Part 17

_Mer._ Thy father fool? there's some blows more, begon. _Jasper_, I hope thy Ghost be well appeased, To see thy will perform'd, now [will I] go To satisfie thy father for thy wrongs. [_Exit._

_Hum._ What shall I do? I have been beaten twice. And Mistris _Luce_ is gone? help me device: Since my true-love is gone, I never more, Whilst I do live, upon the Skie will pore; But in the dark will wear out my shoo-soles In passion, in Saint _Faiths_ Church under _Pauls_. [_Exit._

_Wife. George_ call _Rafe_ hither, if you love me call _Rafe_ hither, I have the bravest thing for him to do _George_; prethee, call him quickly.

_Cit. Rafe_, why _Rafe_ boy.

_Enter_ Rafe.

_Rafe._ Here Sir.

_Cit._ Come hither _Rafe_, come to thy Mistris Boy.

_Wife. Rafe_ I would have thee call all the youths together in battle-ray, with Drums, and Guns, and flags, and march to _Mile-end_ in pompous fashion, and there exhort your Souldiers to be merry and wise, and to keep their beards from burning _Rafe_, and then skirmish, and let your flags fly, and cry, kill, kill, kill: my husband shall lend you his Jerkin _Rafe_, and there's a Scarfe; for the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we'll pay for't: do it bravely _Rafe_, and think before whom you perform, and what person you represent.

_Rafe._ I warrant you Mistress, if I do it not, for the honor of the City, and the credit of my Master, let me never hope for freedome.

_Wife._ 'Tis well spoken i'faith; go thy waies, thou art a spark indeed.

_Cit. Ralph_, double your files bravely _Ralph_.

_Ralph._ I warrant you Sir. [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Cit._ Let him look narrowly to his service, I shall take him else; I was there my self a Pike-man once, in the hottest of the day, wench, had my feather shot sh[eere] away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my pate broken with a scouring-stick, and yet I thank God I am here. [_Drum within._

_Wife._ Hark _George_, the Drums.

_Cit._ Ran, tan; tan, tan, ran, tan: Oh wench an thou hadst but seen little _Ned_ of _Aldgate_, drum _Ned_, how he made it roar again, and laid on like a tyrant: and then struck softly till the Ward came up, and then thundred again, and together we go: sa, sa, sa, bounce quoth the Guns: courage my hearts, quoth the Captains: Saint _George_, quoth the pike-men; and withal here they lay, and there they lay; And yet for all this I am here wench.

_Wife._ Be thankful for it _George_, for indeed 'tis wonderful.

* * * * *

_Enter_ Ralph _and his company with Drums and Colours_.

_Ralph._ March fair my hearts; Lieutenant beat the rear up: Ancient let your Colours flie; but have a great care of the Butchers hooks at _White-Chappel_, they have been the death of many a fair Ancient. Open your files, that I may take a view both of your persons and munition: Serjeant call a Muster.

_Serg._ A stand, _William Hamerton_ Pewterer.

_Ham._ Here Captain.

_Ralph._ A Corslet and a Spanish Pike; 'tis well, can you shake it with a terror?

_Ham._ I hope so Captain.

_Ralph._ Charge upon me, 'tis with the weakest: put more strength _William Hamerton_, more strength: as you were again; proceed Serjeant.

_Serj. George Green-goose_, Poulterer.

_Green._ Here.

_Ralph._ Let me see your Peece, neighbor _Green-goose_, when was she shot in?

_Green._ And like you master Captain, I made a shot even now,

## partly to scour her, and partly for audacity.

_Ralph._ It should seem so certainly, for her breath is yet inflamed: besides, there is a main fault in the touch-hole, it runs and stinketh; and I tell you moreover, and believe it. Ten such touch-holes would breed the Pox in the Army. Get you a Feather, neighbor, get you a Feather, sweet Oil, and Paper, and your Peece may do well enough yet. Where's your Powder?

_Green._ Here.

_Ralph._ What in a Paper? As I am a Soldier and a Gentleman, it craves a Martial Court: you ought to die for't. Where's your horn? answer me to that.

_Green._ An't like you Sir, I was oblivious.

_Ralph._ It likes me not it should be so; 'tis a shame for you, and a scandal to all our Neighbors, being a man of worth and estimation, to leave your horn behind you: I am afraid 'twill breed example. But let me tell you no more on't; stand, till I view you all. What's become o'th' nose of your flaske?

_1 Sold._ Indeed law Captain, 'twas blown away with powder.

_Ralph._ Put on a new one at the Cities Charge. Where's the stone of this Peece?

