From Stage to Page - Medieval and Renaissance Drama

A merry and [plesaunt Comedie called] Misogonus.

The Names of the Speakers






. . . . . . . . . [which do frequent P]ernassus' sacred mount
. . . . . . . . . [h gift] of eloquence and versifying skill.
. . . . . . . . . [your] nymphs which haunt the springs of Aganippe fount
. . . . . . . . . [which] were wont comical rhymes in poets to distil
[You] ladies all, and sisters nine, humbly you request
That you would now vouchsafe to guide your client's silly style
this poetical attempt, with bravery unaddressed;
And so it will seem to all that hear's, unless you do it file.
You know I never climb[ed] the top of that your hallowed hill,
Ne slumbered there, nor tasted once those dulsum nectar drops,
That now I might my verse indite with poet's painting quill,
Or find the same by virtue of Sir Phoebus' laurel crops.


Phi. The unfeigned friendship and honest demeanour
Which I, in you, dear Eupelas, have always proved,
To render unto you some part of the tenor
Of my mind, at this time especially hath moved;
Hoping thereby that somewhat I shall find
By your godly counsel and loving exhortation,
Whereof presently my pensive heart and mind
May feel some comfort and consolation.
Good counsel, you know, to a mind with care oppressed,
Is like to wholesome medicine taken at need,
Which helpeth the stomach evil humours to digest,
Lest thereof at any time some malady may breed.
Wherefore, I request you, O trusty friend Eupelas!
To minister to my grief such medicine as you may,
Promising the like to you, in like case,
If at any time you need in any assay.

Eu. Right worthy Philogonus, my trusty fidelity
And friendly behaviour to you, from my youth,
Hath not been so great as your courteous humanity
To me-ward hath ever deserved, of a truth!
For your demerits hath always been such
To pleasure me in anything that possibly you might,
That I can think no pain or labour too much
To pleasure you again, by day or by night.
And, would to God I knew that cordial confection,
Were it never so costly in Italy to be sold,
Which would ease you of this dolorous affection-
You should have it, though the price were a talent of gold.
Otherwise, to give you good counsel and advice
Is a hard thing to him which hath no such science;
'Tis the part, you know, of philosophers that be wise,
Which study for the same with great care and diligence.
Where, albeit how much my ability doth want,
So much true amity the lack shall supply;
My love is perfect, though my cunning be but scant;
Say on, therefore, I will answer accordingly.

Phi. With condign thanks for your gentle oration,
Your modesty herein I do greatly commend;
Refusing those titles whereof the probation,
Even the denial itself, doth extend.
Wherefore, to be short, I will show you my grievan[ce],
And what is the drift and intent of my reason,
Desiring you awhile to give heedy attenda[nce]
. . . . . . . . . as shall be meet to answer in.
. . . . . . . . [man] hath in this mortal life
. . . . . . . . . e the joys which in Christ we obtain
[C]onsisteth in true loving children and wife,
Which lovingly, at all times, together should remain.

And so, by the contrary always doth arise-
By discords I mean and dissension-in those
Such pitious heartbreaks as none can devise,
No pen can discrive, no tongue can disclose.
I had one-I speak by experience too true-
So faithful a mate, and so honest a spouse,
The lack whereof often, poor wretch! I do rue,
As not whole Laurentum a better can house.
But her, cruel Death sith thence long hath slain,
And me of my true love the fates hath bereft;
Who yet, for my comfort, with me to remain
A motherless infant of their courtesy left.
Whom first, in his youth, I did fatherly tender,
The more because her he did much represent;
I cockered and dandled him a great while the lenger,
Whereof, like a fool, too late I repent.
I could not suffer the cold wind to blow
Without happing and lapping my youngling too much;
What correction was, he never did know;
No man durst scarce this wag wanton touch.
An unwise man I was, for thus then I thought:
What needs he tutors or masters to have?
For laming and discipline he shall not care ought;
He shall learn to look big, stand stout, and go brave.
What should I do with my lands and possessions?
I am able to keep him gentleman wise;
I esteem not grammar and these Latin lessons;
Let them study such which of meaner sort rise.
And, as for his conditions, I am sure they will be
Both honest and gentle, as all his kin were;
The like breeds the like (each man said to me);
His nature to be good you need not to fear.
With these fond persuasions I flattered myself,
Nu[r]sling him with liberty, in youth, like a
Till, in process of time, the malapert elf [daw;
[Este]emed me not the value of a straw.
And, the more he perceived I loved him, [then]
The less he regarded my wo[rds e]very day;
The gentler I used him, the mo[re lie] began
Stubbornly to contemn me for all I could say.
And now, since he is grown to strippling years,
He is waxed so stomachful, and haughty of mind,
That heither God nor man, nor anything, he fears;
He sets me as light as a feather in the wind.
A company of knaves he hath also on his hand
Which leads him to all manner lewdness apace;
With harlots and varlets and bauds he is manned;
To the gallows, I fear me, he is tradding the trace.

Eu. Alas, good Philogonus! it pitieth me sore
To see you, my dear friend, in this heavy plight;
Comfort yourself! I pray you, weep no more;
The worst is, I warrant you, but a little fright.
And consider, I beseech you, the comfortable words
Which Christ our Saviour hath left us in store:
Who, all griping griefs, his testament records,
Will mitigate in those which follow his lore.

And what though your son doth spend his youthful days
In dullish delights and riotous excess?
He will not continue in that trade always;
In time he himself will his manners redress.
He goeth far that never turns again, as folk say;
I could tell you of many that have gone as wide;
The best of us all, before God, goeth astray;
And he that stand surest may fortune to slide.
Wherefore, be not dismayed all outright,
But comfort yourself, and hope still the best;
Pluck up your heart, man! recover your might;
To do for you what I can, I will not rest.

Phi. Lord! how my spirits by your talk are appeased.
Nothing, I see well, to a friend may be counted;
My stomach is lightened, my mind is well eased,
All treasures true friendship, I perceive, far surmounted.
And if I might see that thing come to pass
Which you, as you would, have divinede[rewhi]le,
No man, how much happier soever he was,
Would sooner all pensiveness and cares qu[ite] exile.
. . . . . . . . . doubt that such deepness of rout
. . . . . . . . . [and] idleness i[n his m]ind hath framed
. . . . . . . . . seldom or ne'er [they] will clean be plucked out;
[I fear] me, I fear [me], he will ne'er be reclaimed!

Eu. And why should you so doubt? declare me the cause!
his years so far spent that no good can be done?
He will not (if you say) is no reasonable clause.
I hope I persuade him, and that right soon.

Phi. Persuade him? (quoth you!) nay, if he had the grace
By persuasion to amend his lewd behaviour,
My persuasion, I trow, would have taken some place,
Which always I uttered with lenity and favour.

Eu. With too-too much favour, I think, a great deal,
Which caused him so lightly you to esteem;
But what though with favourable means I will feel
If yet I can make him the time to redeem?

Phi. Your saying is too true; but what if in fine
He neglecteth your words with contempt and disdain,
As oftentimes, heretofore, he hath done mine,
When I would with gentle means have won him full fain?

Eu. It is not likely that he should upbraid
A man which exhorts him to such a good thing;
If he should, perhaps I would make him afraid
With conscience, and duty, and laws of the king.

Phi. This devise, Eupelas, I like best of all;
But use your discretion in every attempt.
He is a sturdy merchant, stick not to brawl
If he do misuse with any-contempt.

Eu. But tell me, I pray you, what age is he now?
Is he so headstrong that he cannot be tamed?
I warrant you we'll make him both bend and bow;
We will, indeed, (fear not!) or we'll make him ashamed.

Phi. An endless labour you then go about;
Can you bend a big tree which is sappy and sound?
He is too old, I tell you, too stubborn and too stout;
Take heed what you say, lest he lay you on the ground!

Eu. A pin for his laying! care I for his hands?
I'll hamper him, indeed, if he make much ado.
If I were as you, I would have him in bands;
With your sufferance, you spoil yourself and him too.

Phi. When you meet him, I pray you, do as you think good;
[Your] policy, I know, is prudent and wise.
[thi]ng I will [tell] you: if he be in his mood,
[He will not stick to swear and make many cries].

[Eu.] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . [Ph]ilogon[us] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Phi. . . . . . . . . . . . servant Liturg[us]
[Who hat]h oftentimes secretly
By whose means if myself had.
I had eschewed these miseries I w

Eu. If you have tried his trustiness here
Make much of such a one and spare.
A good servant is worth great rich[es]
if you lesse him you cannot tell

Phi. I have another, a simple thing, God [wot!]
Who, for his simplicity, a fool's coat [doth wear,]
Had as lief have a counter as a qu[erellous sot,]
Yet sometimes he whispers a tale in m[y ear.]

Eu. Children and fools, they say, cannot l[ie], . . . . .
If he talks of your son, c[onsider] . . . . . . . . . . .
And cause him to show what [he] . . . . . . . . . . . .
You shall perceive somewhat [by] . . . . . . . . . . . .

Phi. And sometimes also he makes me g[reat sport]
By telling some tale, or singing some song.
[It's ma]rvel that hither he doth not resort;
If he knew I were here, he would not be long.

Ca. Founder! founder!

Eu Hark' is not this the silly soul that doth speak?

Ca. What, vounder!

Phi. It is even very he; hark! how the noddy doth creak.

Ca. Where is my vounder?

Eu. Alas, what mean you? give the fool his answer.

Phi. What is the matter, Will Summer?
It's marvel but you shall hear him tell a tale of his ganser.

Ca. Vounder! you must come zupper, the pig is laid o' th' stable.

Phi. Alas, poor fool! he means the pig is laid on table.

Ca. Will you not? I will tell my vounder.

Phi. What aileth thee, Will [Summer]?

Ca. Dick Duckling and Will Wasp will not give me my lowance.

Phi. Give it him, knaves! or I will make you give it, with a vengea[nce]!

Ca. Chat now! Aliquis intus, the devil choke him!
(Phi.] Come me, Will, come me.
. . . . . . . . [now] . . . .

[Some lines are lost here.]

. . . . . . . . . . . [as] your man [ha] .
. . . . . . . . . . . [t]his night you shall [in d . . do] not mock
. . . . . . . . . . . [su]pper there your company [sp]ared.
. . . . . . . . . . . my vounder to-night
. . . . . . . . . . . ust needs at thy request
. . . . . . . . . . . s your fare is but homely
. . . . . . . . . . . the best. Exeunt Eupelas et Philogonus.



[Cacurgus]. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . e
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . gone.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . ble
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ee]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [d]ead.
If I. . . . . . . . . . . ghi]ng as oft as I think
How [like. . . a. . fool I p]ut out my head, bacon in my hand, and my bowl full of drink.
Ha, Ha, Ha!

A couple of wise wizards, I tell you; but wot you what-
God's bodykins! methink we are all scase dry;
I have bepissed my hose, twenty pound to one groat!
I laugh at the old fools so heartily. Ha, Ha, Ha!
You may perceive what I am, so much I do laugh:
A fool, you know, can keep no measure;
My master is Waltham, and I, Waltham's calf;
A fool in laughter putteth all his pleasure.
A fool! (quoth you) nay, he is no fool.
Did you not see what pity he did take?
He is able to set your doctors to school.
No small point of wisdom for me such gear to make.
If you knew what delights he taketh in my presence
You would laugh, I dare say now, everyone.
He talketh of me, I warrant you, in my absence:
Who but I to make him pastime, who cham his nown son?
And proudly, I tell you, to every incomer
He brags what a natural his luck was to have;
What, ho! with his man's voice he calls for Will Summer!
[Wh]ere have you put him? bring him hither, you knave!
[And] when I am come, my properties he tells-
[How sim]ple, how honest, how faithful, and true;
[And sheweth] my points and many things else.

[Some more lines are missing.]

Persuading himself that I tell him all
What I can hear his servants to clatter
[Of Miso]gonus, his son, in kitchen or hall.

[A fool], he think[s], can neither lie nor flatter.
I tell him that I hear a very good rumour;
He is wild, but what though? he is not yet come to age:
I know that this tale will delight his humour.
Hereafter, they say, he'll be sober and sage.
And when I have done, I go show my young master
What he suspecteth, and bid him beware;
For he is a ruffian, a spendall and waster,
He can do nothing but get strout and stare.
And so, by my policy, he taketh some heed;
And showeth not his madness to his father always,
Which otherwise will cause his part for to bleed,
And make him his knavery abroad for to blaze.
Think you not that I heard their whole communication?
Yes, I warrant you! I ha't every whit.
I have it even from the first salutation.
Well! I'll to my master and tell him of it.
But, before I go hence, I'll bestow some of my points;
Come off, with a vengeance! here is pretty toys.
What, Will! what, Dick! be hanged, stir your joints
What! will you none? take them then, boys!
As for my pins, I'll bestow them of Joan
When we sit by the fire and roast a crab;
She and I have good sport when we are all alone;
By the mass! I may say to you, she is an honest drab.
Nothing grieves me but my ears be so long;
My master will take me for Balaam 's ass.
If I can, I'll tie them down with a thong;
If not, I will tell him I am good king Midas.



Mis. Body of God! stand back! what monster have we here?
An antique or a monk, a goblin or a fiend?
Some hobby horse, I think, or some tumbling bear-
If thou canst, speak and declare me the kind.

Ca. My young master, ho, ho, ho!

Mis. Passion of me! it is Robin Hood, I think, verily!
I will let fly at him, if he speaks not forthwith;
Speak, lubber, speak! or I'll kill thee presently.
Nay then, have at thee! shalt ne'er die other death.

Ca. God's armentage! God's denty dear!
Can my young master flourish so fine?

Mis. The devil take thee, and all thy fond gear;
A murrajn light on that fool's face oT thine!

Ca. What, pacify yourself, sir! or we'll have an ostler.
Your man's heart I know, and your cunning in . .
[You] are a fencer and a very fine wrestler.

[The original is imperfect.]

[Mis.] If thou hadst not spoke when thou didst, as I am true gentleman,

Shouldst ne'er a gone fur, but even like a cow
At my foot, out of hand thou shouldst have been [sla]in;
I would have been thy priest, I make God a vow!

Ca. Sanke that, by my toes! for your sparing so long;
You are courageous, I [know].- But what care I? hark!
If you had struck, I would have kept the throng,
And theme have been groping some maidens in the dark.

Mis. Thou art as full of knavery as an egg is full of meat.
I believe thee, by the mass! but how gattest thou these ears?
Thou wert about some skoggingly feat;
Tell me, I pray thee! shall nobody hear's.

