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Boy. Sir, they say they know all your money is gone, and they will trust you for no more drink. Mer. Will they not? let 'em chuse! The best is, I have mirth at home, and need not send abroad for that; let them keep their drink to themselves. [Sings.

For Jillian of Berry she dwells on a hill,
And she hath good beer and ale to sell,
And of good fellows she thinks no ill,
And thither will we go now, now, now,
And thither will we go now.
And when you have made a little stay,
You need not ask what is to pay,
But kiss your hostess, and go your way,
And thither will we go now, now, now,
And thither will we go now.

Enter another Boy.

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Mer. So, boys; enough. Follow me. Let's change our place, and we shall laugh afresh.

[Exeunt. 'Wife. Let him go, George; a' shall not have any countenance from us, nor a good word from any i' th' company, if I may strike stroke in't.

Cit. No more a sha'not, love. But, Nell, I will have Ralph do a very notable matter now, to the eternal honour and glory of all grocers.Sirrah; you there! Boy! Can none of you hear?

'Boy. Sir, your pleasure? 'Cit. Let Ralph come out on May-day in the morning, and speak upon a conduit, with all his scarfs about him, and his feathers, and his rings, and his knacks.

Boy. Why, sir, you do not think of our plot;

what will become of that then?

Cit. Why, sir, I care not what become on't! I'll have him come out, or I'll fetch him out myself; I'll have something done in honour of the city. Besides, he hath been long enough upon adventures. Bring him out quickly; or, if I come in amongst you

1a denier is a French farthing- half an English farthing.

'Boy. Well, sir, he shall come out; but if our play miscarry, sir, you are like to pay for't.

'Cit. Bring him away then!

[Exit.

'Wife. This will be brave, i'faith! George, shall not he dance the morris too, for the credit of the Strand?

'Cit. No, sweetheart, it will be too much for the boy. Oh, there he is, Nell' he's reasonable well in reparrel; but he has not rings enough.' Enter RALPH, dressed as a May-lord. Ralph. London, to thee I do present the merry month of May;

Let each true subject be content to hear me what I say:

For from the top of Conduit-Head, as plainly may appear,

I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here.

My name is Ralph, by due descent, though not ignoble I,

Yet far inferior to the flock of gracious grocery: And by the common counsel of my fellows in the Strand,

With gilded staff, and crossed scarf, the Maylord here I stand.

Rejoice, O English hearts, rejoice, rejoice, O lovers dear;

Rejoice, O city, town, and country, rejoice eke every shere!

For now the fragrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort,

The little birds do sit and sing, the lambs do make fine sport;

And now the burchin-tree doth bud, that makes the schoolboy cry,

The morris rings, while hobby-horse' doth foot it featuously;

The lords and ladies now abroad, for their disport and play,

Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, and sometimes in the hay.

Now butter with a leaf of sage is good to purge the blood,

Fly Venus and phlebotomy, for they are neither good!

Now little fish on tender stone begin to cast their bellies,

And sluggish snails, that erst were mew'd, do creep out of their shellies.

The rumbling rivers now do warm, for little boys to paddle;

The sturdy steed now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle.

The heavy hart, the bellowing buck, the rascal, and the pricket,"

Are now among the yeoman's pease, and leave the fearful thicket.

And be like them, O you, I say, of this same noble town,

And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping off

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And let it ne'er be said for shame, that we the youths of London,

Lay thrumming of our caps at home, and left our custom undone.

Up then, I say, both young and old, both man and maid a-Maying.

With drums and guns that bounce aloud, and merry tabor playing!

Which to prolong, God save our king, and send his country peace,

And root out treason from the land! and so, my friends, I cease. [Exit.

END OF ACT IV.

ACT V.-SCENE I.

A Room in the House of VENTERWELS.

Enter VENTERWELS,

Vent. I will have no great store of company at the wedding: a couple of neighbours and their wives; and we will have a capon in stewed broth, with marrow, and a good piece of beef, stuck with rosemary.

Enter JASPER, his face mealed.

Jasp. Forbear thy pains, fond man! it is too
Vent. Heaven bless me! Jasper ?
Jasp. Ay, I am his ghost,

[late.