_2 Sold._ The Drummer took it out to light Tobacco.

_Ralph._ 'Tis a fault my friend, put it in again: you want a Nose, and you a Stone; Serjeant, take a note on't, for I mean to stop it in the pay. Remove and march, soft and fair Gentlemen; soft and fair: double and files, as you were, faces about. Now you with the sodden face, keep in there: look to your Match sirrah, it will be in your fellows flask anon. So make a Crescent now, advance your Pikes, stand and give ear, Gentlemen, Countrey-men, Friends, and my fellow-Soldiers, I have brought you this day from the Shop[s] of Security, and the Counters of Content, to measure out in these furious fields, Honor by the ell, and Prowess by the pound: Let it not, O let it not, I say, be told hereafter, the noble issue of this City fainted: but bear your selves in this fair action, like men, valiant men, and free men: Fear not the face of the enemy: nor the noise of the Guns: for believe me brethren, the rude rumbling of a Brewers Carr is [farre] more terrible, of which you have a daily experience: Neither let the stink of Powder offend you, since a more valiant stink is nightly with you. To a resolved mind, his home is every where: I speak not this to take away the hope of your return; for you shall see (I do not doubt it) and that very shortly, your loving wives again, and your sweet children, whose care doth bear you company in baskets. Remember then whose cause you have in hand, and like a sort of true-born Scavengers, scour me this famous Realm of enemies. I have no more to say but this: Stand to your tacklings lads, and shew to the world, you can as well brandish a sword, as shake an Apron. Saint _George_, and on my hearts.

_Omnes._ Saint _George_, Saint _George_. [_Exeunt._

_Wife._ 'Twas well done _Ralph_, I'll send thee a cold Capon a field, and a bottle of March-beer; and, it may be, come my self to see thee.

_Cit. Nel_, the boy hath deceiv'd me much, I did not think it had been in him: he has perform'd such a matter wench, that if I live, next year I'll have him Captain of the Gallifoist, or I'll want my Will.

_Enter Old_ Merry-thought.

_Old Mer._ Yet I thank God, I break not a rinkle more than I had, not a stoop boys: _Care_ live with Cats, I defie thee, my heart is as sound as an Oak; and though I want drink to wet my whistle, I can sing.

_Come no more there boys, come no more there:_ _For we shall never whilst we live, come any more there._

_Enter a Boy with a Coffin._

_Boy._ God save you Sir.

_Old Mer._ It's a brave Boy: can'st thou sing?

_Boy._ Yes Sir, I can sing, but 'tis not so necessary at this time.

_Old Mer._ Sing we, and chaunt it, whilst love doth grant it.

_Boy._ Sir, Sir, if you knew what I have brought you, you would have little list to sing.

_Old Mer._ Oh the Mimon round, full long [long] I have thee sought. And now I have thee found, and what hast thou here brought?

_Boy._ A Coffin, Sir, and your dead Son _Jasper_ in it.

_Old Mer._ Dead? why farewell he: Thou wast a bonny boy, and I did love thee.

_Enter_ Jasper.

_Jasp._ Then I pray you Sir, do so still.

_Old Mer. Jasper_'s Ghost? thou art welcome from _Stygian lake_ so soon, Declare to me what wondrous things in _Pluto_'s court are done.

_Jasp._ By my troth sir, I ne'r came there, 'tis too hot for me Sir.

_Old Mer._ A merry Ghost, a very merry Ghost. And where is your true love? Oh where is yours?

_Jasp._ Marry look you Sir. [_Heaves up the Coffin._

_Old Mer._ Ah ha! Art thou good at that i' faith? With hey trixie terlerie-whiskin, the world it runs on wheels. When the young mans ---- up goes the Maidens heels.

_Mistriss_ Merry-thought _and_ Michael _within_.

_Mist. Mer._ What Mr. _Merri-thought_, will you not let's in? what do you think shall become of us?

_[Old] Mer._ What voice is that that calleth at our door?

_Mist. Mer._ You know me well enough, I am sure I have not been such a stranger to you.

_Old Mer._ And some they whistled, and some they sung, _Hey down, down_: and some did loudly say, ever as the Lord _Barnets_ horn blew, _Away Musgrave away_.

_Mist. Mer._ You will not have us starve here, will you Master _Merry-thought_?

_Jasp._ Nay, good Sir be perswaded, she is my Mother: if her offences have been great against you, let your own love remember she is yours, and so forgive her.

_Luce._ Good master _Merry-thought_, let me intreat you, I will not be denied.

