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to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine, an he were here, and shall I melt, shall I droop before my sovereign? No, come. my Lady Madgy! Follow me, Hans ! About your business, my frolic freebooters! Firk, frisk about, and about, and about, for the honor of mad Simon

Eyre, lord mayor of London. Firk. Hey, for the honor of the shoemakers !

Exeunt.

Eyre. My liege, I am six and fifty year

old, yet I can cry hump! with a sound heart for the honor of Saint Hugh. Mark this old wench, my king: I dane'd the shaking of the sheets with her six and thirty years ago, and yet I hope to get two or three young lord mayors, ere I die. I am lusty still, Sim Eyre still. Care and cold lodging brings white hairs. My sweet Majesty, let care vanish, cast it upon thy nobles, it will make thee look always young like Apollo, and cry hump! Prince am I none, yet am I princely

born.
King. Ha, ha!
Say, Cornwall, didst thou ever see his

like?
Nobleman. Not I, my lord.

SCENE 5. An open yard before the hall.

A long flourish, or two. Enter the King,

Nobles, Eyre, Margery, Lacy, Rose.
Lacy and Rose kneel.

Very foul

lord mayor

am

King. Well, Lacy, though the fact was Enter the Earl of Lincoln and the Lord

Mayor. Of your revolting from our kingly love And your own duty, yet we pardon you. King. Lincoln, what news with you? Rise both, and, Mistress Lacy, thank my Lincoln. My gracious lord, have care unto

yourself, For your young bridegroom here.

For there are traitors here. Eyre. So, my dear liege, Sim Eyre and All.

Traitors? Where? Who? my brethren, the gentlemen shoemakers, Eyre. Traitors in my house? God forshall set your sweet majesty's image bid! Where be my officers ?

I'll spend cheek by jowl by Saint Hugh for tliis my soul, ere my king feel m. honor you have done poor Simon Eyre. King. Where is the traitor, Lincoln ? I beseech your grace, pardon my rude Lincoln,

Here he stands. behavior; I a handicraftsman, yet King. Cornwall, lay hold on Lacy !-Linmy heart is without craft; I would be

coln, speak, sorry at my soul, that my boldness should What canst thou lay unto thy nephew's offend my king.

charge? King. Nay, I pray thee, good lord mayor, Lincoln. This, my dear liege: your Grace, be even as merry

to do me honor, As if thou wert among thy shoemakers; Heapt on the head of this degenerate boy

It does me good to see thee in this humor. Desertless favors; you made choice of Eyre. Say'st thou me so, my sweet Diocle

him sian? Then, hump! Prince am I none, To be commander over powers in France. yet am I princely born. By the lord of But heLudgate, my liege, I'll be as merry as a King. Good Lincoln, prithee, pause a pie.70

while! King. Tell me, in faith, mad Eyre, how Even in thine eyes I read what thou old thou art.

wouldst speak. Eyre. My liege, a very boy, a stripling, a I know how Lacy did neglect our love,

younker; you see not a white hair on my Ran himself deeply, in the highest dehead, not a gray in this beard. Every

gree, hair, I assure thy majesty, that sticks in Into vile treason this beard, Sim Eyre values at the King Lincoln.

Is he not a traitor? of Babylon's ransom; Tamar Cham's King. Lincoln, he was; now have we parbeard was a rubbing brush to't: yet I 'll

d'ned him, shave it off, and stuff tennis-balls 71 with ’T was not a base want of true valor's it, to please my bully king.

fire, King. But all this while I do not know That held him out of France, but love's your age.

desire. 70 magpie.

71 The tennis-balls of the time were stuffed with hair.

Lincoln. I will not bear his shame upon

This fair maid, bridegroom, cannot be

my back.

your bride.

King. Nor shalt thou, Lincoln; I forgive

you both.

Lincoln. Then, good my liege, forbid the

boy to wed One whose mean birth will much disgrace

his bed. King. Are they not married? Lincoln.

No, my liege. Both.

We are. King. Shall I divorce them then? O be

it far That any hand on earth should dare untie The sacred knot, knit by God's majesty; I would not for my crown disjoin their

hands That are conjoin'd in holy nuptial bands. How say'st thou, Lacy, wouldst thou lose

thy Rose? Lacy. Not for all India's wealth, my sov

ereign. King. But Rose, I am sure, her Lacy

would forego? Rose. If Rose were askt that question,

she'd say no. King. You hear them, Lincoln? Lincoln.

Yea, my liege, I do. King. Yet canst thou find ith' heart to

part these two? Who seeks, besides you, to divorce these

lovers? L. Mayor. I do, my gracious lord, I am

her father. King. Sir Roger Oateley, our last mayor,

I think? Nobleman. The same, my liege. king. Would you offend Love's laws? Well, you shall have your wills, you sue

to me, To prohibit the match. Soft, let me You both are married, Lacy, art thou

not? Lacy. I am, dread sovereign. King.