Whom thou hast injured for his constant love.
Fond worldly wretch! who dost not understand
In death that true hearts cannot parted be.
First know, thy daughter is quite borne away
On wings of angels, through the liquid air,
Too far out of thy reach, and never more
Shalt thou behold her face. But she and I
Will in another world enjoy our loves;
Where neither father's anger, poverty,
Nor any cross that troubles earthly men,
Shall make us sever our united hearts.
And never shalt thou sit, or be alone
In any place, but I will visit thee
With ghastly looks, and put into thy mind
The great offences which thou didst to me.
When thou art at thy table with thy friends,
Merry in heart, and filled with swelling wine,
I'll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth,
Invisible to all men but thyself,

And whisper such a sad tale in thine ear,
Shall make thee let the cup fall from thy hand,
And stand as mute and pale as death itself.
Vent. Forgive me, Jasper! Oh, what might I
Tell me, to satisfy thy troubled ghost? [do,
Jasp. There is no means; too late thou think'st
of this.

Vent. But tell me what were best for me to do? Jasp. Repent thy deed, and satisfy my father, And beat fond Humphrey out of thy doors.

Enter HUMPHREY.

[Exit.

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To see thy will performed. Now will I go
To satisfy thy father for thy wrongs.

[Exit. Hum. What shall I do? I have been beaten twice,

And Mistress Luce is gone! Help me, Device!
Since my true love is gone, I never more,
Whilst I do live, upon the sky will pore;
But in the dark will wear out my shoe-soles
In passion, in Saint Faith's church under Paul's.
[Exit.

'Wife. George, call Ralph hither; if you love me, call Ralph hither! I have the bravest thing for him to do.-George! pr'ythee, call him quickly. 'Cit. Ralph! why, Ralph, boy'

Enter RALPH.

'Ralph. Here, sir.

'Cit. Come hither, Ralph; come to thy mistress, boy.

Wife. Ralph, I would have thee call all the youths together in battle-ray, with drums, and guns, and flags, and march to Mile-end in pompous fashion, and there exhort your soldiers to be merry and wise, and to keep their beards from burning, Ralph; and then skirmish, and let your flags fly, and cry, "Kill, kill, kill!" My husband shall lend you his jerkin, Ralph, and there's a scarf; for the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we'll pay for't. Do it bravely, Ralph; and think before whom you perform, and what person you represent.

'Ralph. I warrant you, mistress; if I do it not, for the honour of the city, and the credit of my master, let me never hope for freedom!

Wife. 'Tis well spoken, i'faith! Go thy ways; thou art a spark indeed.

Cit. Ralph, Ralph, double your files bravely, Ralph!

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Ralph. I warrant you, sir.

[Exit.

Cit. Let him look narrowly to his service; I shall take him else. I was there myself a pikeman once, in the hottest of the day, wench; had my feather shot sheer away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my pate broken with a scouring-stick, and yet, I thank God, I am here. [Drums within.

'Wife. Hark, George, the drums!

Cit. Ran, tan, tan, tan, tan, tan! Oh, wench, an' thou hadst but seen little Ned of Aldgate, drum Ned, how he made it roar again, and laid on like a tyrant, and then struck softly till the ward came up, and then thundered again, and guus! "Courage, my hearts," quoth the captains! together we go! Sa, sa, sa, bounce, quoth the "Saint George," quoth the pike-men! And withal, here they lay, and there they lay! And yet for all this I am here, wench.

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Wife. Be thankful for it, George; for indeed 'tis wonderful.'

ACT V.-SCENE II.

Mile-end.

Enter RALPII, WILLIAM HAMERTON, GEORGE GREENGOOSE, and others of his Company, with Drums and Colours.

the rear up. Ancient, let your colours fly; but Ralph. March fair, my hearts! lieutenant, beat have a great care of the butchers' hooks at Whitechapel; they have been the death of many a fair ancient. Open your files, that I may take a view

1 Mile-end-then the citizens' training-ground. 2 ancient-ensign.

both of your persons and munition. Sergeant, call a muster.

Serg. A stand!-William Hamerton, pewterer! Ham. Here, captain.

Ralph. A corslet and a Spanish pike! 'tis well. Can you shake it with a terror?

Ham. I hope so, captain.

Ralph. Charge upon me.-'Tis with the weakest. Put more strength, William Hamerton, more strength. As you were again. Proceed, sergeant. Serg. George Greengoose, poulterer! Green. Here!

Ralph. Let me see your piece, neighbour Greengoose; when was she shot in ?

Green. An't like you, master captain, I made a shot even now, partly to scour her, and partly for audacity.1

Ralph. It should seem so certainly, for her breath is yet inflamed. Besides, there is a main fault in the touch-hole, it runs and stinketh. And I tell you, moreover, and believe it, ten such touch-holes would breed the pox i' th' army. Get you a feather, neighbour, get you a feather, sweet oil, and paper, and your piece may do well enough yet. Where's your powder?