Ca. Will you needs know? why then, lay your head to mine.

Mis. What, thou liest, villain! thou be his natural.
Fie of all folly! how blearest thou his eyne?
Is my father to fools become so liberal?
But did he think thou wert a fool indeed?
He were never so foolish to think so of thee.

Ca. Yourself may judge that by my foolish weed;
Both my cap and my coat he bestowed on me.
Nay, I am become his councillor; I can tell you news;
Whatsoever he speaks, he gives me leave to hear;
My company at no time he will refuse.
I will tell you a jest if you will give good ear.

Mis. What's that? for love of God! tell me, good boy;
If it be for my wealth and for my advantage,
Thou shalt be my chaplain, I swear by St. Loy!
Or, if thou canst be priested, I'll give thee a pars'nage.

Ca. I thank you; by my halidom! I were fit for that office,
I could mumble my matins and my dirge with the best;
And if it were not for the impostume in my codpiece,
To lift at a chery I have a burning breast.
Mis. Tush! tell me the news thou talkest on of late
And thou be'st a good fellow; tell me with speed!

Ca. Your father was commoning with a yeoman, ane his mate,
Here in this place, as heavy as lead.
And wot you why the poor man were so sad?
Forsooth! for his son that, he feared, was past grace.
O! (quoth he) it's a parlous unthrifty lad;
Your gentlemanship utterly he did deface.
Fear not! saith the other, I will bring him to torn.
fYo]u are to blame; what! you his father;
[If] you suffer him, he'll make you a stark foollorn.
[Let] him taste of the rod and ride bayard rather.

[An observation from Misogonus is lost here.]

Ca. Nay, stay a wh[ile, and] then show your manhood.

Your father was pleased, but he durst not so deal.
No, saith the other, you are then but a coward;
If I was as you, my fist he should feel.

Mis. Gog's wounds!

Ca. Ye have not all yet: if this gentleman durst,
Your father inquired, to nurture him then.
Dare I? (quoth he)-he is not so curst;
I'll hamper him, I warrant you, and all his men.

Mi. By his soul and sides! by his death and his life!
I'll make the old churl repent his talk!
Hamper me! (quoth you)-where is my knife?
I'll stick him, by the mass! if this way he walk.

Ca. Your knife! fie for shame! you should say your dagger;
God's my arms! stick not to draw your sword.

Mi. (Will I?) I, that I will; a fart for the bragger!
He shall down if he give me but one buggish word.

Ca. Now I can you thank-that is spoken like a man;
You to be brought of such a lout under!

Mi. I defy him, I, with all that he can!
Let my father take's part and I'll both of them conjure.

Ca. Well said, old lad! but stay your wisdom awhile.
It's here, in faith! I'll go play a pretty prank.
I know the way how you may him revile,
And so use him that again he'll ne'er be so crank.

Mi. Ho, Cacurgus! I'll perform thee my promise;
Tell me the way and make thyself priest,
And of my honesty thoust have my best benefit,
And ever hereafter in my favour be highest.

Ca. Prepare yourself then, in a readiness, out of hand.
Where be your sarving men? call the knaves out;
Here in this way together all stand.
At last they may help to face out the lout.

Mi. And what wilt thou do, wilt thou get thee hence,
Wilt thou forsake me when I have most need?

Ca. It's bedtime now, I will go to my wench;
Fare thou well for this time, God send thee good speed!

Mi. And thou wilt needs be gone? then farewell frost;
All thy mind, I perceive, is of Joan.

Ca. I did but jest, I'll to take up the roast
And cause this gentleman to come out alone.

Exit Cacurgus.



Mi. What ho, Orgalus! what, OEnopholus, I say!
Where be these knaves? come out, with a vengeance!
[Come] forth, when I bid you; what, tarry you? [away]!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
[Orgal. A]non I come, sir! stand by, [room, I s]ay!

I am, sir, come to know your weriship's pleasure.
I were busied with brushing your velvet gaskins.

Mi. You'll come when you list, sir! oh, you're a treasure!
I know you of old, you are none of the hastlings.
[O]rgal. I'll do no more till next time, I pray you forgive me;
I'll be ready hereafter to wait at your heels.

Mi. You can cap now, you were best cap, I tell ye;
I may hang for you, thee let all go a-wheels.

Orgal. If hanging be the worst youst do well, I hope;
I have been hanged twenty times and catcht no harm.
I care not for hanging, oh my mind like the rope;
Hanging's but a pastime so be it under your arm.

Mi. Now by me, truly, thou art a knave in grain.
But where's OEnophilus, your fellow, become?
Orgal. I think, he's at alehouse, a lickering on's brain;
I am sure, for this half hour, he has taken a room.

Mi. That desperate dick must I needs have; I am to fight a match.
An old cankered churl doth me challenge and dare.

Orgal. You are able yourself a dozen to despatch.
You're a man, by St. Samson, ery length of a spear.

Mi. But how if he bring with him buckler and sword-
What fence shall I use my head for to save?

Orgal. Your cunning is good, man, care not a turd;
You're able to canvas the dastardly knave.
Mi. Thou wert wont to tell me pretty feats of war,
My venues to give and my vantage to take.

Orgal. For your fencer, I warrant, you need not to care;
With your manly looks you will make him to quake.

Mi. Nay, but I pray thee, show me one cross caper,
And how I should ward my head and my heart;
Were I not best, if need be, to draw out my rapier?
Tell me, by the mass! or I'll make thee to fart.

Orgal. Cross caper, cross legs, I told you the fence:
Throw the knave down, and with him pluck a crow.

Mi. Thou wert wont to talk of crossing legs with a wench
And make her mine underling, mean you not so?

Orgal. You unde[r]stumble me well, sir, you have a good wit;
I must needs commend your good remembrance.

Mi. By th' same token thou taughtest me- can you not hit it?-.

But go, fetch me the fellow! lest I be in some cumbrance.

Orgal. To do your commandment, sir, I am ready;
But you need no more men, I am sure, for this dust.

M[i]. Go when I bid you, and come again speedy;
your cock's comb, by my halidom! I'll

Exit [Orgalus].

[In original a leaf is missing.]

[Eu.] It's true, I see well, that Philog'nus said,
The gallows groans for this wag as just rope ripe;
Alas, good man! thou must needs be ill apaid;
It's no marvel, though sorrows do greatly thee gripe.
But, methink I hear a ruffianly din,
I shall be mischief'd, verily, if here I do stay;
I'll tarry no longer but get myself in;
The bickerings a-breeding, I see, by my fay!

Clamitant intus servi. . . . . . . . . . . . . .



Where is he? lay hold on him! knock .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . down with him, I will have one. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . joint someone's flesh.

Mi. See you not, by the mass! the knave's slipped away?
My knighthood is utterly stained for ever;
A thousand pounds I had rather have lost by this day;
Than this should have chanced, I'd have fought myself liefer.
Fie on you, beggars' brats! what a prey have we lost!
A shame take you, slaves! how have you me used!
Marry, sir! this Jack Prat will go boast
And say he hath cowed me: shall I thus be abused?

Orgal. I had rather have found forty pence myself, that I had!
If I take him right fort, I'll pay him o' th' petticoat.

OEnoph. Is he gone? Gad's sides! this is too bad;
I'll give him his old fippens if it lie in my lot.

Mi. You valiant vagabonds! why tarried you so long?
Allege a good cause, or I'll rape you o' th' rags.

OEnoph. We could not, but we must have sustained great wrong
And shamed your worship with my beggarly jags.

Mi. Why, is not thy coat made of good Spanish cloth?
Will not this livery your carcase beseem?

OEnoph. To tell you myself, I am somewhat loth;
I am so 'fraid that you'll fall in a feme.

Mi. Tell me then, Orgalus, as you fear my displeasure;
Nay, tell me indeed, without any laughter.

OEnoph. Good Orgalus, tell him, if thou hast so much leisure;
If thou need'st, I'll do as much for thee hereafter.

Orgal. I' th' morning to revive his spirits, I think,
And to breed some good blood to th' alehouse he went,
And there called in for a gallon of drink,
Meaning a shilling, perhaps, to have spent.
As he sat there awhile, a makeshift comes in,
Offering to be partaker in the shot;
To fill the cups, OEnophilus fresh doth begin,
Whereas the cosener a farding had not.
As I came and found OEnophilus o' th' ale-bench,
[My master] sends for you (said I), you must. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . [one] word (quoth he) and then I'll go hence
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
What's the shot, hostess? he says, I'll begone.
Ten groats and your welcome-he looked for his purse:
This cosener had filched it and left him alone
To pay for the reckoning, and that worse.
With that when he saw how the case with him stood,
He requested his hostess to trust him a week.
Not I, sir! (quoth she) I'll none of that, by th' rood!
So may, perhaps, my money go seek.
There's no remedy, says he, I myself am beguiled;
This pickpurse hath gotten my money and is fled.
She said nothing, but snatched away, with a wild,
His best livery coat, and in coffer it laid.
For his manner is, when he waxeth over warm,
To cast off his coat and take some cold air;
Sometimes, perhaps, he lays't under's arm
After one ginger bowl, and seldom doth it wear.
When I saw how unluckily this matter fell out,
And the charge that you gave to bring him in haste,
I was fain to go try my friends all about;
And so, by this chance, the time I did waste.
For truly, if he had come in his doublet and hose,
He would have made everyone your mastership to scorn;
That old churl, I am sure, would have bored you through nose:
This truss in all parts *ere so foully torn.

Misog. Thou disardly drunkard! thou be. silling beast!
I'll bum fiddle thee, in faith! I'll swaddle your skin!
Must you be with your cheery bowls making a feast,
When on me you should tend? will you never in?

OEnoph. O mine arms! O my sides! you'll kill me, by th' mass!
Alas, alas, alas! I pray you, strike not so sore!
O my bones! O my ribs! a body and alas!
If you'll spare me this time, I'll never do more.



Intrat Cacurgus.

Cac. God's sockings! hold your hands, stay, i' th' queen's name!
I'll be his surety; what, spare him this once!
Have a knave betwixt you; then fie, stay for shame!
God's body! what, will you lay me o' th' bones?

Misog. Nay, thou art well served for taking his part,
Dost thou drink all thy thrift, thou swibbold swad.

Cac. You ha't me o' th' costard, I beshrew your heart!
You begin to be as cursed as e'er was your dad.

OEnoph. I deserved mine, and more too, I confess willingly;
You strike, I am sure, but of courage and might.
[I] hope to see you past the nine worthies, verily!
[I] ween you, within this year, you shall be dubb'd a knight.

Misog. Ah, sirrah! you begin to know your duty now;
I must needs love thee, i' faith! th' art as good as e'er twang'd.

OEnoph. I thank you that you spared my brains and my brow;
If I can help, sure, the old carle shall be hanged.

Cac. What, did you not feak him? fie, that's a shame!
You promised me that you would, when I sent him out.

OEnoph. Cacurgus, I must needs confess myself was to blame;
But let me alone, I'll come meet with the lout.
Misog. Well said, i' faith! but tell me, my men:
How shall we spend this whole afternoon?

OEnoph. Marry, sir! I had thought to have told you eren then:
I can help you to hunting of two-legged venison.

Misog. What! canst thou, my son? marry! thou art worth twenty.

Orgal. If thou canst, OEnophilus, tell my master in haste.

Enoph. I'll bring ye to a morsel that is tender and dainty;
She's not so much as my span in her waist.

Cac. By the mass! I know her, she is a good smugly lass;
She a hundred times better than any schemish rig.

Misog. Give me thy hand, thoust have a house and bring this to pass;
I would ask no more of her but one Scottish jig.

OEnoph. But one I'll promise ye the getting of a bastard;
Yest have one night at least and more if I can.

Cac. If ye be shamefast, she'll count you but a dastard;
You must stick to her and stand to it like a man.

Orgal. She's a smurking wench indeed, I know her of old;

But when did she make thee this promise, tell us?

OEnoph. And you knew her, you would say so: she's dapper and bold-
Right now, man! in the way as I went to the alehouse.

Misog. What said she, OEnophilus? if thou lov'st me, tell true;
Let me hear her own words as thou wouldest have me do for thee.

OEnoph. Come thou, or thy friend, at any time due;
Or thy friend's friend, said she; I think, she did dome me.

Misog. God's fish! let's begone, methink now I have her;
Till I see her, OEnophilus, I shall think the time long.

Cac. What, soft you, Sir! you may yet say:
God save her!
Before I go hence, I must needs have a song.

Misog. A song with a horse-nightcap sing they at list;
Till I see my trull, I'll neither sing nor say.

Cac. Alas, good man! he must needs now be kissed
What, I pray you, for my sake a little yet stay.

OEnoph. Let's ha't then quickly, Cacurgus, or I'll be gone too,
And let's have such a one that will stie up delight.

Misog. Go to! I am content; then sing one and no mo;
Begin you, Cacurgus, and take your tune right.

Cac. Fa, fa, fa, sol, sol, sol-cods! that's too low;
La, la, la, me, me, re-by th' mass! that's as high.

Misog. Take heed, Sir! you go not too low for the crow.

Cac. And take heed, Sir! you go not too high for the pie.

Orgal. None of hus, to tell the truth, can sing well mean;
Too high, or too low, we sing everyone.

Cac. Well then, because you take me for your dean,
I'll appoint the parts myself, by St. John!
You shall sing the fr . e. - de; I mean-you know what;
And thoust bear the base because thou art rusty;
The counterfeit tenor is yours by your lot;
Myself will sing the treble and that very trusty.

A Song to the tune of Heart's Ease.

Sing care away, with sport and play,
Pastime is all our pleasure;
If well we fare, for nought we care,
In mirth consist our treasure.

Let sun gir lurk and drugs work,
We do defy their slavery;
He is but a 'fool that goes to school,
All we delight in knavery.

What doth avail, far hence to sail
And lead our life in toiling;
Or, to what end, should' we here spend
Our days in irksome moiling?

It is the best to live at rest,
And tak't as God doth send it;
To haunt each wake, and mirth to make,
And with good fellows spend it.

Nothing is worse than a full purse,
To niggards and to pinchers;
They always spare and live in care,
There's no man loves such flinchers.

The merry man, with cup and can,
Lives longer than doth twenty;
The miser's wealth doth hurt his health,
Examples we have plenty.

'T's a beastly thing to lie musing,
With pensiveness and sorrow;
For who can tell that he shall well
Live here until the morrow?