_Mist. Mer._ Why Master _Merry-thought_, will you be a vext thing still?

_Old Mer._ Woman I take you to my love again, but you shall sing before you enter: therefore dispatch your song, and so come in.

_Mist. Mer._ Well, you must have your Will when all's done, _Mich._ what song canst thou sing Boy?

_Mich._ I can sing none forsooth, but a Ladies Daughter of _Paris_ properly.

_Mich. Mer. Song. It was a Ladies Daughter_, &c.

_Old Mer._ Come, you're welcome home again. If such danger be in playing, and jest must to earnest turn, You shall go no more a Maying.

_Merch. within._ Are you within Sir, Master _Merry-thought_?

_Jasp._ It is my Masters voice, good Sir, go hold him [in] talk whilst we convey ourselves into some inward room.

_Old Mer._ What are you? are you merry? you must be very merry if you enter.

_Mer._ I am Sir.

_Old Mer._ Sing then.

_Mer._ Nay, good Sir open to me.

_Old Mer._ Sing, I say, or by the merry heart, you come not in.

_Mer._ Well Sir, I'll sing.

_Fortune my foe_, &c.

_Old Mer._ You are welcome Sir, you are welcome: you see your entertainment, pray you be merry.

_Mer._ Oh Master _Merry-thought_, I am come to aske you Forgiveness for the wrongs I offered you, And your most virtuous Son, they're infinite, Yet my contrition shall be more than they. I do confess my hardness broke his heart. For which just heaven hath given me punishment More than my age can carry, his wandring spirit Not yet at rest, pursues me every where, Crying, I'll haunt thee for thy cruelty. My Daughter she is gone, I know not how, Taken invisible, and whether living, Or in grave, 'tis yet uncertain to me. Oh Master _Merry-thought_, these are the Weights, Will sink me to my grave, forgive me Sir.

_Old Mer._ Why Sir, I do forgive you, and be merry. And if the wag in's life time, plaid the knave, Can you forgive him too?

_Mer._ With all my heart Sir.

_Old Mer._ Speak it again, and heartily.

_Mer._ I do Sir. Now by my soul I do.

_Old Mer._ With that came out his Paramour, She was as white as the Lilly Flower, Hey troul, trolie lolie.

_Enter_ Luce _and_ Jasper.

With that came out her own dear Knight, He was as true as ever did fight, _&c._

Sir, if you will forgive 'em, clap their hands together, there's no more to be said i'th' matter.

_Mer._ I do, I do.

_Cit._ I do not like this, peace boys, hear me one of you, every bodies part is come to an end but _Ralph_'s, and he's left out.

_Boy._ 'Tis long of your self Sir, we have nothing to do with his part.

_Cit. Ralph._ Come away, make on him as you have done of the rest, boys come.

_Wife._ Now good Husband, let him come out and die.

_Cit._ He shall _Nell_, _Ralph_, come away quickly and die boy.

_Boy._ 'Twill be very unfit he should die sir, upon no occasion, and in a Comedy too.

_Cit._ Take you no care for that Sir boy, is not his part at an end, think you, when he's dead? come away _Ralph_.

_Enter_ Ralph, _with a forked arrow through his head_.

_Ralph._ When I was mortal, this my costive corps Did lap up Figs and Raisons in the _Strand_, Where sitting I espi'd a lovely Dame, Whose Master wrought with Lingell and with All, And underground he vampied many a Boot, Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig: To follow feats of Arms in warlike wise, Through _Waltham_ Desart; where I did perform Many atchievements, and did lay on ground Huge _Barbaroso_, that insulting Giant, And all his Captives soon set at liberty. Then honor prickt me from my native soil, Into _Moldavia_, where I gain'd the love Of _Pompiana_ his beloved Daughter: But yet prov'd constant to the black thumm'd Maid _Susan_, and scorn'd _Pompianaes_ love: Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins, And money for her Fathers Officers, I then returned home, and thrust my self In action, and by all [men] chosen was [Lord of the] _May_, where I did flourish it, With Scarfs and Rings, and Poesie in my hand: Af[t]er this action I preferred was, And chosen City-Captain at _Mile-end_, With Hat and Feather, and with leading staff, And train'd my men, and brought them all off clear Save one man that beraid him with the noise. But all these things I _Ralph_ did undertake, Only for my beloved _Susan's_ sake. Then coming home, and sitting in my shop With Apron blew, Death came unto my stall To cheapen _Aquavitæ_; but e'r I Could take the bottle down, and fill a taste, [Death] caught a pound of Pepper in his hand, And sprinkled all my Face and Body o'r, And in an instant vanished away.

