’ll have a saying to you for this deed.

  HAM. God save you, fair ladies.

  SYBIL. Ladies! O gross! 2

  WARN. Came not a buck this way—

  ROSE. No, but two does.

  HAM. And which way went they— Faith, we’ll hunt at those.

  SYBIL. At those— Upon some, no. When, can you tell—

  WARN. Upon some, ay.

  SYBIL. Good Lord!

  WARN. Wounds! 3 Then farewell!

  HAM. Boy, which way went he—

  BOY. This way, sir, he ran.

  HAM. This way he ran indeed, fair Mistress Rose;

  Our game was lately in your orchard seen.

  WARN. Can you advise, which way he took his flight—

  SYBIL. Follow your nose; his horns will guide you right.

  WARN. Th’art a mad wench.

  SYBIL. O, rich!

  ROSE. Trust me, not I.

  It is not like that the wild forest-deer

  Would come so near to places of resort;

  You are deceiv’d, he fled some other way.

  WARN. Which way, my sugar-candy, can you shew—

  SYBIL. Come up, good honeysops, upon some, no.

  ROSE. Why do you stay, and not pursue your game—

  SYBIL. I’ll hold my life, their hunting-nags be lame.

  HAM. A deer more dear is found within this place.

  ROSE. But not the deer, sir, which you had in chase.

  HAM. I chas’d the deer, but this dear chaseth me.

  ROSE. The strangest hunting that ever I see.

  But where’s your park— She offers to go away.

  HAM. ’Tis here: O stay!

  ROSE. Impale me, and then I will not stray.

  WARN. They wrangle, wench; we are more kind than they.

  SYBIL. What kind of hart is that dear heart, you seek—

  WARN. A hart, dear heart.

  SYBIL. Who ever saw the like—

  ROSE. To lose your heart, is’t possible you can—

  HAM. My heart is lost.

  ROSE. Alack, good gentleman!

  HAM. This poor lost hart would I wish you might find.

  ROSE. You, by such luck, might prove your hart a hind.

  HAM. Why, Luck had horns, so have I heard some say.

  ROSE. Now, God, an’t be his will, send Luck into your way.

  L. MAYOR. What, Master Hammon— Welcome to Old Ford!

  SYBIL. Gods pittikins, 4 Hands off, sir! Here’s my lord.

  L. MAYOR. I hear you had ill luck, and lost your game.

  HAM. ’Tis true, my lord.

  L. MAYOR. I am sorry for the same.

  What gentleman is this—

  HAM. My brother-in-law.

  L. MAYOR. Y’are welcome both; sith Fortune offers you

  Into my hands, you shall not part from hence,

  Until you have refresh’d your wearied limbs.

  Go, Sybil, cover the board! You shall be guest

  To no good cheer, but even a hunter’s feast.

  HAM. I thank your lordship.—Cousin, on my life,

  For our lost venison I shall find a wife. Exeunt [all but MAYOR].

  L. MAYOR. In, gentlemen; I’ll not be absent long.—

  This Hammon is a proper gentleman,

  A citizen by birth, fairly allied;

  How fit an husband were he for my girl!

  Well, I will in, and do the best I can,

  To match my daughter to this gentleman. Exit.

  Note 1. The garden at Old Ford.

  Note 2. Stupid.

  Note 3. An oath.

  Note 4. By God’s pity.

  SKIP. Ick sal yow wat seggen, Hans; dis skip, dat comen from Candy, is al vol, by Got’s sacrament, van sugar, civet, almonds, cambrick, end alle dingen, towsand towsand ding. Nempt it, Hans, nempt it vor v meester. Daer be de bils van laden. Your meester Simon Eyre sal hae good copen. Wat seggen yow, Hans— 2

  FIRK. Wat seggen de reggen de copen, slopen-laugh, Hodge, laugh! Hans. Mine liever broder Firk, bringt Meester Eyre tot det signe un Swannekin; daer sal yow finde dis skipper end me. Wat seggen yow, broder Firk— Doot it, Hodge. 3

  Come, skipper. Exeunt.

  FIRK. Bring him, quoth you— Here’s no knavery, to bring my master to buy a ship worth the lading of two or three hundred thousand pounds. Alas, that’s nothing; a trifle, a bauble, Hodge.

  HODGE. The truth is, Firk, that the merchant owner of the ship dares not shew his head, and therefore this skipper that deals for him, for the love he bears to Hans, offers my master Eyre a bargain in the commodities. He shall have a reasonable day of payment; he may sell the wares by that time, and be an huge gainer himself.