We will, therefore, for evermore,
While this our life is lasting,
[Eat], drink and sleep and lemans keep;
[Its] popery to use fasting.

In cards and dice our comfort lies,
In sporting and in dancing,
Our minds to please and live at ease
And sometime to use prancing.

With Bess and Nell we love to dwell
In kissing and in haking;
But whoopho, holly! with trolly lolly!
To them we'll now be walking.

Cac. God's breadlings! are the knaves gone, and left me behind them?
I would they were up to the neck i' th' brook, all three.
may look long enough or ere I shall find them-
So God help me, my master! do you think?- he did not hear me.



Intrat Philogonus e[t Liturgus].

Philog. Is it true, Liturgus, that you told me of my son?

Liturg. It's too true, I fear me, I heard a great noise.

Philog. Alas, ah, ah! God's will! then I am utterly undone.
Art thou sure thou heard'st my friend Eupelas' voice?

Liturg. I am sure he met with your son in the way,
And advertised him to do his duty to you;
After that, I am sure, there was here fought a fray,
And one, as had' been sticked, did cry out and low.

Cac. Ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! I must needs laugh in my sleeve-
The wise men of Gotham are risen again!
Peter Poppum doth make his master believe
That Misogonus, his son, hath Eupelas slain!

Philog. Woe worth the time that ever I begat him!
Such a one, I think, was never yet bred.

Liturg. He did but cudgel him a little, and rate him;
The worst, I hope, is but a broken head!

Cac. I would it were broken, and thine too, by my troth!
Thou may'st chance have thine, if thou takest not good heed.
How the pickthank doth make the old man wroth,
When, as yet, God wot! he hath little need.
Philog. Was ever man so accursed and unhappy as I?
But one son i' th' whole world, and so graceless to be!
How he should 'scape hanging I can no ways spy,
Or from utter damnation how he should be free.
Alas, good friend Eupelas! art thou also beaten?
My heart is sick; truly, I shall never live long.

Cac. Die when thou wilt! we'll have an ox eaten;
The sooner the better; thoust do us less wrong.

Philog. What heart of flint could abide this mishaps?
[No]t one in all Europe, I thinks, in my case.

Cac. Nay soft! thoust have yet some more thunder claps;
I'll make him defy thee, even face to face.

Philog. There's no man, I am sure, that loves his son better,
Or that would fainer bring him to honest living.
A thousand pound gladly I would wish myself debtor,
If yet at the length he would turn to some thriving.

Liturg. Why, Sir! he hath not yet sown all his wild oats;
He is but young, truly; he must needs run his race.

Cac. He'll shortly make thee sing the cuckold's notes;
Thy wife loves him well: in space cometh grace.

Philog. Ah, Liturgus! remembers thou what
Thou wert wont to tell me, when he was but young?

Liturg. My word is no gospel; for all that, I think not
But he will return to virtue or long.

Philog. I pray God, he may! but I am quite out of hope.
What company useth he? tell me in faith!

Liturg. Such company as, indeed, will bring him to th' rope,
If he leave them not: the Scripture so saith.

Cac. The Scripture, you Jack Sauce! a scrip and a staff
Were more meter for such a clumpstone as thou art.
Talk thou of rubbing horses, and of such riffraff;
The sooterly thickskin came but last year from th' part.

Philog. Well, there is no remedy, he'll be my death, I know;
I may suffer awhile, but I cannot long endure.

Liturg. God's above all; though you think him past ho,
He may yet reduce him: thereof be you sure.

Philog. Oh that I had provided him tutors in my youth,
Oh that in virtue I had him first trained!

Education is the best thing that can be, of a truth;
Good Lord! what heart's ease thereby had I gained.
If it were to do again, I know what to do:
I would disciple him, i' faith! I would tute him a good;
He should lack for no masters and governors too;
He should have whipping enough; be sure that he should!

Cac. A cursed cow hath short horns; what, down great heart!
Be good in your office-would you whip him indeed?
He should find some friend that would take his part!
For your whipping, I warrant you, you should have small meed.

Philog. He that spareth the rod hates the child, as Solomon writes.
Whereby, in sparing him, now I perceive
I hated him much; for with hate he requites
My love, though awhile he did not deceive.
[Yet] I marvel with him how Eupelas hath sped-
[I would] fain know, Liturgus, I pray thee inquire.
[By his talk] he seems rather to be dead
. . . . . . . . [therefore fulfil my desire]

Liturg. I warrant you, I, he is neither wounded nor slain;
Had a little girmumble, I think, and no more.

Cac. Ha ha! now will I go play Will Summer again,
And seem as very a goose as I was before-
Musch a douch you, vounder.

Philog. The fool thinks, truly, I am still at supper-
What, Will Summer! from whence com'st thou?

Cac. Cha been so far that cham sore in my crupper
Cha been saddling my gofe cuckold's cow.

Philog. A wise reason, God help me! that the noddy brings out.
But tell me: didst thou see thy young master alate?

Cac. He was here right now, and with Jack 'Nophilus fought;
Cham may say to you, vounder, there were a great bait.

Philog. Nay, thou art deceived, it were Eupelas thy cousin;
Was't not he that I called to supper at night?

Cac. Vye vye, no can know him from a dozen;
'Twere he that before put my master to flight.

Philog. Art thou sure of that, Will? marry! that's good news;
Did he put thy master to flight, canst thou tell?

Cac. O't's a grim whoreson, vounder! he made him to muse,
And put him quite to silence: he looked so fell.

Philog. The fool's words doth my heart yet somewhat relieve;
But I pray thee, Will, whither is thy master now gone?

Cac. And you'll give me some dingdongs to hang at my sleeve,
I'll tell you, by my troth! both whither and when.

Philog. Marry! that thou shalt, or I'll pull them from my hose;
Hold thee, and tell me true too, and thoust be my lurding.

Cac. Aha! this a trim one, indeed-has a golden nose;
I'll tell ye vort, a went in right now a-birding.

Philog. A-birding! like enough, I think, to catch a bunting!
Had he any dogs with him or no, knowst thou well?

Cac. I am sure, I, he is gone a very whore-hunting;
Had a brace of hounds with him that were good o' th' smell.

Philog. But how should I know when he comes again home;
Wilt thou here remain and then bring me word?

Cac. I can tell that, though I be but a mome;
But cham not fothered for all night-had nothing at board.

Philog. What, welcome, Liturgus! thou hast well hid;
How doth my friend Eupelas? is he well and in health?

Liturg. He is well, sir, but at home awhile he'll abide;
Anon he'll come see you, though it be by stealth.

Philog. We'll go home i' th' mean space then and rest us both twain;
To watch for thy master thoust tarry here still.

Cac. By my father's soul! I had rather go and come again;
Cham a-hungered, by my veckings! chill have my zoul, that I will.

Exeunt omnes.



Misog. Come on, my sweetheart! how fare you? be merry!
What stands your mind to? speak and we'll get it.
Ah! my heart of gold, as sweet as a cherry,
What is 't you fancy? speak, one shall go fet it.

Melissa. There is nothing, my true love, that I can desire;
I have enough only when you I embrace.
Orgal. God's populorum! she hath set him on fire;
In her love ticks the quene has a passing good grace.

Misog. Tell me, fair lady! will you range in the field,
Will you hear the birds sing and smell the sweet flower?

Melissa. I know the delights that the meadows can yield;
I had rather, and it please you, stay here in this bower.

Misog. What then, my heart root! will you drink some more wine?

OEnophilus, go fetch me here a whole hogs-head.

OEnoph. You shall have in haste of the best muscadine;
Orgalus, that will be good to supple my cod's head.

Melissa. It's needless (my nown), I pray you, send him not;
I have drunk so much that my belly e'en groans.

Misog. What will you then have? something shall be got
That will please you-will you have a cast at the bones?

Melissa. And you will, my darling! I am therewith content;
I played not, believe me, this many a day.

Misog. Hear ye, my youths! get me dice 'incontinent;
At what game, fair maiden, do you most love to play?

Melissa. I care not at what so you have a small stake.
Money, I tell you, with me now and then draweth low.

Misog. Money, woman! there's money, play that for my sake I
If you lack any money, look that I know.

Orgal. There's neither of us two hath a die more or less;
We were never in our lives, I am sure, worse stored.

Misog. God's body! get me dice, or I shall you bless;
If I have them not quickly, I'll swaddle you with a cord.

Orgal. A man may go all this town round about
And find not a die, I think, of my conscience!

Misog. Pack you, ye villain! or I'll slit you through snout;
And do your deed quickly without any dalliance.

Melissa. It were good also (my joy!), if some mate he could get
That would bear us company, and make us some sport.

Orgal. So I might perhaps through all the streets jet
And, losing my labour, soil myself in the dust.

Misog. [Go when] I bid thee, and get thee some one
[Or from my] service I'll turn thee like a beg[garly Jack].

OEnoph. Hark, a word, Orgalus! what sayest thou to Sir John?
Neither cards nor dice, I am sure, he doth lack.

Misog. What should I do with the priest, thou buzzardly beast?
I'll have some younker, and there be any i' th'town.

Orgal. How doth he differ, I pray you, from the rest?
He's no more a priest than you are, and he were out of his gown.

OEnoph. Disdain you Sir John? as good as you will have his company,
As the fellowliest priest that is in this shire;
To all the lusty guts he is known for his honesty;
Has not one drop of priest's blood in him, mythink I durst swear.

Melissa. Of all loves, I pray, let your man fetch him hither;
I have heard a good report of him, and it be he that I mean.

Misog. Ey, go for him, sirrah! and come again together;
If he be such a one, I would speak with him fain.

OEnoph. I am acquainted with him, sir; and you please, I'll go call him;
Both at cards and dice I know him to be skilful;
He'll not stick to dance, if company befall him;
In game, with a gentleman, he'll never be wilful.

Orgal. He, Sir! I am sure he is not without a dozen pair of dice,
I durst jeopard, he's now at cards or at tables.
A Bible? nay, soft you! he'll yet be more wise;
I tell you, he is none of this new start-up rabbles.
There's no honest pastime but he puts it in sure;
Not one game comes up but he has it by th' back;
Every wench i' th' town's acquainted with his lure;
It's pity (so God help me!) that ever he should lack.
Melissa. I shall think the time long till I see him come in;
I was beholden to him, I remember-when't was?

Misog. Though the drumbledary be long, at length he'll him bring;
am sure, my bonny wench! he'll take no nays.

Intrat Cacurg[us]

Cac. Gad's body! so soon have you found out your minion?
Is this my mistress that shall be? now Saint Cuckold bless you!
This is a smirking wench indeed, this a fair Maid Marion;
She's none of these coy dames, she's as good as Brown Bessie.

Orgal. I befool your heart, sirrah! you're too full of your prate;
Her name's dame Melissa, my master's own spouse.

Cac. Pardon, good madam! will ye have a nutmeg to grate?
A mincing lass, a honeysweet blowse!

Misog. How lik'st thou her, Cacurgus, is she not like a diamond in thy eye?
Is she not a sparking one, dost thou not think her an angel?

Cac. Would you give me leave to get a-near on her, I would do it by [and by];
I would do it with a triss, I swear by the vangel.

Misog. Out, arrant whoremaster! would'st thou meddle with my woman?
What, your n-own mistress, your master's nown wife!

Cac. I cry me mercy, Sir! I had thought she had been your [leman].
I pray God send you many and a lovely long li[fe].

[Melissa.] What, (my crout!) let him alone! this is your [jester].

[It] doth me good to hear some on 's merry [conceits].

Misog. I' faith, (my coney!) you may know that by his vesture:
The knave's full of bitchery, has a budgetfull of cheits.

Intrat OEnophilus.

OEnoph. I've been for you[r] man o' th'
church, and wot you where I had him?
I' th' alehouse at whipperginny, as close as a burr.

Misog. And why broughtest him not with thee?
(Enoph. I warrant you, I bade him,
And had plead but thy tricks; he'll come around as a purr.

Orgal. Did I not tell you? I would he were unpriested, by Jis!
There's too few such as he is, he would make you a fine man.
He'll not bash to grope a trull, to smack and to kiss.
We have danced and carded a whole week and ne'er blan.
Melissa. Good Lord, how it grieveth me that so long he doth linger!
Till he come, I shall think ery minute seven year.

OEnoph. He hath come twenty times at the becking of my finger;
With a whoop I'll have him now, by and by, here.
What ho! Sir John, Sir John!

Sir J. Here, hostess! here, hostess! I come quater.

OEnoph. Come on, Sir John! you have been in some forfeit;
My mistress sends in haste, your pace you must mend.

Sir J. I was so fast in that, I could not thence get;
But where is the gentlewoman that for me did send?

Orgal. Here! [To Misogonus.] I have brought him at your worship's request.
And this be not a right man, yourself be judge.

Misog. Welcome, Sir John! now sure, he's a beaking priest;
It's pity, by my Christendom! thou should'st be such a drudge.

Sir J. If your worship lack a gamester, and a gamester very fair,
For a pound or two I'll keep you company, by day or by night.
At cards, dice, or tables, or anything-I will not spare;
To keep a gentleman compa[ny] I do greatly delight.

Melissa. Now surely, my cockerel! this was good luck
That so honest a copesmate were fetched us to-day.

Cac. What, Master Ficker! I must needs challenge this book;
There's no remedy, I'll have it and my lesson go say.

Orgal. Bestow them on him, Sir John! it's a good merrygreek.
These books by profession of right he must have. [seek;

Cac. I'll find out my lesson or I'll over all

Oh! here I ha't now; here's k, for a knave.

Melissa. What game, master parson! do you now most acquaint?
Let's have some fine game, that game latest up.

Sir J. I have many good games, madame! as ruff, maw, and saint;
Or-God-a-mercy, goodfellow! when about goes the cup?

Melissa. Nay, but I'd rather at the dice have a cast;
Have you any dice? let us see, master Ficker!

Sir J. Dice I have plenty, you shall see them in haste;
Here's even my study, if I hit of good liquor.

Misog. What games can you play at? let's have those you use weekly.
We trifle the time; let us stick to our tackling.

[Sir J.] [To tick]tack, mumchance, or novum come quickly
. . . . .ing anything anything it's my daily [fackling].

Cac. Nuncle, good uncle, draw a card and thou lovest me;
Draw what thou wilt for a penny, it's thy brother.

Sir J. What, I believe for my cunning thou provest me;
My gown to thine it will fall out another!

Cac. Done, Sir John! twenty pound! I have won the priest's gown;
Look here, my masters! do you not know him by his shanks?