_Cit._ 'Tis a pretty fiction i'faith.

_Ralph._ Then took I up my Bow and Shaft in hand, And walkt in[to] _Moor-fields_, to cool my self, But there grim cruel death met me again, And shot this forked Arrow through my head, And now I faint, therefore be warn'd by me, My fellows every one, of forked heads. Farewel all you good boys in merry _London_, Ne'r shall we more upon _Shrove-Tuesday_ meet, And pluck down houses of iniquity. My pain increaseth: I shall never more Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs, Nor daub a Sattin Gown with rotten Eggs: Set up a stake, Oh never more I shall, I die, flie, flie my soul to Grocers Hall. oh, oh, oh, _&c._

_Wife._ Well said _Ralph_, do your obeysance to the Gentlemen, and go your ways well said _Ralph_. [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Old Mer._ Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly reconciled, should not part without a Song.

_Merch._ A good motion.

_Old Mer._ Strike up then.

SONG.

_Better Musick ne'r was known,_ _Than a Quire of hearts in one._ _Let each other that hath been,_ _Troubled with the gall or spleen:_ _Learn of us to keep his brow,_ _Smooth and plain as ours are now._ _Sing though before the hour of dying_ _He shall rise, and then be crying,_ _Heyho, 'Tis nought but mirth,_ _That keeps the bodie from the earth._

[Exeunt omnes.

_Epilogus._

_Cit._ Come _Nell_, shall we go, the Play's done?

_Wife._ Nay, by my faith _George_, I have more manners than so, I'll speak to these Gentlemen first: I thank you all Gentlemen, for your patience and countenance to _Ralph_, a poor fatherless child, and if I may see you at my house, it should go hard, but I would have a pottle of Wine, and a Pipe of Tobacco for you; for truly I hope you [do] like the youth, but I would be glad to know the truth: I refer it to your own discretions, whether you will applaud him or no, for I will wink, and whilst you shall do what you will, I thank you with all my heart, God give you good night, come _George_.

Loves Pilgr[i]mage, a Comedy.

* * * * *

The Persons Represented in the Play.

Governor of _Barcellona_. Leonardo, a noble _Genoese_, Father to _Mark Antonio_. Don Zanchio, an old lame angry Soldier, Father to _Leocadia_. Alphonso, a cholerick Don, Father to _Theodosia_. Philippo, Son to _Alphonso_, Lover of _Leocadia_. Mark-Antonio, Son to _Leonardo_. Pedro, a Gentleman and friend to _Leonardo_. Rodorigo, General of the _Spanish_ Gallies. Incubo, Bailiff of _Castel Bianco_. Diego, Host of _Ossuna_. Lazaro, Hostler to _Diego_. Host of _B[a]rcellona_. Bailiff of _Barcellona_. Chirurgeons. Soldiers. Attendants. Townsmen. Attendants.

WOMEN.

Theodosia, Daugh. to _Alphonso_. Leocadia, Daugh. to Don _Zanchio_. Love-sick Ladies in pursuit of _M. Anton._ Eugenia, Wife to the Governor of _Barcellona_. Hostess, Wife to _Diego_. Hostess, Wife to the Host of _Barcellona_.

The Scene Barcellona and the Road.

Actus Primus, Scæna Prima.

_Enter_ Incubo _the Bailiff_, Diego _the Host_.

_Inc._ Signior Don _Diego_, and mine Host, save thee.

_Die._ I thank you Mr. Baily.

_Inc._ O the block!

_Die._ Why, how should I have answer'd?

_Inc._ Not with that Negligent rudeness: But I kiss your hands Signior Don _Incubo de Hambre_, and then My Titles: Master Baily of _Castle-blanco_: Thou ne'r wilt have the elegancy of an Host; I sorrow for thee, as my friend and Gossip: No smoak, nor steam out-breathing from the kitchen? There's little life i'th Hearth then.

_Die._ I, there, there, That is his friendship, harkening for the spit, And sorrow that he cannot smell the pot boil.

_Inc._ Strange An Inn should be so curst, and not the sign Blasted, nor withered; very strange, three days now, And not an Egg eat in it, nor an Onion.

_Die._ I think they ha' strew'd the high-ways with caltraps, I, No horse dares pass 'em; I did never know A week of so sad doings, since I first Stood to my Sign-post.

_Inc._ Gossip, I have found The root of all: kneel, [pray,] it is thy self Art cause thereof: each person is the Founder Of his own fortune, good or bad; but mend it, Call for thy Cloak, and Rapier.