Green. Here.

Ralph. What, in a paper? As I am a soldier and a gentleman, it craves a martial-court! You ought to die for't. Where's your horn? Answer me to that.

Green. An't like you, sir, I was oblivious.

Ralph. It like me not you should be so; 'tis a shame for you, and a scandal to all our neighbours, being a man of worth and estimation, to leave your horn behind you; I am afraid 'twill breed example. But let me tell you, no more on't. Stand, till I view you all. What's become o' th' nose of your flask?

1 Sol. Indeed-la, captain, 'twas blown away with powder.

Ralph. Put on a new one at the city's charge. Where's the stone2 of this piece?

2 Sol. The drummer took it out to light tobacco.

Ralph. 'Tis a fault, my friend; put it in again. You want a nose, and you a stone; sergeant, take a note on't, for I mean to stop it in the pay. Remove and march! [They march.] Soft and fair, gentlemen, soft and fair! Double your files; as you were! faces about! Now, you with the sodden face, keep in there! Look to your match, sirrah; it will be in your fellow's flask anon. So; make a crescent now; advance your pikes; stand and give ear!-Gentlemen, countrymen, friends, and my fellow-soldiers, I have brought you this day from the shops of security, and the counters of content, to measure out in these furious fields honour by the ell, and prowess by the pound. Let it not, oh, let it not, I say, be told hereafter, the noble issue of this city fainted; but bear yourselves in this fair action like men, valiant men, and free men! Fear not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the guns; for, believe me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer's cart is far more terrible, of which you have a daily experience; neither let the stink of powder offend you, since a more valiant stink is nightly with you. To a resolved mind, his home is everywhere:

I speak not this to take away

The hope of your return; for you shall see (I do not doubt it), and that very shortly, Your loving wives again, and your sweet children,

1 audacity-boldness, bravery.

2 stone-i.e. flint.

Whose care doth bear you company in baskets.
Remember then whose cause you have in hand,
And, like a sort of true-born scavengers,
Scour me this famous realm of enemies.

I have no more to say but this: stand to your tacklings, lads, and show to the world you can as well brandish a sword as shake an apron. Saint George, and on, my hearts!

All. Saint George, Saint George! [Exeunt. 'Wife. 'Twas well done, Ralph! I'll send thee a cold capon a-field, and a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, come myself to see thee.

Cit. Nell, the boy hath deceived me much! I did not think it had been in him. He has performed such a matter, wench, that, if I live, next year I'll have him captain of the gallifoist, or I'll want my will.'

ACT V.-SCENE III.

A Room in Old MERRYTHOUGHT'S House.

Enter Old MERRYTHOUGHT.

Mer. Yet, I thank God, I break not a wrinkle more than I had. Not a stoop, boys? Care, live with cats: I defy thee! My heart is as sound as an oak; and though I want drink to wet my whistle, I can sing, [Sings.

Come no more there, boys, come no more there; For we shall never whilst we live come any more there. Enter a Boy, and two Men bringing in the coffin, with LUCE in it.

Boy. God save you, sir!

Mer. It's a brave boy. Canst thou sing? Boy. Yes, sir, can sing; but 'tis not so necessary at this time.

Mer. Sing we, and chaunt it,

Whilst love doth grant it.

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If her offences have been great against you,
Let your own love remember she is yours,
And so forgive her.

Luce. Good Master Merrythought,
Let me entreat you; I will not be denied.

Mrs. Mer. Why, Master Merrythought, will you be a vex'd thing still?

Mer. Woman, I take you to my love again; but you shall sing before you enter; therefore despatch your song, and so come in.

Mrs. Mer. Well, you must have your will, when all's done.-Micke, what song canst thou sing, boy?

Mich. I can sing none forsooth, but 'A Lady's Daughter of Paris,' properly. [Sings within.

It was a lady's daughter, &c.

Enter Mrs. MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.
Mer. Come, you're welcome home again.

If such danger be in playing,

And jest must to earnest turn, You shall go no more a-MayingVent. [Within.] Are you within, sir? Master Merrythought!

Jasp. It is my master's voice; good sir, go hold him

In talk, whilst we convey ourselves into
Some inward room.

[Exit with LUCE.

Mer. What are you? are you merry? You must be very merry, if you enter.

Vent. I am, sir.