Then, upon thy life, I charge thee, not to call this woman wife. L. Mayor. I thank your grace. Rose.

O my most gracious lord !

(Kneels.) King. Nay, Rose, never woo me; I tell

you true, Although as yet I am a bachelor,

Yet I believe I shall not marry you. Rose. Can you divide the body from the

soul, Yet make the body live? King.

Yea, so profound ? I cannot, Rose, but you I must divide.

Are you pleas'd, Lincoln ? Oateley, are

you pleas'di Both. Yes, my lord. King. Then must my heart be eas'd; For, credit me, my conscience lives in

pain, Till these whom I divorc'd, be join'd

again. Lacy, give me thy hand; Rose, lend me

thine! Be what you would be! Kiss now! So,

that's fine. At night, lovers, to bed !-Now, let me

see, Which of you all mislikes this harmony. L. Mayor. Will you then take from me

my child perforce ? King. Why tell me, Oateley: shines not

Lacy's name
As bright in the world's eye as the gay

beams Of any citizen ? Lincoln. Yea, but, my gracious lord,

I do mislike the match far more than he;

Her blood is too too base. King.

Lincoln, no more. Dost thou not know that love respects no

blood, Cares not for difference of birth or state? The maid is young, well born, fair, vir

tuous, A worthy bride for any gentleman. Besides, your nephew for her sake did

stoop
To bear necessity, and, as I hear,
Forgetting honors and all courtly pleas-

ures,
To gain her love, became a shoemaker.
As for the honor which he lost in France,
Thus I redeem it: Lacy, kneel thee

down!
Arise, Sir Rowland Lacy! Tell me now,
Tell me in earnest, Oateley, canst thou

chide, Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride? L. Mayor. I am content with what your

grace hath done. Lincoln. And I, my liege, since there's no

remedy. King. Come on, then, all shake hands:

I'll have you friends;
Where there is much love, all discord

ends.
What says my mad lord mayor to all this

love? Eyre. O my liege, this honor you have

done to my fine journeyman here, Row

see

land Lacy, and all these favors which you have shown to me this day, in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre live longer by one dozen of warm summers

more than he should. K’ing. Nay, my mad lord mayor, that shall

be thy name; If any grace of mine can length thy life, One honor more I'll do thee: that new

building, Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected, Shall take a name from us; we'll have it

callid The Leadenliall, because in digging it You found the lead that covereth the

same. Eyre. I thank your majesty. Marg.

God bless your grace! King. Lincoln, a word with you!

Enter Hodge, Firk, Ralph, and more

Shoemakers.

King. Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you

shall have patent To hold two market-days in Leadenhall, Mondays and Fridays, those shall be the

times. Will this content you? All.

Jesus bless your grace! Eyre. In the name of these my poor breth

ren shoemakers, I most liumbly thank your grace.

But before I rise, seeing you are in the giving vein and we in the

begging, grant Sim Eyre one boon more. King. What is it, my lord mayor? Eyre. Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquiet that stands sweetly waiting for your

sweet presence. King. I shall undo thee, Eyre, only with

feasts;
Already have I been too troublesome;

Say, have I not?
Eyre. O my dear king, Sim Eyre was

taken unawares upon a day of slıroving,2
which I promist long ago to the prentices
of London.
For, an 't please your higliness, in time

past,
I bare the water-tankard,73 and my coat
Sits not a whit the worse upon my back;
And then, upon a morning, some mad

boys,
It was Shrove Tuesday, even as 't is now,
gave me my breakfast, and I swore then
by the stopple of my tankard, if ever I
came to be lord mayor of London, I
would feast all the prentices. This day,
my liege, I did it, and the slaves had an
hundred tables five times covered; they
are gone home and vanisht;
Yet add more honor to the gentle trade,
Taste of Eyre's banquet, Simon's happy

m; King. Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet,

and will say,
I have not met more pleasure on

day.
Friends of the gentle craft, thanks to

Eyre. How now, my mad knaves? Peace,

speak softly, yonder is the king. King. With the old troop which there we

keep in pay, We will incorporate a new supply. Before one summer more pass o'er my

head, France shall repent, England was in

jured. What are all these? Lacy.

All shoemakers, my liege, Sometime

my

fellows; in their companies I liv'd as merry as an emperor. King. My mad lord mayor, are all these

shoemakers? Eyre. All shoemakers, my liege; all gentlemen of the gentle craft, true Trojans, courageous cordwainers; they all kneel to

the shrine of holy Saint Hugh. All the Shoemakers. God save your maj

esty! King. Mad Simon, would they anything

with us? Eyre. Mum, mad knaves! Not a word! I'll do 't, I warrant you. They are all beggars, my liege; all for themselves, and I for them all on both my knees do entreat, that for the honor of poor Simon Eyre and the good of his brethren, these mad knaves, your grace would vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leadenhall, that it may be lawful for us to buy and sell leather there two days a week.