_Die._ How?

_Inc._ Do, call, And put 'em on in haste: Alter thy fortune, By appearing worthy of her: Dost thou think Her good face e'r will know a man in _cuerpo_? In single body, thus? in Hose, and Doublet The horse-boys garb? base blank, and halfe blank _cuerpo_? Did I, or Mr Dean of _Sivil_ our neighbor E'r reach our dignities in _cuerpo_, think'st thou, In squirting Hose and Doublet? Signior, no, There went more to't: there were Cloaks, Gowns, Cassocks, And other _paramentos_; Call, I say, His Cloak, and Rapier here.

_Enter_ Hostess.

_Host._ What means your Worship?

_Inc._ Bring forth thy Husbands Sword: so hang it on, And now his cloak, here cast it up; I mean Gossip, to change your luck, and bring you guests.

_Host._ Why? is there charm in this?

_Inc._ Expect; now walk, But not the pace of one that runs on errands; For, want of gravity in an Host, is odious: You may remember Gossip, if you please, (Your Wife being then th' Infanta of the Gipsies, And your self governing a great mans Mules then) Me a poor Squire at _Madrid_ attending A Master of Ceremonies; But a man, believe it, That knew his place to the gold weight, and such Have I heard him [oft] say, ought every Host Within the Catholique Kings Dominions Be in his own house.

_Die._ How?

_Inc._ A Master of Ceremonies; At least Vice-Master, and to do nought in _cuerpo_, That was his Maxim, I will tell thee of him: He would not speak with an Ambassadors Cook, See a cold bake-meat from a forreign part In _cuerpo_: had a dog but staid without, Or beast of quality, as an _English_ Cow, But to present it self, he would put on His _Savoy_ chain about his neck, the ruff And cuffs of _Holland_, then the _Naples_ Hat With the _Rome_ Hat-band, and the _Florentin[e]_ Agat, The _Millan_ Sword, the Cloak of _Genoa_, set With _Flemish_ buttons; all his given pieces To entertain 'em in, and complement [_Knock within._ With a tame Conie, as with the Prince that sent it.

_Die._ List. Who is there?

_Inc._ A guest and 't be thy will.

_Die._ Look Spowse, cry luck, and we be encounter'd: ha?

_Host._ Luck then, and good, for 'tis a fine brave guest, With a brave horse.

_Inc._ Why now, believe of _cuerpo_.

_Enter_ Theodosia.

As you shall see occasion: go, and meet him.

_Theo._ Look to my horse, I pray you, well.

_Die._ He shall, Sir.

_Inc._ Oh how beneath his rank and call was that now? Your horse shall be entreated as becomes A horse of fashion, and his inches.

_Theo._ Oh.

_Inc._ Look to the Cavalier: what ails he? stay If it concern his horse, let it not trouble him, He shall have all respect the place can yield him Either of barley, or fresh straw.

_Die._ Good Sir Look up.

_Inc._ He sinks, somewhat to cast upon him, He'll go away in _cuerpo_ else.

_Die._ What, Wife! Oh your hot waters quickly, and some cold To cast in his sweet face.

_Host._ Alas, fair flower?

_Die._ Does any body entertain his Horse?

_Host._ Yes, _Lazaro_ has him.

_Enter_ Hostess _with a glass of water_.

_Inc._ Go you see him in person.

_Host._ Sir, taste a little of this, of mine own water, I did distill't my self; swe[e]t Lilly look upon me, You are but newly blown, my pretty Tulip. Faint not upon your stalk, 'tis firm and fresh Stand up so bolt upright, you are yet in growing.

_The._ Pray you let me have a chamber.

_Host._ That you shall, Sir.

_The._ And where I may be private, I intreat you.

_Host._ For that in troth Sir, we ha no choice: our house Is but a _vent_ of need, that now and then Receives a guest, between the greater Towns As they come late; only one room.

_Inc._ She means, Sir, it is none Of those wild, scatter'd heaps, call'd Inns, where scarce The Host is heard, though he wind his horn t' his people, Here is a competent pile, wherein the man, Wife, Servants, all do live within the whistle.

_Host._ Only one room.

_Inc._ A pretty modest quadrangle She will describe to you.

_Host._ Wherein stands two Beds Sir.

_Enter_ Diego.

We have, and where, if any guest do come, He must of force be lodg'd, that is the truth, Sir.

_Theo._ But if I pay you for both your beds, methinks That should alike content you.

_Host._ That it shall, Sir. If I be paid, I am paid.

_Theo._ Why, there's a Ducket Will that make your content?