OEnoph. God's cheking! the priest's sland, I'd rather 'a' lost a crown;
The fool has beguiled him with his knavish pranks.

Misog. Come, let us make the match to novum, we five;
Prepare yourselves everyone in even battle row.

Cac. On then, a God's name! as many as will thrive;
I pray you, give the priest leave to have the first throw.

Sir J. Set then, my masters; a good luck! I begin;
Rise winnings luckily, seven is my cast.

Orgal. By the mass! I see well the priest is like to win;
Soft, friend! give me the dice, your turn is past.

Melissa. Halve stake between you and me, this time, Mr. Vicar;
At all this, Orgalus, now happily rise!
Misog. Throw, and thou wilt throw; why throw'st thou no thicker?
Throw, dreaming disard, or else give me the dice.

OEnoph. God's sacring! I have lost a noble at two sets;
Why, dice no luck; to-night will all be gone.

Orgal. By the mass, master! I think the vicar will beat's;
Forty shillings, I am sure, at least he hath won.

Misog. How now, mine own blossom! how like you this sport?
Doth not rejoice you such pastime to use? Melissa.
They can have no better, I am sure, of the court;
I had rather be your wife than one of the stews.

Sir J. Now, Marcus Mercurius! help thy master at a pinch;

It's mine and were there forty pounds at the stake.

Enoph. The priest's hand's i' th' mustard-pot; the knave, throw at an inch,
Has some dice of vantage, mine oath I durst take.

Orgal. What, luck! wilt thou never turn?
why, bones! what mean ye?
I thought 'twould come at length; mass! this was well drawn.
Sir J. Set lustily, my boykins! or else I will stain ye.
By the motherkin a God! that was knavishly thrown.
Melissa. God have mercy for that good dice yet that came i' th' nick;
One good stake in an hour is worth a many dribblings!
Sir J. What, faint ye, my children? fie, that's a coward's trick!
Let me have round game, I'll none of these nibblings!

Cac. Who wins now? my masters! who pays here to th' bo[xe?]
What, is the priest's hand i' th' honey pot yet?

[Orgal.] Thoust get nothing here unless it be knocks,
Except at this time I can have a good hit.

[Misog.] How now, vicar! ha! how goeth the world on your side?
What, doth Dame Fortune begin now to frown?

Sir J. A pox consume it! It will now all slide,
At every cast I lose a noble or a crown.

OEnoph. Priest! down with that ruddock or I'll give over;
I'll not throw a' th' bare board set and thout play.

Sir J. By God, and all the world! I shall never this recover:
There 'tis be lucky yet, it's gone without stay.

Orgal. Nay, I'll none of that, friend! you play not now with boys;
Ery little wagpasty could say: Nought stake, nought draw.

OEnoph. Tut, priest I bring't out! thou hast it! we'll none of these toys.
We are no such sucklings to take lubbun law!

Sir J. By the body of our Lord Jesus Christ! they're all hab or nabs;
Either now come, or the devil and his dame go with all.

Orgal. Is't my turn? be true to your master then, my babes!
O lively luck! I have won a whole royal.

Melissa. By St. Mary, I beshrew you! your play is too sore;
Your men have a quarrel against me and the priest.

Misog. Thest go like a couple of knaves, I promise them, therefore;
But let them do their worst, thoust not lack, by God's blest

Sir J. God's sides! will you not trust me? there's my gown for a pledge;
I'll not leave, by th' five wounds! while I am worth a grey groat.
What's his gown gone too? then he may go hang o' th' hedge;

Has the merchant a shilling so soon to nine-pence brought?

Misog. Care not, man! I'll be thy surety theyst do thee no wrong.
Orgalus! play fair; you are but a jangler!

Cac. By St. Sunday! methinks I hear the saunce bell go ding-dong;
Oh Sir John! by th' matins! you must out for wrangler.

Sir J. I'll play still, come out what will, I'll never give over i' th' lurch;
Let them ring till their arses ache; I know the worst.

OEnoph. Away, priest! by this time they are all come to th' church:
For shame! get thee hence, priesf! thout be bonably cursed.

Misog. God's body! is a right man, indeed; priest, keep thy farm!
Is worth you all, by th' mass; now I see he's no starter.
There's money, stick to't; I warrant, thoust have no harm.
If thou mades't a' th' ordinary I'll get thee a charter.

Sir J. By God! I thank you, Sir; my parishioners, I am sure, be content
To miss service one night, so they know I am well occupied.

Cac. It's no matter, parson! so they come of a good intent,
I am sure they care not how little they be noddified.

Sir J. Ha, then, for all Christian souls, a man or a mouse!
Ist win all at this cast, I durst lay my benefice.

[Orgal.] The priest now again's as busy as a body louse;
I'll keep my money while I ha't; I pray he go to service.

Clerk. Dice hic, dice hic!
Is Sir John here at dice, can any man tell?
My gaffers be all come a pretty while since.
What, Sir John! did you not hear when I fiddled the bell?
They're all come i' good faith, I pray you go hence.

Melissa. My boy! tell them he is now busy with his friend;
He would come full fain, thou may'st see, if he might.

Sir J. Pray thee, say so, Jack; hold thee! there's somewhat to spend;
And they'll needs ha't, theyst have a couple the next Sunday night.

Misog. Th'art but a fool, priest! to be so obedient;
I would make my clerk serve this once and I was as thee.

Sir J. You say well, sir! as long as 'tis not the holy time of Lent;
An' thou wilt say, Jack, or theyst have none for me.

Melissa. Tell him what he should say then, and let him be packing;
The fellow would do it as well as thou, I warrant him, for a need.

Sir J. Faith, Jack! it's no matter, an' all thy lessons be lacking;
Say a Magnificat, Nunc dimittis, and even end with the Creed.

Orgal. What! shall he leave out the Psalms and his Pater Noster?

What good will the Creed do without those and his Aye?

Cac. If they'll ask where Sir John is: we're all here one a-cluster;
Five knaves besides my master and my mistress, God save ye!

Clerk. I'll patter't as well as I can: but if you knew who were there,
You'd leave th' dice with all your heart for one wanton look.

Sir J. Is Susan Sweetlips come? mass Jack! I'll go see'r-
Pray you, sir, give me leave but even go to turn him my book.

OEnoph. Now St. Thais bless ye! would'st thou go to the trull?
Why, man! here's woman's flesh, and that be the worst.

Sir J. I have diced so long now, that my senses be even dull;
Gad! when I came hither, I think, I was cursed.

Melissa. Get you hence, Jack! and thyself do the best;
Care not for thy money, man! and thou lovest me, tarry still!

Cac. By tetragramaton, and the black sanctus! I do the rest.
If thou goest a-foot, sore thy brains I will spill.

Melissa. Let us exercise some new pastime now, this is stale;
The priest and I am weary; we'll no more of this trash.

Misog. Content, my minikin! choose what you will; at no game I will fail.
What say you to dancing, shall we dance a little crash?

Melissa. There's none better (my dear I), come, dare you lead me a dance?
Lead you me first, and I hope the vicar will be next.

Sir J. By St. Patrick, damsel! for your sake I'll out, vance!
It's good to fetch a frisk once a day, I find it in my text.

Misog. Trifle not the time then; say, what shall we have?
What country dances do you now here daily frequent?

Cac. The vicar of St. Fool's, I am sure, he would brave:
To that dance of all other I see he is bent.

Sir J. Faith, no! I had rather have Shaking o' th' sheets, or Sund .
Or Catching of quails or what, fair Meliss[a].

[Melissa.] . . . fool I see by him is given
[wholly to scorn] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[Orgal.] Priest! keep your sink-a-pace and foot ito' th' best sort;
Now close, quod currier; come aloft, Jack, with a whim-wham!

OEnoph. O lively with hie, child, and turn thee; ah, this is good sport!
How is't, priest? here's for thy laming a chim-cham.

Sir J. How fare you, Melissa? what, me-thinks you wax weary;
Will you not pause awhile? alas! too sore you do. trace.

Melissa. I'm well, I thank you, Sir John; how do you, are you merry?
Of all the priests that e'er I knew he treads the best pace.

Misog. Ah! mine own henbird, I must needs lay thee o' th' lips.
Well vaunted, by th' mass, priest! that's worth a whoop.

Orgal. By th' marry God! how lustily the lubber now skips!
God's precious! the scab with my mistress doth tupe.

Cac. This a close carver, by th' mass! he's a right cock o' th' kind;
The knave's fleshed, you may see, he bites like a cur.
A man might rack hell and scarce such a crew find.
How the stoned priest doth keep with yon gossip a-stir
Who'll laugh now, my masters? and you will, I'll make you laugh;
I'll serve them, a trust, as coltish as they are.
I can anger them all and but turn to a scoff.
Vest see a hurricamp straightway, I'll set all at a jar.
By promise, as you know, the old Jochum I should certify
When his son from birding home did retire;
I'll go tell him now; the deed itself my words will verify.
If I make you no good sport, say I'm a liar.

Exit Cacurgus. Intrant Philogonus, Eupelas et Liturgus.



Philog. O, merciful Lord God! what a company is here met,
What a rabblement of rascals and rakehells have we here!
Why, son, these pernicious practises wilt thou never forget?
Alas, Misogonus! wilt thou never leave this gear?

Misog. What, do you fall in your fusting fumes at the first?
Not the worst of us, but for our honesty, with yourself will compare.
Eupelas. Why, Misogonus! into such lewd languish dare you burst?
What! not your father a little can you spare?

Misog. What! are you his spokesman? meddle you with your old shows!
And he were my father ten times heist have as good as a bring.

Philog. Stay a while, Eupelas; I know our labour we shall lose;
But yet I'll tell the unthrift of his detestable dealing.
Callsta this honest company? or is this an honest sport,
To be revelling and boozing after such a lewd fashion?
I think hell break loose when thou gatt'st thee this port.

Four such thou couldst scarce find in a whole nation.

Melissa. Why, father! what dishonesty can you lay to our charge?
[The]re's none of us wood, you should know, neither thieves no[r ho. . . .]

[Philog.] . . . her'st thou me, strumpet?
I, speak'st thou so large?
[Out] of my] sight, quean! or I'll cart thee, by God's [bones!]

[OEnoph.] Take heed what you say, master! she comes of a good parentage;
Misuse her not, I tell you; she's of worshipful blood.

Liturg. What! come you in with your seven eggs, if I catch you o' th' vantage?
Hold your peace when ye're well, friend! or else ye were as good.

Sir J. What if this gentlewoman and your son I have married,
May they not then come together without any offence?

Philog. I'd rather thou wert hanged, thief! and he to his grave carried
Than to marry him (varlet!) without my license.

Eupelas. Hast thou married him, priest? then unknit me this knot-
Darest thou keep company with another man's wife?
Thou abhominable sodomite! thou execrable sot!
So God shall judge me, peel'd Jack, it's pity of thy life!

Sir J. Why not, Sir, as long as he himself is in place?
Whatsoever I do proceeds of pure love.
I do but what I should do: that's a clear case;
To love all, and hate none, it doth prelates behove.

Eupelas. Dost thou but what thou should'st do, thou idolatrous beast;
Should'st thou be the ringleader in dancing this while?
A good minister would be at church now, attending on God's hest.
Of all wretches that ever I knew thou art most vile.

Misog. Art thou so cocked again? what hast thou to do to speak?
The priest shall live beside thee: prate till thy belly ache!

Philog. Saucy boy! dost thou think to put us to wreak?
If thou dost not amend this, a drudge I'll thee make.

Misog. Do your best and your worst, I care not a pin for you, I;
I'll keep both her and the rest, in maugre your beard!

Eupelas. Now, of truth, it's marvel the house fall not down suddenly:
He speaks so outrageously, he makes me afraid.

Philog. Keep them? keep hogs! thief! I'll cut thee full short:
Thoust never enjoy one jot of my land.

Misog. With your great words, I tell you, do you greatly me hurt.
When you're dead, let me see who dare me withstand.

Philog. I'll gi't away, for God['s] sake, rather to them that have need,
When thou shalt then whistle and be glad go to th' cart.

Misog. For God['s] sake? marry! so might you do a good deed!
Gi't who you will gi't: I'll ha't spite of your heart.

Melissa. Care not for him, husband, he speaks but in dotage;
He may say what he will, he can do you no harm.

Philog. O Christ! how the drivel doth answer me in mockage!
A cuckstool! (son!) thoust be made thy tongue for to charm.

Misog. Hold your hands! you were best and let her alone;
We're able to make you and your two men to faint.

[OEnoph.] God's cruse! both we, yourself, and trusty Sir John- We four could anger him an' he
were a very saint.

[Eupelas.] A man were as good met a she-bear in the wood [s]
[With] her wheips at her heels now roaring for [hunger]
. . . . . . [stir]red up with such a [furious mood . . .]

Philog. In thy youth thou never hadst such hellhounds at thy back;
Th'adst other manner of fellows, son, in thy young days.

Sir J. That was but because discretion he did lack.
It's not best for one, sir, any of us to dispraise.

Liturg. There's no mischief, as they say commonly, but a priest at one end;
It were thy part to admonish him his father to obey.

Sir J. Whensoever I meet you, sir, look your head that you fend!
A fart for you all! come, Melissa, I'll away!

Melissa. I pray you, Philogonus, no longer contend;
You have given them a thread which they'll never untwist.

Misog. It's but a folly indeed, wench, more words to spend;
Let him say what he will, I'll do what I list.
Come then, let's be gone, I'll never strive with him more;
His lands are mine, as sure as a club knave! let the world wag!

OEnoph. We'll follow to Michol; on afore! on afore!
I'll quaff perhaps first, though here I be lag.

Philog. Did you e'er hear of man in more misery than I?
Was there ever silly soul that was so contemned?
There's no way but one, Eupelas: I shall surely die;
My calamities will not cease till my life hath an end.

Eupelas. I am as sorry for your case as if it were mine own;

Your anguish and vexation is to me a great smart.
But consider, Philogonus! to what end should you groan?
Seeing there's no remedy, why should you take it at your heart?

Philog. And Eupelas, consider! if your son were like mine,
Could you choose but lament and sith very sore?

Eupelas. I could not choose indeed, Philogonus, I must needs whine;
Than he should be such a one, I would wish him dead before.

Philog. All you that love your children take example by me:
Let them have good doctrine and discipline in youth;
Correct them betime, lest afterward they be
Froward and contemptuous, and so bring you to great ruth.