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you all,

Thanks, my kind lady mayoress, for our

cheer. Come, lords, a while let's revel it at

home! When all our sports and banquetings are

72 merry-making.

done, Wars must right wrongs which Frenchmen have begun.

Ereunt.

73 cf. p. 150, n. 49.

THOMAS HEYWOOD

A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS

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us

Thomas Heywood (c. 1575–1642) was of a raised above ordinary citizens. There were, Lincolnshire family, and may have been a however, in the Elizabethan period men who member of the college of Peterhouse, Cam- realized that tragic feeling was not necesbridge. We get our first definite information sarily confined to the palace; that circumabout him from Henslowe's Diary in 1596. stance might lift to tragic dignity the lives He seems to have begun writing for the stage of obscure people. One of the most power: about 1594, and continued active until within ful of pre-Shakesperean plays, so grim and a few years of his death, thus almost span- stark in its realism, so impressive in the porning the greatest years of the Elizabethan trayal of the murderess its heroine, that condrama. His productivity was amazing: he jecture as to its authorship has even been himself tells us that he had a hand or busy with Shakespeare's name, is Arden of main finger in two hundred and twenty F'eversham, written before 1590. This dramaplays, of which only nineteen (four in two tization of Holinshed's account of a murder parts) survive. Meanwhile he was acting, of a husband by a wife and her paramour, perhaps till 1620 or so. He did also a con- is the first extant example, though we hear siderable amount of miscellaneous writing in of such plays earlier, of a group of murder prose and loose, easy-running verse.

plays, domestic tragedies, frequently taken

from real life. For a number of years about As The Shoemakers' Holiday represents the turn of the century, under the influence domestic, or bourgeois, drama on the side of of a general swing toward realism manifest comedy, so A Woman Killed with Kindness also in comedy, where Ben Jonson led a reis an example, and the best example, of do- volt against romantic comedy and chroniclemestic, or bourgeois, tragedy. The two plays history, plays of this sort were especially spring from the same environment, and were popular. Henslowe's Diary gives the written for identical audiences, by men who names of several no longer extant, and surhad a good deal in common. Both Dekker viving plays such as A Warning for Fair and Heywood were of the middle class them- Women (1599), Two Lamentable Tragedies selves, and reflect in their work the temper (1599), and The Yorkshire Tragedy (1605), and moral soundness of the solid citizenry of are home-bred tragedies dealing in rather London. Like the earlier play, A Woman artless fashion with family strife and bloodKilled with Kindness was written for Hens- shed. Another kind of domestic drama, also lowe, and brought the same price of three popular in the same period, was that which pounds; as an interesting illustration of the showed the trials of a virtuous wife at the comparative value of plays and costumes in hands of a prodigal and unfaithful husband; the manager's eyes, we may note that on such plays, though full of pathos, usually March 7, 1603, the day after he paid for the stopped short of tragedy, and ended in the play, he spent ten shillings on a black satin reform of the erring husband and his recondress for Mrs. Frankford.

ciliation with his patient wife. The ShoeNo other piece of dramatic criticism has makers' Holiday, in the episode of Jane, has had the influence of Aristotle's attempt in his a hint of the motive, and, in Patient Grissil, Poetics to formulate, from the practice of Dekker deals with the subject more at large. the Athenian dramatists, the laws of tragedy How a Man Jay Choose a Good Wife from a and comedy. One of Aristotle's conclusions Bad (1602), The London Prodigal (1605), was that tragedy was concerned with the fate and Marston's The Dutch Courtesan (1605) of persons of high rank, or at least illustrious are representative of the type. above their fellows. This limitation was ac- A Woman Killed with Kindness, belongcepted by Renascence scholars, and in gen- ing specifically to the first of the above-meneral governed the practice, of Elizabethan, tioned groups, is thus related to a considerRestoration, and eighteenth-century writers able body of plays of its own day. Heywood of tragedy. It is, for instance, true of may fairly be called the most important of Shakespeare's tragedy, for even in Romeo and writers of domestic drama, not alone because Juliet, though the personages may not be of the number of examples he has given us, called illustrious in a strict sense, yet we but from his sincere and affecting handling think of the Capulets and Montagues as of of his material. Once he treats the wrongedthe aristocracy of Verona, and the star- wife motive, in his comedy The Wise Woman crossed lovers themselves are by their passion of Hogsdon (printed 1638). Usually, howand unhappy fate sensibly, if not actually, ever, he deals seriously with domestic in