  FIRK. Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twenty porpentines as an earnest penny—

  HODGE. Portuguese, 4 thou wouldst say; here they be, Firk; hark, they jingle in my pocket like St. Mary Overy’s bells.

  FIRK. Mum, here comes my dame and my master. She’ll scold, on my life, for loitering this Monday: but all’s one, let them all say what they can, Monday’s our holiday.

  You sing, Sir Sauce, but I beshrew your heart,

  I fear, for this your singing we shall smart.

  FIRK. Smart for me, dame; why, dame, why—

  HODGE. Master, I hope you’ll not suffer my dame to take down your journeymen.

  FIRK. If she take me down, I’ll take her up; yea, and take her down too, a button-hole lower.

  EYRE. Peace, Firk; not I, Hodge; by the life of Pharaoh, by the Lord of Ludgate, by this beard, every hair whereof I value at a king’s ransom, she shall not meddle with you.—Peace, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; away, queen of clubs; quarrel not with me and my men, with me and my fine Firk; I’ll firk you, if you do.

  MARG. Yea, yea, man, you may use me as you please; but let that pass.

  EYRE. Let it pass, let it vanish away; peace! Am I not Simon Eyre— Are not these my brave men, brave shoemakers, all gentlemen of the gentle craft— Prince am I none, yet am I nobly born, as being the sole son of a shoemaker. Away, rubbish! vanish, melt; melt like kitchen-stuff.

  MARG. Yea, yea, ’tis well; I must be call’d rubbish, kitchen-stuff, for a sort 5 of knaves.

  FIRK. Nay, dame, you shall not weep and wail in woe for me. Master, I’ll stay no longer; here’s an inventory of my shop-tools. Adieu, master; Hodge, farewell.

  HODGE. Nay, stay, Firk; thou shalt not go alone.

  MARG. I pray, let them go; there be more maids than Mawkin, more men than Hodge, and more fools than Firk.

  FIRK. Fools— Nails! if I tarry now, I would my guts might be turn’d to shoe-thread.

  HODGE. And if I stay, I pray God I may be turn’d to a Turk, and set in Finsbury 6 for boys to shoot at.—Come, Firk.

  EYRE. Stay, my fine knaves, you arms of my trade, you pillars of my profession. What, shall a tittle-tattle’s words make you forsake Simon Eyre——Avaunt, kitchen-stuff! Rip, you brown-bread Tannikin; out of my sight! Move me not! Have not I ta’en you from selling tripes in East-cheap, and set you in my shop, and made you hail-fellow with Simon Eyre, the shoemaker— And now do you deal thus with my journeymen— Look, you powder-beef-quean, on the face of Hodge, here’s a face for a lord.

  FIRK. And here’s a face for any lady in Christendom.

  EYRE. Rip, you chitterling, avaunt! Boy, bid the tapster of the Boar’s Head fill me a dozen cans of beer for my journeymen.

  FIRK. A dozen cans— O, brave! Hodge, now I’ll stay.

  EYRE. [In a low voice to the Boy.] An the knave fills any more than two, he pays for them. [Exit Boy. Aloud.]—A dozen cans of beer for my journeymen. [Re-enter Boy.] Here, you mad Mesopotamians, wash your livers with this liquor. Where be the odd ten— No more, Madge, no more.—Well said. Drink and to work!—What work dost thou, Hodge— What work—

  HODGE. I am a making a pair of shoes for my lord mayor’s daughter, Mistress Rose.

  FIRK. And I a pair of shoes for Sybil, my lord’s maid. I deal with her.

  EYRE. Sybil— Fie, defile not thy fine workmanly fingers with the feet of kitchen-stuff and basting-ladles. Ladies of the court, fine ladies my lads, commit their feet to our apparelling; put gross work to Hans. Yark and seam, yark 7 and seam!

  FIRK. For yarking and seaming let me alone, an I come to’t.

  HODGE. Well, master, all this is from the bias. 8 Do you remember the ship my fellow Hans told you of— The skipper and he are both drinking at the Swan. Here be the Portuguese to give earnest. If you go through with it, you cannot choose but be a lord at least.

  FIRK. Nay, dame, if my master prove not a lord, and you a lady, hang me.

  MARG. Yea, like enough, if you may loiter and tipple thus.

  FIRK. Tipple, dame— No, we have been bargaining with Skellum Skanderbag: 9 can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of silk Cyprus, laden with sugar-candy.

