Part 4
Kind gentlemen and honest boon companions, I present you here with a merry-conceited Comedy, called _The Shoemaker’s Holiday_, acted by my Lord Admiral’s Players this present Christmas before the Queen’s most excellent Majesty, for the mirth and pleasant matter by her Highness graciously accepted, being indeed no way offensive. The argument of the play I will set down in this Epistle: Sir Hugh Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, had a young gentleman of his own name, his near kinsman, that loved the Lord Mayor’s daughter of London; to prevent and cross which love, the Earl caused his kinsman to be sent Colonel of a company into France: who resigned his place to another gentleman his friend, and came disguised like a Dutch shoemaker to the house of Simon Eyre in Tower Street, who served the Mayor and his household with shoes: the merriments that passed in Eyre’s house, his coming to be Mayor of London, Lacy’s getting his love, and other accidents, with two merry Three-men’s-songs. Take all in good worth that is well intended, for nothing is purposed but mirth; mirth lengtheneth long life, which, with all other blessings, I heartily wish you. Farewell!
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[Illustration: PROLOGUE]
_As it was pronounced before the Queen’s Majesty._
As wretches in a storm (expecting day), With trembling hands and eyes cast up to heaven, Make prayers the anchor of their conquered hopes, So we, dear goddess, wonder of all eyes, Your meanest vassals, through mistrust and fear To sink into the bottom of disgrace By our imperfect pastimes, prostrate thus On bended knees, our sails of hope do strike, Dreading the bitter storms of your dislike. Since then, unhappy men, our hap is such, That to ourselves ourselves no help can bring, But needs must perish, if your saint-like ears (Locking the temple where all mercy sits) Refuse the tribute of our begging tongues: Oh grant, bright mirror of true chastity, From those life-breathing stars, your sun-like eyes, One gracious smile: for your celestial breath Must send us life, or sentence us to death.
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[Illustration: _DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._]
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 } Citizens of London. Master SCOTT } SIMON EYRE, the Shoemaker. ROGER, commonly called HODGE[4] } FIRK } EYRE’S Journeymen. RALPH } LOVELL, a Courtier. DODGER, Servant to the EARL OF LINCOLN. A DUTCH SKIPPER. A BOY.
[4] A diminutive of Roger.
Courtiers, Attendants, Officers, Soldiers, Hunters, Shoemakers, Apprentices, Servants.
ROSE, Daughter of SIR ROGER. SYBIL, her Maid. MARGERY, Wife of SIMON EYRE. JANE, Wife of RALPH.
SCENE--LONDON and OLD FORD.
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_THE SHOEMAKER’S HOLIDAY_
ACT THE FIRST.
## SCENE I.--_A Street in London._
_Enter the_ LORD MAYOR _and the_ EARL OF LINCOLN.
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 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 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 coin, 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 journeyed through half Germany, But all his coin was spent, his men cast off, His bills embezzled,[5] and my jolly coz, Ashamed 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.
[5] Wasted, squandered.
_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 learned 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 Mustered in London and the shires about, To serve his highness in those wars of France. See where he comes!--
_Enter_ LOVELL, LACY, _and_ ASKEW.
Lovell, what news with you?
_Lovell._ My Lord of Lincoln, ’tis his highness’ will, That presently 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 prepared in Finsbury, With frolic spirits long for their parting hour.
_L. Mayor._ They have their imprest,[6] coats, and furniture;[7] 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.
[6] Regimental badge or device.
[7] Weapons and martial equipment.
_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 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[8] 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._
[8] A gold coin, worth about three pounds twelve shillings.
_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 prefixèd 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?
_Enter_ SIMON EYRE, MARGERY _his wife_, HODGE, FIRK, JANE, _and_ RALPH _with a pair of shoes_.[9]
[9] The quarto has “with a piece.” Piece (old Fr. _bobelin_) was sometimes loosely used for the shoe itself, as well as for the piece of leather used in repairs. See _Cotgrave_.
_Eyre._ Leave whining, leave whining! Away with this whimpering, this puling, these blubbering tears, and these wet eyes! I’ll get thy husband discharged, 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,[10] away! I am a man of the best presence; I’ll speak to them, an 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 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.
[10] Twiddle-twaddle.
_Marg._ Seven years, husband?
_Eyre._ Peace, midriff, peace! I know what I do. Peace!
_Firk._ Truly, master cormorant, 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 pressed, 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 entered, but let that pass.