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felicity, and always from the point of view humanizes as the victory ennobles him. Hey. of a husband whose wife has transgressed. wood commands our admiration, moreover, The story of Jane Shore in the two-part by the fine restraint with which he handles chronicle play Edward IV (1598), although the story. Neither in the climactic scenes involving two kings, is in effect a domestic nor in the equally difficult scenes of Mrs. tragedy; "the whole treatment of that deli- Frankford's repentance and death in act five, cate subject, the relation of a true and honor- does he allow intrusion of sentimentality. able man to the wife who has wronged him, Frankford indulges in no false heroics, Mrs. but whom he continues to love in a spirit Frankford in no mawkish agonizings. No chastened by his wrongs, is handled with the better illustration could be found of the difsame delicacy, the same wide tolerance and ference between true sentiment and false sympathy, and yet with the ethical soundness, sentimentality; the sentimental dramatists of which Heywood displays with so much effect the eighteenth century could have studied this in A Woman Killed with Kindness" (Schel- play with profit. The only speeches which do ling, Elizabethan Drama, I. 283). Heywood not ring true are those of Wendoll in V. iii, returned to the theme in The English Travel- but from him we should not expect honest ler (1633), a very fine play, and in The Late penitence. Lancashire Witches (1634,) where the wife, It must be admitted that the play, considerhaving fallen from grace by indulging in ing it as a whole, is not a model structurally. witchcraft, is handed over to justice by her It is typical of one method of Elizabethan husband. What chiefly distinguishes Hey. construction, which violates unity of action wood's domestic tragedies in which an adult- by a combination of two plots essentially unerous wife figures from those by other men connected. Heywood was a frequent offender is the wife's treatment at the hands of her in this respect: The English Traveller and husband. The Elizabethan code of morals The Captives are flagrant examples. In this justified summary and bloody vengeance. case the sub-plot does not, as sometimes, ofSuch a punishment, indeed, Mrs. Frankford fer so violent a contrast in feeling with the expects :

main plot that the dignity of the play is Mark not my face,

practically destroyed. Here the sub-plot, Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go dealing as it does with a question of perPerfect and undeformed to my tomb.

sonal and family honor, in a way 'supports I am not worthy that I should prevail In the least suit; no, not to speak to you, the more serious ethical problem of the Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence; main plot. There is also this to be said for Yet, as an abject, this one suit I crave; This granted, I am ready for my grave."

the sub-plot, that by the rapidity of its de

velopment it helps to conceal the bareness of Heywood's delicacy of feeling and perception the main plot, whose exposition is very leisof true honor in such circumstances win our urely. But the actual binding of the plots admiration, as he shows the husband remem- is of the flimsiest: the two groups of people bering that vengeance is God's and leaving are brought together in the opening scene, the wife to the torture of her guilty con- Wendoll and Cranwell are transferred from science. So, in The English Traveller, young one group to the other, the people of the Geraldine, discovering the adultery of Mrs. sub-plot are present at Mrs. Frankford's Wincot, with whom he has exchanged vows of death, but of interaction between the groups fidelity, forbears punishment more severe than there is none. As for the main plot itself. a passionate upbraiding of her crime, and al- barring the slowness of the exposition, it is lows her to die of a broken heart. It is no well done, with one important exception. The easy matter for a dramatist to handle a situ- climactic upbuilding to the scene of the disation of this sort in such a way as to pre- covery. is strong; devices like Frankford's serve our sympathy and respect for the in- unwillingness to believe Nicholas's story, the jured husband. would have been far card game, and the feigned letter are efeasier, as well as more theatrically effective, fectively used. The climax is stirring, the for Heywood to have had Frankford take pathos of the situation enhanced by the skil. refuge behind the unwritten law," and sat- ful introduction of the children, and the last isfy the natural expectation of his audience act avoids anticlimax; the business of the with a scene of bloody retribution. Heywood lute is particularly effective. The use of susmakes his solution possible and sympathetic pense is notable, in Frankford's hesitation beby a thorough characterization of Frankford fore entering the house and at the door of as a Christian gentleman, and by a masterly the chamber, and in the pause before Mrs. depiction of the man's emotion at the crisis. Frankford's fate is made known. The one He prays for patience before he disturbs the great flaw in the play is the ease with which guilty pair, his first natural impulse toward Mrs. Frankford falls. This is altogether a immediate revenge displays itself when he matter of characterization. Nothing in the pursues Wendoll with drawn sword, and he

exposition of the woman's character prehas to struggle in private with his anger be- pares us for the abruptness of her yielding, fore he can pronounce the lenient sentence on nor is Wendoll presented as so attractive as his wife. We see in action his better nature to make it credible. Heywood was a master contending with his worse, and the struggle in portraying a gentleman — he was no hand

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