Liturg. Good, master! yet, I pray you, make not two sorrows of one,
But bear it as patiently as possibly you may.

Eupelas. The best is for you to trust in Christ Jesus alone
And by faith in his mercy yourself for to stay.

Philog. It's very true, Eupelas, in Him is all my joy;
If it were not so, certes! I had done or this long.

Eupelas. Be you sure, Philogonus, it cannot you greatly annoy;
His power in weakness is ever most strong.

Philog. I am sorry that you, Eupelas, so often I have troubled;
Depart home now, I pray you, and make merry with your wife.

[Eupelas.] If I could do you good, I would wish my pains doubled;
But fare you well; my prayers for you shall be rife.

[Philog. G]et thee home also, Liturgus; I will follow thee straight;
[My] grief here to the Lord, in a doleful ditty [will I vow.]

Liturg. Sweet master! yourself do not over much fret;
At your commandment I am ready, I will go my ways flow.

THE SONG TO THE TUNE OF Labondolose Hoto.
O mighty Jove! some pity take
On me, poor wretch, for Christ's sake.
Grief doth me gripe, pain doth me pinch,
Wilful despite my heart doth wrinch.
O Christ! thou art my only aid;
If Thou help'st not, I'm quite dismayed.
Spite doth my mind;o sore oppress,
That this my care will be endless,
Except thou succourest me at need
And sends me sovereign salve with speed.
My sins, I willingly confess,
Hath oft of right deserved no less:
I was the cause of this my care,
The rod aiway sith I did spare.
If I in time had him correct,
I'd never been thus sore affect.
'Tis I, 'tis I, that am to blame,
Myself, myself deserveth shame;
I am, O Lord! alone in fault:
By suffering this self will he caught.

If Phoe bus forc'd was to lament
When Phceton fell from th' element,
If Dedalus did wail and weep
When Icarus in seas was deep,
If Priamus had cause to cry
When all his sons was slain in Troy:
Why should not I then, woeful wight,
Complain in a more piteous plight?
Mine doth not onl' himself undo,

But me full oft doth work great woe.
The loss of lands I could well bear,
Or what things else some love most dear;
On worldly wealth I do not stay:
God gave and He may take away.
Disdainful taunts I could have borne
Of any else that would me scorn.
Yea, I could bear't an hundred fold
Better to see himlaid i' th' mould
Than thus this life in lewdness spend,
Whereof destruction is the end.

A good example here you see;
All parents, O take heed by me!
If you detest unquietness,
Or if you love true happiness,
Nurture your youth in awe and fear,
[Let them] their duties often hear.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Whereas now sithes my soul doth sift
And ruth Jul sobs my heart doth rift.

To Thee, O Lord! I do return,
Here in this misery as I mourn,
Desiring, if it may Thee please,
My pains a little to appease.
Though it be far beyond my faith,
Yet Thou canst help, Thy gospel saith;
Help, Lord! help, Lord! help yet in time,
And lay not to my charge this crime.
Pardon for that is past I crave
With hope some help of Thee to have.

Exit Philogonus.



Codrus. Po, po, po, come Jack! come Jack! Heave slow, heave slow!
How now, my masters! did none of you see my souded sow?
There's ne'er a one in our end o' th' town, I'm sure, hath worse hap;
When I set her out to mast, would I had put her to my pease mow;
This luck indeed: both buichin and sow gone all at a clap!
Now God and sweet St. Anthony, send me my sow again!
And she be gone 1st ne'er be able this winter to keep house.
If I should always eat curds and buttermilk it would be my bane.
1st not live a week without puddings and souse.
What a cockalondling make the whoreson! would you needs begone?
I'll give ye to one that shall spit you, I wa'nt you.
By th' marrikins! will you not leave your cackling? you'll be quarkened anon.

By my little honesty! I think there's some foul ill haunts you.
Ho, God be here! where be you maidens? God be here!
What? is there nobody to take my rent hens?

Cac. Hark, how like a calf! there's one speaks: what fowl have we there?
I'll know what that wizard, a God's name! intends.

Codrus. Vool, I was the wisest that my mother had, and we were nineteen.
I have been 'lected for my 'scretion five times constable.

Cac. If you had been but once more, two fools to th' tithe there had been:
A good litter, marry! and men to serve a prince well able.

Codrus. What, William! what, William!
give me that hand of yours, I say;
Why, tell me, William, how hast thou done this seven year?

Cac. It's a good while ago, Codrus, since we two eat a bottle of hay.
But tell me, old sincanter! what quick cattle hast thou here?

Codrus. Cha brought a couple of capons in my baskets to my aude mas[ter],
Against Christmas, now to make merry with his friends.

[Cac.] Thy wit runs before thy tongue, thou conceaved Cust[er;]
Thou li'st, old minsimust! they are a couple of hens.

[Codrus.] [It's al good stumble near horst; I am sure they we[re gelt;]
[I dur]st pose o' th' Bible-book, Alison groped vor th' st[ones]

[Cac.] . . . . [hor]son coxcomb! didst ne'er see he[ns felt?]
. . . . . . . . . [as true as a] . . . . . . . . .

Codrus. Nay, but hear'st oo, William? won't do one thing for me and thaw . . .?
Won't tell my master: here's t' gof Custer would speak with him vain?
And thou wilt, William, thoust be a good boy and I'll gi'thee a new nothi[ng;J
I'll gi' thee a fine thing that came from London, for your pain.

Cac. Give me thy basket, I'll 'liver them like a tall fellow myself,
And desire him to come to thee here in this station.

Codrus. Set it then, when th'ast done, o' th' cupboard or o' th' shelf.
I hope with him now to have some excommunication.
If he come, I can tell what to say: I'll spur him a whestion.
I'll tell him, grace a God! an my mumbrance do not fail me,
What a talk I heard between Madge Mumble-crust and our Alison;
I am sure, an I knew all the price of my sow, it would 'vail me.
Ye may lay your life he'll be glad when he hears of his tother,
For my young master's as wery a dingthrift as e'er went on God's yer;
He'll not care an aglet for him when he hears of his brother-

And no matter, by St. Cuthbeard! he keeps such a stir.

Intrat Philogonus.

Cac. Here he comes, Custer! hold ta deliver them with thy own hands;
He'll give thee somewhat and thou makest cursy down to th' ground.

Codrus. De good deen, master! cha brought you twe who-chittals in my maunds;
Do you not hear of nobody that my souded sow hath vou[nd?]

Philog. God have mercy, Custer! I'll make thee one day amends;
What be they, I pray thee, are they a couple of capons?
Codrus. Bum vay! I said so, and Mast'
William makes me believe they be hens;
God's dinty chil be plain to you: I took them e'en as it happens.

Philog. Take them thou wilt, and carry them forthwith to th' cook,
And bid him fat them well, against I make a feast.

Cac. They were capons till I changed them-he that list may go look;
A shilling by this match I have got at the least.

Codrus. How is't with you, master? me-think you look zad.
What, I would have you use mirth and rejoyuce your heart now.
You'd be sorry, indeed, if my cagin you had;
My bulchin turned up his heels at Martinmass and now I lost my [sow.]

Philog. That's a great loss for a poor man; but mine is much more.
Would I had lost all that e'er I had, condition I had found one.

Codrus. To lose all, by St. George, master! that would go sore;
Belakins! no, sir! one might shoe the goose an' all were gone.

Philog. God help me, Custer! I know not well what I speak, I am so troubled in my [mind.]
My son, my son's so ungracious: I know not what to say.

Codrus. Why, is't not possible some policy to find?
I would not blin an I were in your coat till I had tried ery way.

Philog. I have tried ery way with him, he's quite past grace;
Would I could try some way now to bring myself consolation.
Codrus. I'll bring you some, I, or else I'll give you my cow with whi[te face].
I can do it and that wightly, I speak without semblation.

Philog. Canst thou do it, Custer? now I would to God, thou could .
In that condition I gave thee the price of ten swi[ne] . .
Codrus. If I do it not, let me never hereafter come in y[our] . . .
By God's zacrament! if I do it not, I'll be bound

[P]hilog. Let me hear then, Custer, what comfort cans[t bring] . . . . . .
Doubt [no]t of my promise, thou know'st me of f [old].

[Codrus.] An you knew as much as I know, I'm sure you'd both laugh and sing;
You'd be in jocundare cum amicis an you had all told.

Philog. Why, what is it, Codrus? I pray thee, tell me without delay;
Beside that I give thee, I'll be thy friend all the days of thy life.

Cac. If I say I can tell, I can tell, indeed- what day is to-day?
How long is 't since the death of my mistress, your wife?

Philog. Is this the comfort 1st have? by thy talk thou mak'st me in a greater quand[ary.]
This thy remembrance of her, Custer, is a corsy to my heart.

Codrus. A, God rest her soul! God have mercy of her soul! and St. Mary;
Is there a qualming come over your stomach? I warr'nt you youst bear't.

Philog. Thy foolish words have made me more heavy than ever I were;
Tell me to what end of my wife thou mad'st mention?

Codrus. I wottle well enough how she served you; did you never hear?
Though I be a fool i' my talk, chave always some 'tention.

Philog. Why, how did she serve me? declare it me plain;
Pray thee, tell me quickly without 'tracting of time.

Codrus. I'll go fetch our Alison and come straightway again;
She ha' wit enough to tell you; her capidossity is better than mine.

Philog. Alas, good silly soul! has told me a tale here o' th' man i' th' moon;
Some matter he talks of-if I knew what he meant!

Codrus. Moss! I'll tell you, though I lack retorumes; and sheist mend it soon-
Why, master mine! did never hear yet whither your son was sent?

Philog. Sent? why, whither should he be sent? he never went abroad.
I ween thou art tipsy; didst not come from th' alehouse a-late?

Codrus. Yea, yea, faith! he has been far than e'er oo have, on Taleon ground he ne'er trod;
And for bibbling, I would you should know I do it foully hate.

Philog. Be not angry, Codrus; thou hast brought me, truly, in a great suspense.
I pray thee, speak so at one word as I may understand.

Codrus. I'll speak plain English now: he's gone a thousand mile hence;
And you'll not trust me, call Alison and hear the matter scanned.

Philog. That is unpossible to be, unless thou talk 'st of another;
Thou mak'st me, without doubt, wonderfully to mase.

Codrus. Why, God's duty, master! I meant all this while the tother;
Do you think that such loudly Custer Codrus could face?

Philog. What other meanest thou? I had never mo sons than one.
I am at my wits' end with thy talk, by God's mother!

Codrus. Why, an you'll believe me, I'll go fetch our Alison;
You shall see and she doth not tell you that my young master has a bro[ther.]

Philog. There never was poor mariner amidst the surging seas,
Catching a glimmering of a port whereunto he would sail,
So much distract twixt hope of health and fear his life to lose,
As I even now with hope do hang, and eke with fear do fail.

[Codrus.] Alison! what, Alison! what mean'st, woman? sits all day by th' fire;
Come! thou mak'st good haste thus; thou wouldst serve me an I lay a[mayd.]
God's my arms, Alison! should'st trick thee with thy best 'tire;
Thou look'st as though thou had'st been in some heap of ashes l[aid.]

[Alison. Wh]y, what's the matter that thou wouldst have me so fine . .
[Thou] wert wont to like me well enough [in my]...

Codrus. For that sow that's gone I'll help thee to ten, if the fair be no .
Come, thou must go to my master, he sends for thee, by cock!

Alison. What, didst tell him of the matter we talked on last week,
How many miles he were hence, and that he were his eldest son?

Codrus. I 'dared it as well as I could, and he would needs have me thee go and [seek].
Prove it true and weist have sows enough; Alison, come, let us run I
Lo! here she is; now, Sir! simple though she be, for the fault of a better,
She's not bookish, but she'll place her words as 'screetly as some [of those]

Philog. That's no matter a rush, Codrus; an she know ne'er a letter,
If she can make manifest this thy talk, that's enough for me.

Alison. I am glad to see your worship's worshipful mastership in good heal.
What is the cause, saving your reverence! that for me you do send?
If it be for your own commodity, or for the commonweal,
I will tell you with all my heart, as God shall me mutterance lend.

Codrus. Nay, she's aligant indeed, she would chant this extrumpery a whole day;
I had rather than the best sheep I had my tongue were but half so nimble.

Philog. Thy husband here taunts of my wife, and of a son I have, gone a great way;
Speak in this case what thou knowest, and do not dissemble.

Alison. My sweet mistress! now, our sweet Lady of Walsingham be with her sweetly sweet soul!
I have bid many a prayer for her both early and late.

Codrus. Faith! and so have I; there's ne'er a day but I have her in my bead-roll;
I say a De pro fundus for her ery night according to th' old rate.

Philog. Pray for her no more, but rather give God praise;
Your prayers are but superstitions and she I hope's at rest.
You love her, it seems; so did I, and shall do all my days.
But now to pray for ourselves here, while we live, I count it best.

Codrus. Lo you, Alison! wer master is o' th' new learning; did not I tell you before?
You'll not be ruled, you; ye ne'er lamed that of me.

Philog. Some other time of these matters you may debate more.
Whither thy talk tends, Alison, let me now see.

Alison. Custer, did you tell my master anything before I came hither?
Speak, if you have; when you made an end, I'll begin.

Codrus. As well as my mother wit would serve me, I told him all the curcumstance together;
I did it prettily well, but I'll have thee do't, vine, vine.
Alison. Ah, master! it was as love child as ever woman bore;
It went to my heart when I saw it sent quite away.

Philog. Why, whither was it sent, Alison? my child was ever within door.
Your talk doth so astonish me, I Cannot tell what to say.
Alison. Goodly lord! are you so ingrum, did you ne'er hear of Polona land?
And did you never know your wife's brother that there doth dwell?

Philog. Yes, marry! that I do, all this I do well understand;
But what mean'st of that country and of my brother me to tell?

Alison. What mean I? marry! thither your son and heir was [sent].

Philog. What, my son?

Alison. Yea, your son, I tell you, I am in no drunken f[it]!

Philog. Say 'st thou that my son and woman to [Polona went?]

[Alison.] I said it, I.

Philog. [By that] saying thou mak'st me [almos].t out of [my wit.]

[C]odrus. How say you now, master! do not our Alison and I agree-in one tale jum[p?]
Ye may see, we are as true as steel, we both on 's scorn to lie.

Alison. Care not, master! yest not need for this exstory to be in a dump;
This a true as the Gospel, there's mo can tell as well as I.

