Jasp. Go, and be happy! Now my latest hope, Forsake me not, but fling thy anchor out, And let it hold! Stand fix'd, thou rolling stone, Till I enjoy my dearest! Hear me, all You powers, that rule in men, celestial!

[Exit.

Wife. Go thy ways: thou art as crooked a sprig as ever grew in London! I warrant him, he'll come to some naughty end or other; for his looks say no less. Besides, his father (you know, George) is none of the best; you heard him take me up like a flirt-gill, and sing bawdy songs upon me; but i'faith, if I live, George

Cit. Let me alone, sweetheart! I have a trick in my head shall lodge him in the Arches for one year, and make him sing peccavi, ere I leave him; and yet he shall never know who hurt him neither.

'Wife. Do, my good George, do!

Cit. What shall we have Ralph do now, boy? 'Boy. You shall have what you will, sir.

Cit. Why, so, sir? go and fetch me him then, and let the sophy of Persia come and christen him a child.

Boy. Believe me, sir, that will not do so well; 'tis stale; it has been had before at the Red Bull.

Wife. George, let Ralph travel over great hills, and let him be very weary, and come to the King of Cracovia's house, covered with velvet, and there let the king's daughter stand in her window all in beaten gold, combing her golden locks with a comb of ivory; and let her spy Ralph, and fall in love with him, and come down to him, and carry him into her father's house, and then let Ralph talk with her!

Cit. Well said, Nell; it shall be so. -Boy, let's ha't done quickly.

Boy. Sir, if you will imagine all this to be done already, you shall hear them talk together; but we cannot present a house covered with velvet, and a lady in beaten gold.

Cit. Sir Boy, let's ha't as you can then. Boy. Besides, it will show ill-favouredly to have a grocer's 'prentice to court a king's daughter.

Cit. Will it so, sir? You are well read in histories! I pray you, what was Sir Dagonet? Was not he 'prentice to a grocer in London ? Read the play of The Four Prentices of London, where they toss their pikes so. I pray you fetch him in, sir, fetch him in!

Boy. It shall be done. It is not our fault, gentlemen. [Exit. Wife. Now we shall see fine doings, I warrant thee, George.

ACT IV.-SCENE II.

A Hall in the KING OF MOLDAVIA'S Court. Enter RALPH, TIM, GEORGE, and POMPIONA.

'Cit. Ay, Nell, it is the fashion of that country, I warrant thee.'

Pomp. Welcome, Sir Knight, unto my father's court,

King of Moldavia; unto me, Pompiona,
His daughter dear! But sure you do not like
Your entertainment, that will stay with us
No longer but a night.

Ralph. Damsel right fair,
I am on many sad adventures bound,
That call me forth into the wilderness.
Besides, my horse's back is something gall'd,
Which will enforce me ride a sober pace.
But many thanks, fair lady, be to you,
For using errant-knight with courtesy!
Pomp. But say, brave knight, what is your
name and birth?

Ralph. My name is Ralph, I am an Englisleman
(As true as steel, a hearty Englishman),
And 'prentice to a grocer in the Strand,
By deed indent, of which I have one part:
But Fortune calling me to follow arms,
On me this holy order I did take

Of Burning Pestle, which in all men's eyes
I bear, confounding ladies' enemies.

Pomp. Oft have I heard of your brave countrymen,

And fertile soil, and store of wholesome food;
My father oft will tell me of a drink
In England found, and Nipitato call'd,
Which driveth all the sorrow from your hearts.
Ralph. Lady, 'tis true; you need not lay your
lips

To better Nipitato than there is.

Pomp. And of a wild fowl he will often speak, Which powder'd beef and mustard called is: For there have been great wars 'twixt us and you; But truly, Ralph, it was not 'long of me. Tell me then, Ralph, could you contented be To wear a lady's favour in your shield?

Ralph. I am a knight of a religious order, And will not wear a favour of a lady That trusts in Antichrist, and false traditions.

Cit. Well said, Ralph! convert her, if thou canst.'

Ralph. Besides, I have a lady of my own In merry England, for whose virtuous sake I took these arms, and Susan is her name, A cobbler's maid in Milk-street; whom I vow Ne'er to forsake, whilst life and Pestle last.

Pomp. Happy that cobbling dame, whoe'er she
be,

That for her own, dear Ralph, hath gotten thee!
Unhappy I, that ne'er shall see the day
To see thee more, that bear'st my heart away!
Ralph. Lady, farewell! I needs must take my
leave.

Pomp. Hard-hearted Ralph, that ladies dost
deceive!

Cit. Hark thee, Ralph! there's money for thee. Give something in the King of Cracovia's house; be not beholding to him.'

Ralph. Lady, before I go, I must remember
Your father's officers, who, truth to tell,
Have been about me very diligent.