  EYRE. Peace, Firk; silence, Tittle-tattle! Hodge, I’ll go through with it. Here’s a seal-ring, and I have sent for a guarded gown 10 and a damask cassock. See where it comes; look here, Maggy; help me, Firk; apparel me, Hodge; silk and satin, you mad Philistines, silk and satin.

  FIRK. Ha, ha, my master will be as proud as a dog in a doublet, all in beaten 11 damask and velvet.

  EYRE. Softly, Firk, for rearing 12 of the nap, and wearing threadbare my garments. How dost thou like me, Firk— How do I look, my fine Hodge—

  HODGE. Why, now you look like yourself, master. I warrant you, there’s few in the city but will give you the wall, 13 and come upon you with 14 the right worshipful.

  FIRK. Nails, my master looks like a threadbare cloak new turned and dressed. Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment doth! Dame, dame, are you not enamoured—

  EYRE. How say’st thou, Maggy, am I not brisk— Am I not fine—

  MARG. Fine— By my troth, sweetheart, very fine! By my troth, I never liked thee so well in my life, sweetheart; but let that pass. I warrant, there be many women in the city have not such handsome husbands, but only for their apparel; but let that pass too.

  HANS. Godden day, mester. Dis be de skipper dat heb de skip van marchandice; de commodity ben good; nempt it, master, nempt it. 15

  EYRE. Godamercy, Hans; welcome, skipper. Where lies this ship of merchandise—

  SKIP. De skip ben in revere; dor be van Sugar, cyvet, almonds, cambrick, and a towsand, towsand tings, gotz sacrament; nempt it, mester: ye sal heb good copen. 16

  FIRK. To him, master! O sweet master! O sweet wares! Prunes, almonds, sugar-candy, carrot-roots, turnips, O brave fatting meat! Let not a man buy a nutmeg but yourself.

  EYRE. Peace, Firk! Come, skipper, I’ll go aboard with you.—Hans, have you made him drink—

  SKIP. Yaw, yaw, ic heb veale gedrunck. 17

  EYRE. Come, Hans, follow me. Skipper, thou shalt have my countenance in the city. Exeunt.

  FIRK. Yaw heb veale gedrunck, quoth a. They may well be called butter-boxes, when they drink fat veal and thick beer too. But come, dame, I hope you’ll chide us no more.

  MARG. No, faith, Firk; no, perdy, 18 Hodge. I do feel honour creep upon me, and which is more, a certain rising in my flesh; but let that pass.

  FIRK. Rising in your flesh do you feel, say you— Ay, you may be with child, but why should not my master feel a rising in his flesh, having a gown and a gold ring on— But you are such a shrew, you’ll soon pull him down.

  MARG. Ha, ha! prithee, peace! Thou mak’st my worship laugh; but let that pass. Come, I’ll go in; Hodge, prithee, go before me; Firk, follow me.

  FIRK. Firk doth follow: Hodge, pass out in state. Exeunt.

  Note 1. A room in Eyre’s house.

  Note 2. I’ll tell you what, Hans; this ship that is come from Candia, is quite full, by God’s sacrament, of sugar, civet, almonds, cambric, and all things; a thousand, thousand things. Take it, Hans, take it for your master. There are the bills of lading. Your master, Simon Eyre, shall have a good bargain. What say you, Hans—

  Note 3. My dear brother Firk, bring Master Eyre to the sign of the Swan; there shall you find this skipper and me. What say you, brother Firk— Do it, Hodge.

  Note 4. A coin worth about three pounds twelve shillings.

  Note 5. Set.

  Note 6. Finsbury was a famous practising ground for archery.

  Note 7. Prepare.

  Note 8. Beside the point.

  Note 9. German: Schelm, a scoundrel. Skanderbag, or Scander Beg (i. e. Lord Alexander), a Turkish name for John Kastriota, the Albanian hero, who freed his country from the yoke of the Turks (1443-1467).—Warnke and Proescholdt.

  Note 10. A robe ornamented with guards or facings.

  Note 11. Stamped.

  Note 12. Ruffling.

  Note 13. Yield precedence.

  Note 14. Address you as.

  Note 15. Good day, master. This is the skipper that has the ship of merchandise; the commodity is good; take it, master, take it.

  Note 16. The ship lies in the river; there are sugar, civet, almonds, cambric, and a thousand thousand things. By God’s sacrament, take it, master; you shall have a good bargain.

  Note 17. Yes, yes, I have drunk well.

  Note 18. Fr. Par Dieu.