Philog. Thou say'st it's true; but how can't be true? I had never mo wives tha[n one,]
And she, after Misogonus was born, within a week took her death.

Alison. I talk not of 'Sogonus, I talk of your tother son.

What a blindation are you in I why, my mistress had two babes at a bir[th.]

Philog. O merciful Lord God! if I might crave it without offence,
Grant that these tidings may be true which I hear.

Codrus. God's blessing of thy sweet heart, Alison! now I'll say, th'art a good [wench;]
I'll bestow a penny in apron-strings on the next market for th[is gear.]

Alison. Though I say't and should not say't, I was her midwife, I;
I can show you good tokens and arglements that this is so.

Codrus. By th' same token that he had two thumbs on one foot; tut, she stood by;
Pounder matter? well! if she should not know't, who should know?

Alison. What, dost tak'h' tale out of my mouth? sha't tell then for Alison?
And thou't needs ha't, tak't thyself and say no more, but tell true.

Codrus. God's blothemnails! dame, where had we you, are you now in your crileson?
And thou say'st I lie, thou liest; as thou bak'st, so sha't brew.

Alison. Ay, list thou me, cuckoldy knave!
I'll ha'e thee in my memorandum,
I may chance make thee lie i' th' dust ere long for thy lying.

Codrus. Th'art a crow-trodden whore; I'll not suffer thee an thou wert my grandam.
And th'ast not for this talk, ne'er trust me ill kiving.

Alison. Threaten's' me, old-

Codrus. Hold thy tongue! comination gom!

Alison. Nay, I'll decry thee to th' officials, as I am true maid, thou nantipack!

Codrus. Decry me to th' fisheals? nay, then have at thee, tom-boy, tom!
Thou a maid? th'art a jadge; before I knew thee thou wert an old ridden jack.

Philog. Nay, good neighbours! no more of this rule, but to th' matter return.
Leave me not now i' th' briars, you have told me thus much of my son.

Codrus. By this light that shines, master!
all the fault you may see's in her;
I would ne'er have had foul word and she had not begun.

Alison. And I had gone forward in my tale and thou had'st not egged me like a fool.

Codrus. I neither egged thee, nor collop'd thee; if I had egged ye, thou might'st yet chese.

Alison. I'll tell on, master, if ye can make him keep in his fool's bolt.

Philog. Be quiet awhile, Codrus! I'll bestow on you both a good liberal fees.

Alison. Where left I last-at Polonia or at my mistress' deliverance?

Philog. At this, pardy! thou talkest of two children she had at one birth.

Alison. Till I can prove this true, an you will, lay me fast in dura[nce.]

Codrus. How, by this, master, do you not now 'gin to feel some comfort and mirth?

Philog. Whether it be for mirth or for sorrow, I'm ready to weep;
My mind doth now languish in such a wonderful perplexity.

[Alison.] Fear you not, sir! I hope to reduce you from your sorrows most [deep]
[To tr]anquillity of mind and most blissful felicity.
[My] mistress, I say, had two sons whereof-
. . . . . . in good time be it spoken-
. . . . . . she sent away closely to her brother far hence.
. . . . . . toes on h[is ri]ght foot which may be a good token.
. . . . . . [of his foots she had some] . . . . . .
For she was counselled (as she said) by a certain learned man:
If she had two sons, th' eldest to send to her brother's afar,
Telling her of his good destiny; which she, rememb'ring then,
Conveyed him close away, making none but me only aware.

Philog. O God! which in mercies art infinite and also most just,
Can these news be true which of this woman I hear told?
Thou never failest them, I know, that in Thee put their trust,
Which makes me in giving credence to her somewhat more bold.

Codrus. I did but jibe, Alison: I love ye well enough, wench, for all that;
For the good disorder that thou keeps i' thy tale I must needs give thee a buss.

Alison. Away, whoreson! I must answer my master; now here's no time to chat.
When we are alone i' th' cellar, soon we may one another cuss.

Philog. What proof can you bring of this matter; you were not eye witnesses [both?]
This thy tale, beside thyself dost thou know any that will justify?

Alison. By this fire that burneth, that's God's angel, I swear a great oath:
It's as true as I am true, in me you shall ne'er find dishonesty.
There was not many present indeed, when this fate were done;
My mistress only of his sending away me privy did make.
But that she had another, and that he were her eldest son,
Two of my gossips knoweth also, which to be true their oath will take.

Philog. It's twenty year since this was done; why keep'st it so long close?
An this so wonderful a thing be true why didst not tell me of this?

Alison. I'd not told you now, but that my husband begun; I do it now perforce.
She swore me so sore, and you know what a great thing an oath is.

Philog. But who be thy other gossips that can testify the same?
I would gladly hear of as many as could witness this tale.

Codrus. Cock! Caro's wife and Isbell Busby, I can tell you their name;
Though we're poor, yet we're true and trusty-it's no tale of Jack-a-male.

Alison. An you'll have the truth tried, send to your brother out of hand;
That's the best and the surest way that I can devise.

Codrus. By th' mouse foot! do so, master; fetch him to his own natural land.
Let him be no longer 'yond sea, master! an you be wise.

Philog. I'll follow your counsel, by Jesu!
Liturgus shall go forward to-morrow.
I hope, if the wind serve him, within this month he'll come again.

Codrus. I trust now, sir, you'll let me half a score of your sows borrow.
Lady blessed! this was all long of me; chope you'll consider my pain.

Philog. Put no doubt, Codrus; thoust haye sows, I promise thee, plenty;
An if my son come in safety thoust ne'er pay me penny rent.

Codrus. By St. Bridget, Alison! bacon and pork flesh is dainty.
Say you me so, master? by my trullit! we'll then have one merri[ment.]

Philog. Here's somewhat onward; depart home for this time . .
An' look you be ready to bear witness, if need shall re[quire.]

Codrus. Mass, Alison! for my master's sake at P'lonia we'll
But let's home now and have a pot o' th' best with a toast [in the fire.]

[Philog.] O happy man! if this be true, O thrice and four t . . . .
Before the fatal sisters three have woven my . . .
[If] this, I say, be true, I hope t' joy some . . . .
. . . [to and fro with fear and hope my life] . . . . .
Mock on, Misogonus! if thou wilt; if God another sends
I care not, I: he, as by right, shall have my goods and lands.
I'll set the light, I warrant thee, till thou these faults amends,
Which yet, if thou'lt repent, thoust find great courtesy at my hands.
But I'll now go send Liturgus to my brother in great haste,
Desiring him by a loving letter to demise my son and heir.
After that I'll show my friend Eupelas what tidings, at the last,
God hath revealed by a miracle most wonderful and rare.




Cac. It's time, I trow; here has been a prattling with these old fools.
Get ye hence, with a hot murrain to you all three!
That old lizard has no more wit than the weathercock of Poules;
A shame take him! had he none to make his packhorse but me?
I had not worse luck of -a day, I cannot tell whan;
Must that old cokes tell him this news, with a pest'lence!
I was cursed, I think truly, when that message I began;

It's now out, I can never be kept more in silence.
This has been kept in hugger-mugger a good while,
There has been blind talk of another son, I dare say, this seven year;
But what say'st thou to thyself, Cacurgus, hast thou no wile?
Ah ha! it shall go hard but, crc we sleep, we'll have somewhat here.
I'll trust all curmudgeonly foxes worse for his sake,
And had been happy, I might have given him his answer and sent him away;
An he will not deny it again, his arse shall surely quake;
It will make the old trot believe his skin I will flay.

Misog. Did no man meet Will Summer here this way a-late?
I have longed to talk with the counterfeit fool this sennight.

Cac. Will Summer? nay, nor Will Winter neither; tell ye, I'll none of that.
Yeist call me by my christian name or I'll not answer, by St. Bennett.

Misog. What, art thou so near, Cacurgus?
I had thought thou hadst not heard.
What news canst thou tell me of now, my old child?

Cac. Heavy news for you, I can tell you, of a cowling card;
It will make you pluck in your horns an you were ne'er so wild.

Misog. Pluck in my horns, say'st thou? he plucks in my horns has good luck;
I overcame my father, man! here with all his front.

Cac. I' faith! I know a thing will cool you and ye were ne'er such a wild buck;
It's no matter for your father, you must bide yet a worse brunt.

Misog. There's ne'er a golia in this shire that shall scare me.
My heart is even big enough, man! to fight with a score.

Cac. There will be in this shire shortly that will go near to mar you;
And you take not heed, I tell you, i'll turn you out a-door.

Misog. He that can do that, Cacurgus, is not in Italia;
But tell me who thou meanest, without more ado.

Cac. He that will do that, Misogonus, is in Apolonia;
There's one, I tell you, that will quickly you cow.

[Misog.] And if he were a giant, could scarcely bring me under.
But name him, that for him myself I may prepare.

[Cac. . . u]f, leave such words, it's but a folly thus to thunder:
[Yo]ur brother, your brother, your father's son and heir.
Misog. Tell'st] thou me of a brother? thou know'st I have none.
[If any] come and say he's my brother, I'll cut's weasand
Cac. . . . th], know, yes, [you know y]ourself you [have one;]

. . . [ye can, else the land is surely his own.]

Misog. Go-go-go-go-gog's! what treachery have we here;
What villain was he that told my father of this?

Cac. He that told him, and it had pleased God, I would he had laid o' th' bier:
An old crabtree fast carl, because a sow he did miss.

Misog. I have heard a whispering of such a thing, I must needs confess;
What think'st thou? I hope it's but a tale of a tub.

Cac. Whether he be alive or no I know nof; ye had one, it's questionless.
If he be, Liturgus brings him as sure as a club.

Misog. What, is Liturgus gone for him? Soul! what shall I then do?
I'll colefeke him myself for't, come out what will.

Cac. Why, knew you not that he went forward a fortnight ago?
It's not best for you to fight, lest ye one another kill.

Misog. What should I do then, Cacurgus? what remedy is left?
My heart would even burst for anger if I should so be served.

Cac. I would work some wile if I could catch the old mithers eft;
If I take him right, heist to that he hath deserved.

Misog. But what shall I be better, canst thou him defeat?
Help me now, Cacurgus! and while thou livest thoust never lack.

Cac. What if the deeds of his lands I get away with a fleet?
You need not care a pin, if you ha't in white and black.

Misog. Fie! they're under a dozen locks; thou canst never them get.
Try some other way rather, if thou hast opportunity.

Cac. Get you hence, and let me alone! I will play some fet;
I will work him some displeasure-be bold, and that speedy!

Misog. I will repair to her then awhile from whence I came,
And come see thee again within less than an hour.

Cac. If that old neat should 'scape scot-free for this, it were a shame;
I'll dust him for't one day, if e'er it lie in my power.



Intrant Isbell Busbey et Madge.

Isbell. Come, gossip! let's hie's betime, lest all the sows be gone.
Why should not we ha' some as well as that chattering jay?
If we should not, all the backhouse would be too li'Ie for her alone.
We can say as much i' th' 'claration as she can say.

Madge. Gogle-gogle-gossip Bub-bub-Bus-bey! I'd go full fain
And make a 'sposation as well as I could.
But here in my cho-cho-chops I have such a pain,
That I cannot conclare it, though I would.

Isbell. I have tongue enough for's both, Madge; I lack but a good felt
For to tell him how't was; I can serve the turn.
Pray thee, do so much as lend me but e'en thy red cap and thy belt;
Ist ne'er look him i' th' face else, my pare! is so worn.

Madge. Saint Mary Man-Man-Man-Madeline, Tib! mine is but wold;
But if thou couldst help me away with my toothache,
I'll gi't thee, I, Tib-tib-tib---there 'tis, hold!
Cause I would myself a speakclation make.

[Isbell.] Some phisicary I'll seek, but I'll have some remedy;
I'll bestow a penny for casting thy piss!

[Madge. Na]y, it shall ne'er be ca-ca-cast, though I ne'er spea
[I would ra-r]a-rather myself be speechless.

[Isbell.] There be some good men an one could light on them,
Which would do't for Godsake without prying in a pisspot.

Madge. If I could get such a one, I were a happy wo-wo-woman;
I could once a said Our Lord's sa-sa-salter by rote.

Cac. Good Lord! what great diversity and alteration
Is there in the manner of diverse people and countries!
I am here derided of the men of this nation,
Because my garment is pied not like to their guise.
If they were in my country, all men would them scorn,
Because they are all in one hue like a company of crows.
For of the best gentlemen there diverse coloured garments be worn;
We most delight in pied gowns and little care for hose.
I am, by my country and birth, a true Egyptian;
I have seen the black Moors and the men of Cyne.
My father was also a natural Ethiopian.
I must needs be very cunning, I have it by kind.
I have been one and twenty mile beyond the moon.
Four year together I touched the sun when it rose.
Where I was born, when't is midnight, it is here noon.
I was five years with them that with their heels upward goes.
By profession I am a very good physician.
Before I could, speak I had learned all arts liberal.
I am also a very skilful soothsayer and magician.
To speak at one word: I can do all things in general.
There is no sickness, disease or malady,

But I can tell only by viewing of the hand.
For every grief I can prescribe a present remedy.
I have all things that grows in the Indian land.
I can cure the ague, the measles and the French pock,
The tetter, the morphew, the bile, blain, and weal,
The megrim, the maidens, and the hitchcock,
The toothache or anything at one word I can heal.
My head is so full of the supermundal science
That I am faint to bind it, lest my brains should crow.
This nightcap was given me when doctor I did commence;
Good Lord, good Lord, what things do I know!
Neither do I care for any great gains winning;
I do all for Godsake and not for any gain;
And before I do deal, if any man doubt of my cunning,
That they may know't, I will tell their thought, certain!
For by my liberality I have in visiogmony
[I can] tell the cogitations and thought of the mind.
. . . . . . [y] my great spec-lation I have in exstronomy
[Both thing. . . . . . g] past and things to come of men I do find.
Therefore, if there be any man or woman in this country
That would have their pains and aches now cured,
Let them come: I will judge of it only by palmistry,
Which if I can, that I can help them they may be assured.

[Madge.] What a wise man 'tis, what a learn'd, what a far travelled man 'tis!

Isbell. O Lord, Lord! one would take him for a fool by his gown and his cap,
And he is too fulls a profundiditis as any is i' th' whole woand.

Madge. One would think as so pra-prapractised a' came from Go-Go-God a-mighten 's la[p;]
Wa'nt him [h]as been at Cambridge, good land, good land!