There's twelve-pence for your father's chamber

lain;

And there's another shilling for his cook,
For, by my troth, the goose was roasted well;
And twelve-pence for your father's horsekeeper,

Go, sirrah, lock her in, and keep the key
Safe as you love your life.

[Exeunt LUCE and Boy.

Now, my son Humphrey,

You may both rest assured of my love

In this, and reap your own desire.

Hum. I see this love you speak of, through your daughter,

Although the hole be little; and hereafter
Will yield the like in all I may or can,
Fitting a Christian and a gentleman.

Vent. I do believe you, my good son, and thank
you;

For 'twere an impudence to think you flatter'd. Hum. It were indeed; but shall I tell you why? I have been beaten twice about the lie.

Vent. Well, son, no more of compliment. My daughter

Is yours again; appoint the time and take her: We'll have no stealing for it; I myself

And some few of our friends will see you

married.

Hum. I would you would, i'faith! for be it known,

I ever was afraid to lie alone.

Vent. Some three days hence thenHum. Three days? let me see!

'Tis somewhat of the most; yet I agree, Because I mean against the appointed day To visit all my friends in new array.

Enter Servant.

Serv. Sir, there's a gentlewoman without would

speak with your worship.

Vent. What is she?

Serv. Sir, I ask'd her not.

Enter Mrs. MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL.

Mrs. Mer. Peace be to your worship! I come as a poor suitor to you, sir, in the behalf of this child.

Vent. Are you not wife to Merrythought? Mrs. Mer. Yes, truly. 'Would I had ne'er seen his eyes! he has undone me and himself, and his children; and there he lives at home, and sings and hoits, and revels among his drunken companions! but, I warrant you, where to get a penny to put bread in his mouth he knows not. And therefore, if it like your worship, I would entreat your letter to the honest host of the Bell in Waltham, that I may place my child under the protection of his tapster, in some settled course of life.

Vent. I'm glad the heavens have heard my prayers! Thy husband,

When I was ripe in sorrows, laugh'd at me;
Thy son, like an unthankful wretch, I having
Redeem'd him from his fall, and made him mine,
To show his love again, first stole my daughter,
Then wrong'd this gentleman; and, last of all,
Gave me that grief had almost brought me down
Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand
Relieved my sorrows. Go, and weep as I did,
And be unpitied; for I here profess
An everlasting hate to all thy name.

Mrs. Mer. Will you so, sir? how say you by that? Come, Micke; let him keep his wind to cool his pottage! We'll go to thy nurse's, Micke; she knits silk stockings, boy, and we'll knit too, boy, and be beholding to none of them all.

[Exit with MICHAEL.

Enter a Boy with a letter.

Boy. Sir, I take it you are the master of this house.

Vent. How then, boy?

Boy. Then to yourself, sir, comes this letter. Vent. From whom, my pretty boy?

Boy. From him that was your servant; but no

more

Shall that name ever be, for he is dead!
Grief of your purchased anger broke his heart:
I saw him die, and from his hand received
This paper, with a charge to bring it hither:
Read it, and satisfy yourself in all.

Vent. [Reading.] Sir, that I have wrong'd your love I must confess; in which I have purchased to myself, besides mine own undoing, the ill opinion of my friends. Let not your anger, good sir, outlive me, but suffer me to rest in peace with your forgiveness. Let my body (if a dying man may so much prevail with you) be brought to your daughter, that she may truly know my hot flames are now buried, and withal receive a testimony of the zeal I bore her virtue. Farewell for ever, and be ever happy! JASPER.

God's hand is great in this! I do forgive him;
Yet I am glad he's quiet, where I hope
He will not bite again. Boy, bring the body,
And let him have his will, if that be all.

Boy. 'Tis here without, sir.

Vent. So, sir; if you please,

You may conduct it in; I do not fear it.

Hum. I'll be your usher, boy; for, though I say it,

He owed me something once, and well did pay it.

ACT IV.-SCENE IV.

Another room in the same House.

Enter LUCE.

[Exeunt

Luce. If there be any punishment inflicted

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.

2 Boy. Sir, I can get no bread for supper. Mer. Hang bread and supper! let's preserve our mirth, and we shall never feel hunger, I'll warrant you. Let's have a catch. Boy, follow me; come, sing this catch.

[They sing the following catch.

Ho, ho, nobody at home,

Meat, nor drink, nor money ha' we none?

Fill the pot, Eedy, Never more need I.

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

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

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.

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!

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 together we go! Sa, sa, sa, bounce, quoth the guns! "Courage, my hearts," quoth the captains! "Saint George," quoth the pike-men! And withal, here they lay, and there they lay! And yet for all this I am here, wench.

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

ACT V.-SCENE II.

Mile-end.

Enter RALPH, WILLIAM HAMERTON, GEORGE

GREENGOOSE, and others of his Company, with Drums and Colours.

Ralph. March fair, my hearts! lieutenant, beat the rear up. Ancient, let your colours fly; but 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.