  LINCOLN. How now, good Dodger, what’s the news in France—

  DODGER. My lord, upon the eighteenth day of May

  The French and English were prepar’d to fight;

  Each side with eager fury gave the sign

  Of a most hot encounter. Five long hours

  Both armies fought together; at the length

  The lot of victory fell on our side.

  Twelve thousand of the Frenchmen that day died,

  Four thousand English, and no man of name

  But Captain Hyam and young Ardington,

  Two gallant gentlemen, I knew them well.

  LINCOLN. But Dodger, prithee, tell me, in this fight

  How did my cousin Lacy bear himself—

  DODGER. My lord, your cousin Lacy was not there.

  LINCOLN. Not there—

  DODGER. No, my good lord.

  LINCOLN. Sure, thou mistakest.

  I saw him shipp’d, and a thousand eyes beside

  Were witnesses of the farewells which he gave,

  When I, with weeping eyes, bid him adieu.

  Dodger, take heed.

  DODGER. My lord, I am advis’d 2

  That what I spake is true: to prove it so,

  His cousin Askew, that supplied his place,

  Sent me for him from France, that secretly

  He might convey himself thither.

  LINCOLN. Is’t even so—

  Dares he so carelessly venture his life

  Upon the indignation of a king—

  Has he despis’d my love, and spurn’d those favours

  Which I with prodigal hand pour’d on his head—

  He shall repent his rashness with his soul;

  Since of my love he makes no estimate,

  I’ll make him wish he had not known my hate.

  Thou hast no other news—

  DODGER. None else, my lord.

  LINCOLN. None worse I know thou hast.—Procure the king

  To crown his giddy brows with ample honours,

  Send him chief colonel, and all my hope

  Thus to be dash’d! But ’tis in vain to grieve,

  One evil cannot a worse relieve.

  Upon my life, I have found out his plot;

  That old dog, Love, that fawn’d upon him so,

  Love to that puling girl, his fair-cheek’d Rose,

  The lord mayor’s daughter, hath distracted him,

  And in the fire of that love’s lunacy

  Hath he burnt up himself, consum’d his credit,

  Lost the king’s love, yea, and I fear, his life,

  Only to get a wanton to his wife,

  Dodger, it is so.

  DODGER. I fear so, my good lord.

  LINCOLN. It is so—nay, sure it cannot be!

  I am at my wits’ end. Dodger!

  DODGER. Yea, my lord.

  LINCOLN. Thou art acquainted with my nephew’s haunts.

  Spend this gold for thy pains; go seek him out;

  Watch at my lord mayor’s—there if he live,

  Dodger, thou shalt be sure to meet with him.

  Prithee, be diligent.—Lacy, thy name

  Liv’d once in honour, now ’tis dead in shame.—

  Be circumspect. Exit.

  DODGER. I warrant you, my lord. Exit.

  Note 1. London: a room in Lincoln’s house.

  Note 2. Certainly informed.

  L. MAYOR. Good Master Scott, I have been bold with you,

  To be a witness to a wedding-knot

  Betwixt young Master Hammon and my daughter.

  O, stand aside; see where the lovers come.

  ROSE. Can it be possible you love me so—

  No, no, within those eyeballs I espy

  Apparent likelihoods of flattery.

  Pray now, let go my hand.

  HAM. Sweet Mistress Rose,

  Misconstrue not my words, nor misconceive

  Of my affection, whose devoted soul

  Swears that I love thee dearer than my heart.

  ROSE. As dear as your own heart— I judge it right,

  Men love their hearts best when th’are out of sight.

  HAM. I love you, by this hand.

  ROSE. Yet hands off now!

  If flesh be frail, how weak and frail’s your vow!

  HAM. Then by my life I swear.

  ROSE. Then do not brawl;

  One quarrel loseth wife and life and all.

  Is not your meaning thus—

  HAM. In faith, you jest.

  ROSE. Love loves to sport; therefore leave love, y’are best.

  L. MAYOR. What— square 2 they, Master Scott—

  SCOTT. Sir, never doubt,

  Lovers are quickly in, and quickly out.

  HAM. Sweet Rose, be not so strange in fancying me.

  Nay, never turn aside, shun not my sight:

  I am not grown so fond, to fond 3 my love

  On any that shall quit it with disdain;

  If you will love me, so—if not, farewell.

  L. MAYOR. Why, how now, lovers, are you both agreed—

  HAM. Yes, faith, my lord.