Isbell. By th' meckins, Madge! I'll go put in on my holiday-face
And wheston with him for thy toothache, and thoust tarry behind.
God speed you, Master Physicary! God save your doctorship's grace!
I beseech you, to my symplication let your ears be inclined.

Cac. Good wife! did you not hear when I made protestation
Of my intelligible experience in the art medicinal,
To the intent to heal good folk, and I showed that declaration?
For I ken now all things by cunning artificial.
You come not for yourself, but for a neighbour of yours
Which is pained, in her mandible, with a wormeaten tooth.
Sister! come near, sister! I will help you within this three hours;

If you doubt me, I will tell your very thought, in good sooth!

Isbell. A talks so fathermillerly 'twould do thee good at heart-root.
Come, Tib! I see by him he's a wise man indeed.

Madge. I'll be your bedewoman, Master Doctor, and you'll do't;
'Ze-ze-ze-zeech ye, if ye can, do't with speed.

Cac. If I can, saystow? why of my cunning dost thou doubt?
I'll tell thee all thou hast done, since day thou wast born,
And even at this present what thou now go'st about.
If need be, I can prophesy what thou shalt do to-morn.

Isbell. What we intend now, sir, by your skill are you wotting?
We'll say, ye're an excess doctorable man, if that you can read.

Cac. To bear witness you are now both toward your landlord trotting,
That his wife of two children at once was brought to bed.
But take heed what you do, lest you damn yourselves quite;
For the one was not a christian child, as you thought it to be,
But a certain fairy there did dazzle your sight
And laid her changeling in the infant's cradle, truly;
Hoping, thereby, your mistress' child to have got,
And to leave her changeling there in the stead;
Which, when she saw in a week she could not,
She fetched it away, when you thought it were dead.
An overthwart neighbour, too, of yours now a-late
Tells him whither 'twas sent, as though true it had been;
But she's a gayt, you know well, and a very make;
And the fairy, from that day to this, was ne'er se[en]!
But take you heed both, I give you good warni[ng]
Lest you be stricken hereby either lame or d. . . . . . . .
If you will, by conjuration, I will show you . . . . . . .

[Isbell.] Nay, good master! leave your magication craft;
It's as true, I know, as it had corned out of God's own mouth.

Madge. I gi-gi-give defiance to you so-so-so-so saft-saft;
I'd rather you'd tell me some drink for my tooth.

Cac. Dost thou believe that I can heal thee now? speak!
If thou dost, thy pain within three hours I will qualify.

Madge. I am sure, if you list, you can mend my toothache,
And I 'que-que-quest you to do it and not dallify.

Cac. Open thy mouth then, let me feel with my instrument
What is the cause that works by this pain.

Madge. You'll ga-ga-gag me, by God's testament!
Your mo-mo-monkfork doth make me so gayn.

Cac. I have cured a thousand of these in my days;
This I can cure with the value of farding.
Know you not an herb called envy that grows by th' highways,
And hypocrisy that grows in e'ry garden?

Madge. I know them well, I use them e'ry day in my porridge.
Go-go-gossip Busbey! this fellow hit's nail o' th' head.

Isbell. And wert not good also to take a little borage?
She might fare well so and crumb them with bread.

Cac. Fie, no! take them, I tell you, with two drams of lechery,
One dram of Venus here, infidelity, and stone new.

Isbell. Do you not mean that herb which we country folks call siphory?
I ne'er went to leachcraft, but I know that to be true.

Cac. That same, that same!-mixed all these with an ounce of popery,
Then boil them in maiden's water with a fire of haste.

Isbell. That's a weed, I think, we lay people call poppy;
Is't not that you mean, which the good corn doth waste?

Cac. That-tat-tat-tat, by my faith! thou hast good skill;
Use them but one night and thoust mend then apace;
And hereafter, I will warrant thee, thoust never feel ill,
So be't thou ne'er usest aqua vitae and herba grace.

Madge. Ye've e'en we' ni' lick'd me whole wi' your talk, wha'lI you take for your pains?
Mythink, I speak a great deal be-be-better than I did.

Cac. Sister, I do not respect my market or any gains,
But only the commodity of them that be afflicted.

Madge. Now God and our blessed Lady reward you for your good physication!
I'll pray for you truly and betterly for't once a day.

Cac. If thou be'st asked, as I know thou shalt, by prognostication,
Whether he had two sons or no, look thou say'st nay.

[Madge.] Nay, as sure as that good face of yours I do behold,
I nay't and nay't again and fousand times nay't,
[An]d before I say't, I'll both rail and scold; [y] well restrain me, but I will ne'er say't.

[Cac.] . . . . ye do a godless and uncharitable work.
. . . . . . [w] well for this time, I must depart.
. . . . . . Is]close, an't were to th' great Turk
. . . . . . [me] to Madge art thou better than [thou wert?]




Eupelas. Now, surely, Philogonus, but that I know God's providence,
In showing mercy to his servants is always usual, -
This wonderful thing I could not credit any human evidence;
It is so strange, that otherwise I would perceive in denial.

Philog. Indeed, Eupelas! but that we must not marvel at the works of the Lord,
It is so strange, that the like, I think, were never heard
If we should all histories of ancient writers record;
Neither, I dare say, the like shall be seen afterward.

Eupelas. Praised be the Lord that ever is in mercies most rich,
And within His appointed time His chosen folk doth aid!

Philog. In time, indeed, Eupelas! or otherwise I'd been i' th' backhouse ditch;
Yea, rather, if He had not helped, in grave I had been laid.

Eupelas. I greatly do rejoice that yet, at length, your sorrows are dispatched;
And that double and treble joys your calamities do requite.

Philog. I joy likewise, but under hope; my chickens are not hatched;
I nil to count of him as yet, for so presume I might.

Alison. A comes! a comes! a comes (sexies)!

Philog. Methinks one says my son doth come; my spirits are in a damp.
Now, truly, Alison hath waited at the town's end for his coming.

Codrus. I'll go tell my master; I'll go tell my master (quater)!

Eupelas. Without doubt, Philogonus, my heart is in a sudden tramp.
Behold! is not this father Codrus which is hither running?

Codrus. Hail ye! hail, hail, hail! give me, master and I'll tell you news of your [son;]
Will you not say: fa' Custer's a good boy an he come at town's end?

Philog. I will say that; thou all my joys and heart's ease hast begone
And I'll give thee enough to spend one year; spend while thou wilt spe[nd.]

Codrus. I am sure, 'Turgus is come, for I saw his brindle dog,
And our Alison saw a brace of striplings come with him.

Eupelas. It is impossible this silly thing should either lie or cog;
Without doubt, Philogonus, in that he spoke you may believe him.

Isbell. Now, Margery, you have served me a-trust; yea, mass! would all thy teeth were [out.]
An't had not been for thee, saddlebacked grumbold! I'd got well by this shift.

Madge. Would thy tongue were out, withered witch! didst not thou keep all the rout?

It's all about town, fause ge-ge-gib! what saidst to Sir John at last [shrift]?

Isbell. Wert not 'long of thee, susukes! that I went not to my master,
'Twould a been in my way XXs. thick, thou worm-eaten morel!.

Madge. 'Long a me? thou liest! that thou dost; 'twere 'long o' th' wate[r.]
Didst not go of thine own mind, thou grurnbold? [go] . . .

[Isbell.] The Devil cast him and thee too, like vile wretches a[s]
I'll neither trust thee, nor such as he is, for't while I [h] . .
[Th]y tongue's made o' th' devil's thing or else thou wo[u]
[That scurvy] scrub won't ne['er leave thy fe] . . . . . .

[Codrus.] Lo you! mark, master! how yon covetous scolds here chide;
It grieves them that they did not tell, because now it's known.

Philog. That I may hear what they'll say, I'll stand a little aside.
Eupelas! I would we had some chairs here to sit down.

Codrus. Would I had my settle and my boust stool, ye should both sit;
Ye shall see how wisely I'll 'xamine them, I could a chopped logics once.

Isbell. An' I were as yonk as e'er I were that Scottish knavery I would quit, and you too,

Madge. Would you? I might chance rattle your bones.

Codrus. Why, how now, neighbours! what's matter? ha! where's your womanhood?
Leave this brawling and wawling! for shame! gup! kiss arse! will you, none?

Isbell. You mought have told's, when ye [h]ad gone yet, and ye'd had any neighbourhood.
West get nothing for you now-yes, a little with a spoon!

Codrus. Why, faith, Isbell! what talks? Ist not have past a couple of shots?
And thou knowest what casualties I had in my beasts last Hallowmass.

Madge. By th' meke, Isbell! I would think I were happy and I could get a couple of groats,
And I would fare the better for't too, e'ry day this Curstmas.

Isbell. Bow wow! why-should we have less than he? are not we the needier?
And did not we, when he were born, both rock him and cradle him?

Codrus. Well and you'll be content, Isbell, I may chance help you to a breeder;
Though I did not, our Alison a-sennight together did swaddle him.

Intrat Liturgus.

Liturg. Now, you be welcome, Eugonus! as I may say't, into Laurentum town.
Behold I at yon same turret which you see is your father's place.

Codrus. Ho, ho! my young master is come indeed now, by God's nown!
Ken him well! does he not 'xample my mistress in 'plexion and his face?

Eupelas. O high Jehovah! which dost rule, with Thy almighty power,
All things within the sacred skies, and eke in seas and land-

I give to Thee, redoubted King, in this so luck an hour,
All thanks for that Thou hast me placed upon my country sand.

Codrus. Ye're welcome home, master! gi' me your hand! how ha' ye dout this many a day?
I am as glad for you as 'twere either for my Robin or Tom.

Liturg. This is one father Custer, my master tenant; he loves you well, I dare sa[y;]
He was the first man, I tell you, that caused you to be fetched home.

Codrus. I am more than half your father, master, I caused you to be fatch'd.
By cock and pie! I dissuaded him to send 'Turgus for you.

Isbell. Ye're welcome to our town; did ye not remember since I sat by you and watched,
When my mistress lay in and we sang Lullaby baby, and bore ye?

Eugonus. I can say nothing but by information of nuncle and my flaunt,
And the testificats which Liturgus from my father did bring.

[Codrus.] His 'membre[n]s were but slippery then, fool! though he be now all in a flaunt.
Wherefore, and you say't, we'll have some probabilation of e'rything.

Intrat C[rito.]

[Crito.] Well said, father! let's have out of hand some undoubted trial.
[Te]ll thy master, Philogonus, that he may hear the matter discussed.

[Codrus.] . . . . be long. What, Alison! what, Alison! so methinks with lie and all,
. . . . . . with a wannion to my master-here thou com'st, as th'adst no lust.

[Alison] . . . . . . Saint Swithin bless him! has even my mistress face up and down.
. . . . . . [e] as bold as e'er I was, by my troth! ye should be kissed.

[Eugonus.] . . . now quite out of all your knowledge grown.
. . . . . . what name I had, when I was baptised?

[Madge.] . . . . . . me.

Codrus. You mought let your betters speak before ye, Margery, .
Your goodman was but thirdborough, as goodly as you make't.

Madge. Be go-go-go-good in your office, I speak by my master's leave;
Thou seek'st to have all to th[ee], dost? if thou canst have all, take 't.

Eugonus. Give her leave to speak to Codrus; it may hap she knows that thou dos[t] . .
To take thy neighbours vardit in such a case thou must not stick.

Madge. It speaks in our mother tongue; that you were a go-go-good son, well I wot!
But I ca-ca-ca-ca-cannot think on't, for 'twere a vile hard word in Hebric.

Alison. Hebric! nay, it was but Greek; yet, as God would hav't,
As cunning as ye are, ye missed cushion once yet, Margery.

Codrus. Towa, Alison! towa, towa hour!

Crito. As long as she hits interpretation,

though she miss the name, it's no great fau[lt.
No, may; but 'tis to say Hebric's for Greek, it's plain doggery. Codrus.

Alison. First letter of your name's Eu, by th' same token of my knuckle fasteen;
T'other part, as I take't, is e'en much like my young master, 'Sognus.

Liturg. By my faith, Alison! that's well remembered; all this is true.
Canst thou tell, if I name him?

Alison. Ay!

Liturg. How say'st, wert not Eugonus?

Alison. 'Twas indeed!

Isbell. 'Twas so!

Madge. Faith, 'twas!

Codrus. God's drabs I a hight Eugonus indeed!

Crito. But can ye tell whether your mistress' son had any privy mark?
If ye can answer me to this point, I'll say, he's his son without fail.

Isbell. All we can tell: had a toe more than a should ha', and so can the priest and the clerk.

Codrus. Shall she, Alison, shall she take her up for halting? God, I would she were i' th' [jail!]

Alison. An ye be my mistress' son, gentleman, ye've six toes o' th' right foot;
I have told them, many a time and often, they stand even all bidene.

Eugonus. It cannot otherwise be; I'm even the same ye talk on, without doubt;
And, for a certainty, if ye will, yeist have my foot seen.

Codrus. May'e content, master I come, a God's name! dance me off your hose;
Alison! remember thyself well, and take thy mark right.

Eugonus. I rather ye would for this time rip them, and so view my toes;
I'd be loth to have them plucked off till I go to bed for all night.

Codrus. Here, Alison! take my penknife then; it's as sharp as a razor;
Look thou ripp'st it i' th' seam, and take heed thou hurt'st not his foot.

Isbell. God's blue'ood! let's see too, I pray you; what, were your father a glasier?
Let's have some room too, or else I may chance give thee an arsebut.

Crito. How many year ago is't since he were born? can any of ye tell?
Lay all your heads together and make true account.

Codrus. It were after the rising 'rection i' th' north, I remember well.
Where was corn then, Alison? let's see how that will mount!

Madge. I gathered pe-pe-pe-pescods at Ba-Ba-Ba-Ball's Bush then, I'm sure,
And brought them to my mistress, when she was with child.

Codrus. Thou wert neither o' th' court, nor o' th' counsel-speak, Alison
How say'st? were not Piper's Hill then the rye field?

Alison. Ay! may'e wa'n't.

Codrus. Why, umber't then-it's at least a score.
Three and three, three and three, what's all that?

Alison. Three't no more; I ha't now: he's twenty and fo[ur.]

Our Tom were born but a year after, I can te . . . . . . .

[Liturg.] This agrees, believe me, too; what should we say .

[Codrus.] Why, she has augrim in her, she would tell ye [what's] thirty and thirty.

Crito. What time o' th' year wer't, when your mistress him bore?