_Eyre._ Away with your pishery-pashery, your pols and your edipols![11] Peace, midriff; silence, Cicely Bumtrinket! Let your head speak.
[11] Apparently one of Eyre’s frequent improvised phrases, referring here to his wife’s trick of repeating herself, as in her previous speech.
_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. Take him, brave men; Hector of Troy was an hackney to him, Hercules and Termagant[12] scoundrels, Prince Arthur’s Round-table--by the Lord of Ludgate[13]--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.
[12] An imaginary Saracen god, represented in the old moralities and plays as of a quite ungodly tendency to violence.
[13] A nick-name, possibly, for some character of the day, used with a vague reference to King Lud.
_Firk._ See, see, Hodge, how my master raves in commendation of Ralph!
_Hodge._ Ralph, th’art a gull, 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.
_Enter_ DODGER.
_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 breathed on earth; He sets more discord in a noble house By one day’s broaching of his pickthank tales,[14] Than can be salved again in twenty years, And he, I fear, shall go with us to France, To pry into our actions.
[14] Tales told to curry favour.
_Askew._ Therefore, coz, It shall behove you to be circumspect.
_Lacy._ Fear not, good cousin.--Ralph, hie to your colours.
_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 cracked groats,[15] you mustard tokens,[16] disquiet not the brave soldier. Go thy ways, Ralph!
[15] The groat was the silver fourpenny-piece. The simile of a cracked coin is an obvious expression of worthlessness.
[16] Little yellow spots on the body which denoted the infection of the plague.
_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;[17] 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!
[17] Another of Eyre’s improvised phrases, whose component parts sufficiently explain its meaning.
_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 thee to cram thy slops 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, Stitched by my fellow Firk, seamed by myself, Made up and pinked 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_.
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ACT THE SECOND.
## SCENE I.--_A Garden at Old Ford._
_Enter_ ROSE, _alone, making a garland_.
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 lowered you so at my nativity, To make me love, yet live robbed of my love? Here as a thief am I imprisonëd 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.
_Enter_ SYBIL.
_Sybil._ Good morrow, young mistress. I am sure you make that garland for me; against 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, looked 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![18] He passed by me as proud--Marry foh! are you grown humorous, thought I; and so shut the door, and in I came.
[18] With a vengeance.
_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.[19] He looked upon me as sour as verjuice. Go thy ways, thought I; thou may’st be much in my gaskins,[20] but nothing in my nether-stocks. 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![21]
[19] Crushed crab apples.
[20] A kind of trousers, first worn by the Gascons.
[21] A phrase from Kyd’s _Spanish Tragedy_.
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,[22] young mistress.
[22] _i.e._ Go and be hanged!
_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._
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## SCENE II.--_A Street in London._
_Enter_ LACY, _disguised as a Dutch Shoemaker_.
_Lacy._ How many shapes have gods and kings devised, Thereby to compass their desired loves! It is no shame for Rowland Lacy, then, To clothe his cunning with the gentle craft, That, thus disguised, I may unknown possess The only happy presence of my Rose. For her have I forsook my charge in France, Incurred the king’s displeasure, and stirred 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 conveyed 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 dismayed, Thou canst not want: do Fortune what she can, The gentle craft is living for a man. [_Exit._
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## SCENE III.--_An open Yard before_ EYRE’S _House_.
_Enter_ EYRE, _making himself ready_.[23]
[23] _i.e._ Dressing himself.
_Eyre._ Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels? They wallow in the fat brewiss[24] 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[25] queans! What, Nan! what, Madge Mumble-crust. Come out, you fat midriff-swag-belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels 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!
[24] Bread soaked in pot liquor, and prepared _secundum artem_.--_Nares._
[25] Salted beef.
_Enter_ FIRK.
_Firk._ O master, is’t you that speak bandog[26] and Bedlam 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?
[26] A dog kept fastened up as a watch-dog, and therefore given to loud barking.
_Eyre._ Ah, well said, Firk; well said, Firk. To work, my fine knave, to work! Wash thy face, and thou’lt be more blest.
_Firk._ Let them wash my face that will eat it. Good master, send for a souse-wife,[27] if you’ll have my face cleaner.
[27] A woman who washed and pickled pigs’ faces.
_Enter_ HODGE.
_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.
_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?
_Enter_ MARGERY.
_Eyre._ How now, Dame Margery, can you see to rise? Trip and go, call up the drabs, your maids.