  L. MAYOR. ’Tis well, give me your hand.

  Give me yours, daughter.—How now, both pull back!

  What means this, girl—

  ROSE. I mean to live a maid.

  HAM. But not to die one; pause, ere that be said. Aside.

  L. MAYOR. Will you still cross me, still be obstinate—

  HAM. Nay, chide her not, my lord, for doing well;

  If she can live an happy virgin’s life,

  ’Tis far more blessed than to be a wife.

  ROSE. Say, sir, I cannot: I have made a vow,

  Whoever be my husband, ’tis not you.

  L. MAYOR. Your tongue is quick; but Master Hammon, know,

  I bade you welcome to another end.

  HAM.

  What, would you have me pule and pine and pray,

  With ‘lovely lady,’ ‘mistress of my heart,’

  ‘Pardon your servant,’ and the rhymer play,

  Railing on Cupid and his tyrant’s-dart;

  Or shall I undertake some martial spoil,

  Wearing your glove at tourney and at tilt,

  And tell how many gallants I unhors’d—

  Sweet, will this pleasure you—

  ROSE. Yea, when wilt begin—

  What, love rhymes, man— Fie on that deadly sin!

  L. MAYOR. If you will have her, I’ll make her agree.

  HAM. Enforced love is worse than hate to me.

  [Aside.] There is a wench keeps shop in the Old Change,

  To her will I; it is not wealth I seek,

  I have enough; and will prefer her love

  Before the world.—[Aloud.] My good lord mayor, adieu.

  Old love for me, I have no luck with new. Exit.

  L. MAYOR. Now, mammet, 4 you have well behav’d yourself,

  But you shall curse your coyness if I live.—

  Who’s within there— See you convey your mistress

  Straight to th’ Old Ford! I’ll keep you straight enough.

  Fore God, I would have sworn the pulling girl

  Would willingly accepted Hammon’s love;

  But banish him, my thoughts!—Go, minion, in! Exit ROSE.

  Now tell me, Master Scott, would you have thought

  That Master Simon Eyre, the shoemaker,

  Had been of wealth to buy such merchandise—

  SCOTT. ’Twas well, my lord, your honour and myself

  Grew partners with him; for your bills of lading

  Shew that Eyre’s gains in one commodity

  Rise at the least to full three thousand pound

  Besides like gain in other merchandise.

  L. MAYOR. Well, he shall spend some of his thousands now,

  For I have sent for him to the Guildhall

  See, where he comes.—Good morrow, Master Eyre.

  EYRE. Poor Simon Eyre, my lord, your shoemaker.

  L. MAYOR. Well, well, it likes 5 yourself to term you so.

  Now, Master Dodger, what’s the news with you—

  DODGER. I’d gladly speak in private to your honour.

  L. MAYOR. You shall, you shall.—Master Eyre and Master Scott,

  I have some business with this gentleman;

  I pray, let me entreat you to walk before

  To the Guildhall; I’ll follow presently.

  Master Eyre, I hope ere noon to call you sheriff.

  EYRE. I would not care, my lord, if you might call me King of

  Spain.—Come, Master Scott. [Exeunt EYRE and SCOTT.]

  L. MAYOR. Now, Master Dodger, what’s the news you bring—

  DODGER. The Earl of Lincoln by me greets your lordship,

  And earnestly requests you, if you can,

  Inform him where his nephew Lacy keeps.

  L. MAYOR. Is not his nephew Lacy now in France—

  DODGER. No, I assure your lordship, but disguis’d

  Lurks here in London.

  L. MAYOR. London— Is’t even so—

  It may be; but upon my faith and soul,

  I know not where he lives, or whether he lives:

  So tell my Lord of Lincoln.—Lurks in London—

  Well, Master Dodger, you perhaps my start him;

  Be but the means to rid him into France,

  I’ll give you a dozen angels 6 for your pains;

  So much I love his honour, hate his nephew.

  And, prithee, so inform thy lord from me.

  DODGER. I take my leave. Exit DODGER.

  L. MAYOR. Farewell, good Master Dodger.

  Lacy in London— I dare pawn my life,

  My daughter knows thereof, and for that cause

  Deni’d young Master Hammon in his love.

  Well, I am glad I sent her to Old Ford.

  Gods Lord, ’tis late; to Guildhall I must hie;

  I know my brethren stay 7 my company. Exit.

  Note 1. London: a room in the Lord Mayor’s house.

  Note 2. Quarrel.

  Note 3. Found, set; a pun upon fond.

  Note 4.