Codrus. I'm sure, Alison, when thou cam'st from her labour, thou wert all
Alison. Custer, Custer! dost remember we demented, when she were . . . . . . .
And thou best remembered, a Saint Clement's Day, I were sent her gossips to [seek.]

Codrus. Mass! it's true, and we had penny dole i' th' honour of St. Nicolas, when
sh . . . . . . .
An a good token: St. Steven's Day that year fell just in Curstmas [week.]

Eugonus. Say no more I here's proof enough; depart you, a God's [name!] home;
I will see that my father shall you liberally content.

Crito. Codrus! go you tell your master that his son now is come.
Ha! here's a letter which his brother from Apolonia hath sent.

Codrus. Letter! good God! where be my wits? I could once a etter'[d] my pat'noster.
I ha' sung yet, Cum spiritu tuo with priest i' th' kirk, when we'r' howling.
And what said my father? What said a? may thoust be a man one day, Cust[er].
God's ludd! I ne'er left my book till I came to the hour a catawauling.

Alison. An thou wouldst not, another would; I could a had, shouldst know, as good as thou;
I could 'a' had as upright a fellow as e'er trod on neat's leather.

Codrus. Why, and all the wenches i' th' town were earnest and bream of me, thou know'st well
When I were in my lustiness there 'a' come to me twenty wo sillibouks together.

Philog. I can suffer no longer, Eupelas!

Codrus. Here he comes!

Liturg. According to your worship's commandment.

Philog. I heard all, Liturgus!
O welcome, my son I

Eugonus. O my father!

Philog. O my son!

Eugonus. Bless me, my father!

Philog. God bless thee, my son! Eternal God! which only guid'st th' imperial pole aloft,
And also this terrestrial globe with all human affairs,
Though frowning fortune with her force doth tip and turn us oft,
Thou canst miraculously help thy servants unawares.
If twenty tongues and twenty mouths I had to sound thy praise,
Or if I had King David's vein or Nestor's eloquence,
They would not serve me, at this time, due thankfulness to raise
Towards me, for thy unspeakable and wonderful beneficence.
O welcome home, my son! my comfort and my joy!
Thou art the length'ner of my life, the curer of my care.
Hereof my house possession take, and all my lands enjoy;

I think myself as happy now as if a duke I were.

[Eugonus.] . . . [u]se have I, Lord! to rejoice whom thus thou hast preserved
. . . . . . . .[and] lands even from my youth far from my native soil.
. . . . . . . . [Nept]une's rage and Eolus' force I might have well been starved.
. . . . . . . .not been ready at need to help at e'ry broil.
[And now], when I am home reduced, such a fathe[r find.]
[Who t]end'reth me so lovingly that one me he doth be[stow]
His lands, and counts it happiness: he is to me so kind.
O father dear! O father dear! what shall I say or do?

[Philog.] I am able to speak no more, my heart for gladness s[o d]oth melt.
Eupelas! I pray you and the rest to accompany us [in.]

Eugonus. The like inward motion of all your well willers here is felt;
Our gaudeamus I speak for us all is not now to begin.

Intrant Misogonus, Orga[lus et] OEnophilus.



Misog. God's precious body! this counterfeit skipthrift is come already;
Draw your weapons like champions and keep him from possession.

Eugonus. Liturgus I is this my brother thou talk'st on, that come this way so heady?
Lord I what meaneth he? will he bar my father from his habitation?

Philog. Away, away, thou brainless fool! wilt thou never be wise
Stand out of my way, waghalter! or I will breech thee nak'd

Misog. What, som[wh]ere he be that challenges anything here? I'll indite him at the 'size,
Ist keep you from setting a foot within this threshold, as stout as ye ma[k't.]

Eugonus. Alas, brother! I come for no lands; I come to see my father, I,
And to do my duty unto him, as it doth me become.

Misog. Brother? thou landleaper! thou run-agate rogue; ay, brother'st me?
By all the devils in hell! I will surely thee thumb.

Eupelas. Fie upon thee, Misogonus; wilt thou not yet be wiser?
Shame the devil rather, and repent ye of thy wickedness I

Philog. Hang and thou wilt, knave! I care not, I; be a card and a dicer!
I'll ne'er know thee for my son hereafter, because thou art so graceless.

Codrus. God's trunnion! Alison, go thy ways and fetch me hither my goose-spit;
'Sognus will ne'er be well till he has some on's wild blood let out.

Liturg. Good masters both! let me request
one thing at your hands yet:
You've to forgive your son, sir! and you to do your duty, as ye ought.

Philog. So he'll ask me forgiveness, I'll pardon this once him, I'm content,
And he shall have a child's part too, for all his stubbornness.

Misog. A child's part, quod ye, and ask forgiveness? nay, soft! I ne'er yet that [meant.]
Am I now come to my child's part? nay, then yeist have more frow[ardness.J

Philog. Go, shake thy heels, then! with a devil's name! come, follow me, my m....I
We'll be merry within; I'll ne'er take so much thought, as I ha' done.
Exeunt Philogonus, Eupe. Eugo. Li. Crito. Co. Al[i.]

Misog. Ha! ye let them slipped by ye, you hedgecreepers! come, I'll tell ye to . .
Did I trust you to keep this way, and you let them be gone?

[Orgal.] Hold your hands when ye're well, sir! what, man! ne'er be so
It's a shame for ye, would ye have us to do that yourself . . . .

[OEnoph.] Ye may fly up to th' roost with Jackson's hens, come
Go sing Benedicite I give me one blow, by th' mass . . . . . . . .

[Misog.] Ye hennardly knaves, you cry me a-mercy, or I'll . . . . . . . .
What, ye coistrels! answer ye me thus, your . . . . . . . .

[Orgal.] As fine as I see yourself may now go a-delvin[g] . . . . . .
[W]e a-begging? we're worthy [to be en]tertamed a[t] . . . .

[OEnoph.] . . . . [a]re you in your Pilate's voice still, I'll [not tak't as I did.]
. . . . [s]hall needs serve, I'll serve for some vantage, [ay, I will.]

[Misog.] [Yo]u catching caterpillars! either do hereafter as I [shall ye bid,]
[Or] else avoid even presently and got ye hence to th' devil!

[Orgal.] Marry! there would I ha't. Come, OEnophilus! I know whither to [go;]
There's a gentleman within this mile and half hath sent for us thrice;
There's ne'er a gentleman in this shire but will be glad of the worst of us [too.]
If they would not, we're able to live, man with cogging at cards and at dice.

Exeunt Orgalus et OEnophil[us.]

[M]isog. How say ye to these vipers? have I brought them up to this end:
When they have trained me to this state, then like whiteliver Jacks to fly?
If God be God, I'll be revenged, though all that I have I spend;
Happen what will tone of them or my brother shall surely die.
What Hercules could abide to be thus trodden under foot?
The devil's asleep, I think; heart! all all goes against here.
To humble myself to my father now it would nothing me boot,
And to go t' law with this newcomer I should be ne'er the near.
O God! O devil! O heaven! O hell! my heart now rents in twain;
A comes, a comes! a comes! I shall die in desperation.
To hang myself, surely, I think, now I must be fain;
I have sinned so much, that I'm quite past hope salvation.

Exit Miso[gonus.]



Cac. (Alia voce) Ay laud, laud! (decies) how shall I do? (toties) Ay well-a-d[ay!
(sexies) I'm undone! (toties) (gravi voce O, O, O! (tanquam castrator porcorum vociferarum
emunge nasum et singulties clama aliquando.)
Ist be turned out a service now, e'rybody says;
And why? may'e, because I have been an old servant i' th' house, trusty and true.
When I do all that I can fo'm, they make me a fool i' my old days;
They'll ha' the old fool no more; now they say they'll have a new.
What were I best to do now, sirs? which on you can tell?
Is there any good body among ye will take me in for God sake?
And there be e'er a gentleman here would have a fool with him dwell,
Let him speak, an[d] a my word! a shall a very fool take.
And I might be but wintered this year, I would ne'er care;
A God help to William now! th'art put to thy need.
Will nobody take pity on a stray fool? here long enough I may stare,
And there were yet a crier to help me at a proclamation to read.
Is there ne'er a crier among you? good Lord! what lucks 'tis?
An you knew my properties somebody would ha' me, I'm sure.
I'll cry as well myself as I can, and I pray you pardon me, a[n I]. . . . . . .
I dare swear it would win your heart and ye heard me but [lu] . . . . . . .
Q, O, O, O, yes.
. . . . . . . [If thiere be any gentleman,
Or any] gentlewoman,
In tow]n or o' th' country
That, f]or Saint Charity,
Will have a str]ay fool:
One is here on this stool.]
ha[t c] . . . . . . .
And that can [peel] . . . . . . . . .
That can chair. . . . . . .
And that c[an] peke pies,
That can rock the cradle
And that can bear a bable,
That can gather sticks
And that can chop leeks,
That can turn spit
And that can by th' fire sit,
That can ring a bell
And that can tales tell,
That can whoop at noon
And dance when dinner's done,
That can wash dishes
And that can make rings a rushes,
That can hold a candle
And that can babies dandle,
That can thresh malt
And that can chop salt,
That can hold his finger
In a hole and thereby linger,
That can lay down maidens' beds
And that can hold their sickly heads,
That can play at put pin,
Blow point, and ne'er lin,
That can know my right hand
And tell twenty and ne'er stand,
That can find a titman's nest

And keep a robin redbreast,
That can eat, and drink, and play,
Sing songs both night and day,
That can go to th' windmill
And that can do whats'e'er you will:
And now for all this my task
Small wages I will ask-.
A cape only once by th' year,
And some pretty coloured gear;
And drink, whens'e'er I will,
And eat my belly full- For more I will not seek.
He that will have me, let him speak!
What say ye, masters? speak! will nobody take me up for poor p[ity?]
Nobody care for th' poor now, poor's always thrust to th' wall I
Fools now may go a-begging, e'rybody's become so witty.
Now a God's name! ye would laugh, I think, and ye should see me fall.
Alas, good William! how do thy elbows? what, more anger yet?
Faith! what remedy? I know none but e'en patience.
Ay! but for all that you were wont, after a fall, to have a good hi[t;]
This is e'en that last time of asking; speak! and ye'll ha' me, or [he]
Well, ye'll not ha' me, ye say; bear witness then: I'm . . . . . . ..
Let me see now, William! which way stands the wi[nd?]
Is there ne'er a wizard among you can tell? I'll
Mass! this gear will not cotton; I must another wa[y] . . . . . .
Stand, I [pray] thee! I would but ere see which w. . . . . .
[They] say it['s good] luck to seek one's fortune . . . . . . . .
[I think I] must [play the fool still] . . . . . .
. . . . . . [we] young [master]
. . . . . . [will not] away some [pelf]
. . . . . . [when I ha' done; if an]ybody [will se]nd
. . . . . .their wenches to [me: I t]each a sew[ing]
. . . . . . [this time and you] have any more for me, yeist say't [your]self.

Exit [Cacurgus.]



Intrant Liturgus et Misogonus.

[Liturg.] I w[ar]rant you, i-faith, master, I myself dare undertake
That your father shall forgive you, even from his very heart;
He loves you full dearly, Miso.; both for your own and my mist[ress' sake-]
Doubt you not! he will interpret each thing in the best part.

[Misog.] What a villain am I, Liturgus!
that have him so lightly esteemed;
Nay, that have reviled him and derided him to his teeth!
O Christ! how often have I the blessed name of God's majesty blasphe[med!]
That I am now deservedly in state of perdition, every man saith.

[Liturg.] Nay, good master Miso., let such fancies go out of your head.

Take heart of grace, man! that was but a cast of youthfulness.
Though you were by the frailness of your flesh in your sins almost d[ead,]
Yet you may, as St. Paul saith, by the spirit of God live again unto right[eousness.]

[Misog.] Thou puttest me in good comfort, Liturgus; I will never despair;
My trust, I thank Christ, in his merits is assuredly fixed.
But my life hath been so lewdly led that I shall ne'er be without care;
I can have no mirth but it will be with miseries continually mixed.

[Liturg.] You harp all of one string; I pray you, leave that fond speech;
Though your brother he hath found, he loves you ne'er a whit less.
I know what he hath said to me, since him home I did fetch:
If he knew you repented, you might have at his hands even what ye would [wish.]

[Misog.] I am so ashamed that I dare ne'er come more in his sight,
And I'm stricken with such a terror that I dare not give him one word.

[Liturg.] Yeist be as well entertained as e'er you were: I'll wa'nt ye this night.
Humble but yourself to him and you shall sit down presently at his own board.

[Misog.] I dare not,-I dare not, I dare not! pray thee speak on it no more.
I will rather run quite away before I'll go with thee.

[Liturg.] Why, I'll entreat him for you, and then to you bring him out a-door;
If I do not reconcile you, lay all the blame in me.

[Misog.] God give grace, that my father's anger by his persuasion may be mitigated!
If he'll now take me to mercy, I'll never hereafter displease him any more.
Who would e'er have thought that my courage so soon should have been aba[ted?]
A! vile wretch Misogonus! couldst thou not have taken heed of this [before?]
O, all ye youthful race of gentle blood, take heed by this my fall;
Trust not too much to your heritage, and fortune's vain allurements;
Take heed of ill company, fly cards, and dice, and pleasures bestial;
Eschew a whore as ye would a scorpion, and beware of her enticements!
Children! obey your parents with due reverence and fear:
Care not for your vain pastimes, for they bee but momentary.
Scholars! your masters' good lessons often read and hear;
Beside godliness and learning all things in this world are but transitory.

Intrant Phi[logonus] et Lit[urgus.]

Philog.] Will he, thinkes~t] thee, Liturgus?

Liturg.] . . . with all his heart, master.

Misog.] I havje sinned in the sight [of] God and against you, dear father! most g[rievously,]
[Many] times in stubber[ly] misusing of you, both in word and deed.
[And] now I repent, and thee which I lament most bitterly
. . e though u[n]worthy you to fo[rgive]me and help [m]

[Philog.] . . . . [speak from my heart, Misogonus, Mis]. . . . . .

[The text is incomplete.]

© Copyright, 2007. From Stage to Page and Gerard NeCastro. All Rights Reserved.

All materials on this page are free to all users. We only ask two things of you. First, please be sure to cite the source properly: the citation is listed below. Second, if you would, please take one minute to say hello and tell us that you are using the pages: a quick email to would be perfect.

Proper Citation: A merry and plesaunt Comedie called Misogonus.. At From Stage to Page - Medieval and Renaissance Drama. NeCastro, Gerard, ed. Date Visited.