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Forgiveness for the wrongs I offer'd you,
And your most virtuous son; they are infinite,
Yet my contrition shall be more than they.
I do confess my hardness broke his heart,
For which just Heaven hath giv'n me punishment
More than my age can carry; his wand'ring spirit,
Not yet at rest, pursues me everywhere,
Crying, 'I'll haunt thee for thy cruelty.'
My daughter she is gone, I know not how,
Taken invisible, and whether living,
Or in the grave, 'tis yet uncertain to me.

Oh. Master Merrythought, these are the weights Will sink me to my grave! Forgive me, sir.

Mer. Why, sir, I do forgive you; and be merry! And if the wag in's lifetime play'd the knave, Can you forgive him too?

Vent. With all my heart, sir.

Mer. Speak it again, and heartily.
Vent. I do, sir;

Now, by my soul, I do.

Mer. [sings.] With that came out his paramour;
She was as white as the lily flower.
Hey troul, troly, loly!

Enter LUCE and JASPER.

With that came out her own dear knight,

He was as true as ever did fight, &c.

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

Cit. I do not like this: peace, boys! Hear me, one of you! everybody's part is come to an end but Ralph's, and he's left out.

'Boy. "Tis long of yourself, sir; we have nothing to do with his part.

Cit. Ralph, come away! Make [an end] ou him, as you have done of the rest, boys; come! 'Wife. Now, good husband, let him come out and die.

Cit. He shall, Nell.-Ralph, come away quickly, and die, boy.

Boy. "Twill be very unfit he should die, sir, upon no occasion; and in a comedy too.

Cit. Take you no care of that, Sir Boy; is not his part at an end, think you, when he's dead? -Come away, Ralph!'

Enter RALPH, with a forked arrow through
his head.

Ralph. When I was mortal, this my costive

corps

Did lap up figs and raisins in the Strand;
Where sitting, I espied a lovely dame,
Whose master wrought with lingelli and with
awl,

And underground he vamped many a boot:
Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig,
To follow feats of arms in warlike wise,
Through Waltham Desert, where I did perform
Many achievements, and did lay on ground
Huge Barbaroso, that insulting giant,

And all his captives soon set at liberty.

Then honour prick'd me from my native soil

Into Moldavia, where I gain'd the love

Of Pompiona, his beloved daughter;

But yet proved constant to the black-thumb'd maid,

Susan, and scorn'd Pompiona's love;
Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins,
And money for her father's officers.

I then returned home, and thrust myself
In action, and by all men chosen was
Lord of the May; where I did flourish it
With scarfs and rings, and poesy in my hand.
After this action I preferred was,
And chosen city-captain at Mile-end,
With hat and feather, and with leading staff,
And train'd my men, and brought them all off
clear,

Save one man that bewrayed him with the noise.
But all these things I Ralph did undertake,
Only for my beloved Susan's sake.

Then coming home, and sitting in my shop
With apron blue, Death came into my stall

1 lingell-a shoemaker's thread.

To cheapen aquavita; but ere I

Could take the bottle down, and fill a taste,
Death caught a pound of pepper in his hand,
And sprinkled all my face and body o'er,
And in an instant vanished away

'Cit. 'Tis a pretty fiction, i'faith!'

Ralph. Then took I up my bow and shaft in hand,

And walked into Moorfields to cool myself;
But there grim cruel Death met me again,
And shot this forked arrow through my head;
And now I faint; therefore be warn'd by me,
My fellows every one, of forked heads!
Farewell, all you good boys in merry London!
Ne'er shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet,
And pluck down houses of iniquity;
(My pain increaseth) I shall never more
Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs,
Nor daub a satin gown with rotten eggs;
Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall!
I die! fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers' Hall!
Oh, oh, oh, &c.

Wife. Well said, Ralph! Do your obeisance to the gentlemen, and go your ways. Well said, Ralph!' [Exit RALPH. Mer. Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly reconciled, should not depart without

a song.

Vent. A good motion. Mer. Strike up then!

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'Cit. Come, Nell, shall we go? the play's done. 'Wife. Nay, by my faith, George, I have more manners than so; I'll speak to these gentlemen first. I thank you all, gentlemen, for your patience and countenance to Ralph, a poor fatherless child! and if I might see you at my house, it should go hard but I would have a pottle of wine and a pipe of tobacco for you; for truly I hope you do like the youth; but I would be glad to know the truth: I refer it to your own discretions whether you will applaud him or no; for I will wink, and, whilst, you shall do what you will.-I thank you, with all my heart. God give you good night!-Come, George.' [Exeunt.

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