A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 101

Threaten to arrest him: nothing but a sergeant can touch his conscience.

TAI. Truly, gentlemen I have reason to be angry, for he uses me ill when I ask him for my money.

JOLLY. [_Speaking within._] Where is Master Wild and Master Careless?

TAI. I hear his voice.

JOLLY. Let the coach stay. How now, who would he speak with?

_Enter_ JOLLY.

WILD. Do not you know?

JOLLY. Yes, and be you judge, if the rogue does not suffer deservedly. I have bid him any time this twelvemonth but send his wife, I'll pay her, and the rogue replies, n.o.body shall lie with his wife but himself.

CARE. Nay, if you be such a one--

TAI. No more they shall not. I am but a poor man.

JOLLY. By this hand, he's drunk.

TAI. Nay, then, I arrest you, in mine own name, at his majesty's suit.

WILD. As I live, thou shalt not beat him.

JOLLY. Beat him! I'll kiss him. I'll pay him, and carry him about with me, and be at the charge of sack to keep him in the humour.

[_He hugs the quart-pot._

TAI. Help, rescue! I'll have his body: no bail shall serve.

_Enter_ DRAWER.

DRAW. Sir, yonder is a gentleman would speak with you. I do not like his followers.

JOLLY. What are they? bailiffs?

DRAW. Little better.

JOLLY. Send him up alone, and stand you ready at the stairs'

feet.

CARE. How can that be?[244]

JOLLY. It is the scrivener at the corner. Pick a quarrel with him for coming into our company. The drawers will be armed behind them, and we will so rout the rascals! Take your swords, and let him[245] sleep.

CARE. What scrivener?

JOLLY. Crop the Brownist: he that the ballad was made on.

CARE. What ballad?

JOLLY. Have you not heard of the scrivener's wife, that brought the blackmoor from the holy land, and made him a Brownist, and in pure charity lay with him, and was delivered of a magpie, a pied prophet, which when the elect saw, they prophesied, if it lived, 'twould prove a great enemy to their sect, for the midwife cried out 'twas born a bishop, with tippet and white sleeves: at which the zealous mother cried, Down with the idol! So the midwife and she, in pure devotion, killed it.

WILD. Killed it! what became of them?

JOLLY. Why, they were taken and condemned, and suffered under a Catholic sheriff, that afflicted them with the litany all the way from Newgate to the gallows; which in roguery he made to be set up altarwise, too, and hanged them without a psalm.

WILD. But how took they that breach of privilege?

JOLLY. I know not: Gregory turned them off, and so they descended and became Brown-martyrs.

WILD. And is the husband at door now?

JOLLY. Yes, yes; but he is married again to a rich widow at Wapping, a wench of another temper: one that you cannot please better than by abusing him. I always pick quarrels with him, that she may reconcile us. The peace is always worth a dinner at least. Hark! I hear him. [_Enter_ CROP.] Save you, Master Crop: you are come in the nick to pledge a health.

CROP. No, sir, I have other business. Shall I be paid my money or no?

[JOLLY _drinks_.

JOLLY. Yes.

CROP. Sir?

JOLLY. You asked whether you should be paid your money, or no, and I said, yes.

CROP. Pray, sir, be plain.

CARE. And be you so, sir. How durst you come into this room and company without leave?

CROP. Sir, I have come into good lords' company ere now.

CARE. It may be so; but you shall either fall upon your knees, and pledge this health, or you come no more into lords'

companies: no, by these hilts!

[_They tug him, and make him kneel._

CROP. 'Tis idolatry! Do, martyr me, I will not kneel, nor join in sin with the wicked.

JOLLY. Either kneel, or I'll tear thy cloak which, by the age and looks, may be that which was writ for in the time of the primitive church.

CROP. Pay me, and I'll wear a better. It would be honestlier done, than to abuse this, and profane the text; a text that shows your bishops in those days wore no lawn-sleeves. And you may be ashamed to protect one that will not pay his debts: the cries of the widow will come against you for it.

JOLLY. Remember, sirrah, the dinners and suppers, fat venison and good words, I was fain to give you, christening your children still by the way of brokage. Count that charge, and how often I have kept you from fining for sheriff, and thou art in my debt.

Then I am d.a.m.ned for speaking well of thee so often against my conscience, which you never consider.

CROP. I am an honest man, sir.

JOLLY. Then ushering your wife, and Mistress Ugly, her daughter, to plays and masques at court. You think these courtesies deserve nothing in the hundred! 'Tis true, they made room for themselves with their dagger elbows, and when Spider, your daughter, laid about her with her breath, the devil would not have sat near her.