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Who is this (sayth one) sir _Launcelot du lake_?
Who is this, greate _Guy_ of Warwike, sayth an other?
No (say I) it is the thirtenth _Hercules_ brother.
Who is this? n.o.ble _Hector_ of _Troy_, sayth the thirde?
No, but of the same nest (say I) it is a birde.
Who is this? greate _Goliah_, _Sampson_, or _Colbrande_?
No (say I) but it is a brute of the Alie lande.
Who is this? greate _Alexander_? or _Charle le Maigne_?
No, it is the tenth Worthie, say I to them agayne: I knowe not if I sayd well.
+R. Royster.+ Yes for so I am.
+M. Mery.+ Yea, for there were but nine worthies before ye came.
To some others, the thirde _Cato_ I doe you call.
And so as well as I can I aunswere them all.
Sir I pray you, what lorde or great gentleman is this?
Maister Ralph Roister Doister dame say I, ywis.
O Lorde (sayth she than) what a goodly man it is, Woulde Christ I had such a husbande as he is.
O Lorde (say some) that the sight of his face we lacke: It is inough for you (say I) to see his backe.
His face is for ladies of high and n.o.ble parages.
With whome he hardly scapeth great mariages.
With muche more than this, and much otherwise.
+R. Royster.+ I can thee thanke that thou canst suche answeres deuise: But I perceyue thou doste me throughly knowe.
+M. Mery.+ I marke your maners for myne owne learnyng I trowe, But suche is your beautie, and suche are your actes, Suche is your personage, and suche are your factes, That all women faire and fowle, more and lesse, That eye you, they lubbe you, they talke of you doubtlesse, Your p[l]easant looke maketh them all merie, Ye pa.s.se not by, but they laugh till they be werie, Yea and money coulde I haue the truthe to tell, Of many, to bryng you that way where they dwell.
+R. Royster.+ Merygreeke for this thy reporting well of mee:
+M. Mery.+ What shoulde I else sir, it is my duetie pardee:
+R. Royster.+ I promise thou shalt not lacke, while I haue a grote.
+M. Mery.+ Faith sir, and I nere had more nede of a newe cote.
+R. Royster.+ Thou shalte haue one to morowe, and golde for to spende.
+M. Mery.+ Then I trust to bring the day to a good ende.
For as for mine owne parte hauing money inowe, I could lyue onely with the remembrance of you.
But nowe to your Widowe whome you loue so hotte.
+R. Royster.+ By c.o.c.ke thou sayest truthe, I had almost forgotte.
+M. Mery.+ What if Christian Custance will not haue you what?
+R. Royster.+ Haue me? yes I warrant you, neuer doubt of that, I knowe she loueth me, but she dare not speake.
+M. Mery.+ In deede meete it were some body should it breake.
+R. Royster.+ She looked on me twentie tymes yesternight, And laughed so.
+M. Mery.+ That she coulde not sitte vpright,
+R. Royster.+ No faith coulde she not.
+M. Mery.+ No euen such a thing I cast.
+R. Royster.+ But for wowyng thou knowest women are shamefast.
But and she knewe my minde, I knowe she would be glad, And thinke it the best chaunce that euer she had.
+M. Mery.+ Too hir then like a man, and be bolde forth to starte, Wowers neuer speede well, that haue a false harte.
+R. Royster.+ What may I best doe?
+M. Mery.+ Sir remaine ye a while, Ere long one or other of hir house will appere.
Ye knowe my minde.
+R. Royster.+ Yea now hardly lette me alone.
+M. Mery.+ In the meane time sir, if you please, I wyll home, And call your Musitians, for in this your case It would sette you forth, and all your wowyng grace, Ye may not lacke your instrumentes to play and sing.
+R. Royster.+ Thou knowest I can doe that.
+M. Mery.+ As well as any thing.
Shall I go call your folkes, that ye may shewe a cast?
+R. Royster.+ Yea runne I beseeche thee in all possible haste.
+M. Mery.+ I goe. _Exeat._
+R. Royster.+ Yea for I loue singyng out of measure, It comforteth my spirites and doth me great pleasure.
But who commeth forth yond from my swete hearte Custance?
My matter frameth well, thys is a luckie chaunce.
Actus. j. Scaena. iij.
+Mage Mumble crust+, _spinning on the distaffe_.
+Tibet Talk apace+, _sowyng_. +Annot Alyface+ _knittyng_.
+R. Roister.+
+M. Mumbl.+ If thys distaffe were spoonne Margerie Mumblecrust.
+Tib Talk.+ Where good stale ale is will drinke no water I trust.
+M. Mumbl.+ Dame Custance hath promised vs good ale and white bread.
+Tib Talk.+ If she kepe not promise, I will beshrewe her head: But it will be starke nyght before I shall haue done.
+R. Royster.+ I will stande here a while, and talke with them anon, I heare them speake of Custance, which doth my heart good, To heare hir name spoken doth euen comfort my blood.
