A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vii Part 56

PHIL. Why, this way.

FRAN. Canst thou tell, And takest upon thee to be my guide to h.e.l.l?-- But which way, father?

MR GOUR. That way.

FRAN. Ay, you know, You found the way to sorrow long ago.

Father, G.o.d be wi' ye[293]: you have sent your son To seek on earth an earthly day of doom, Where I shall be adjudged, alack the ruth, To penance for the follies of my youth!

Well, I must go; but, by my troth, my mind Is not capable to love [in][294] that kind.

O, I have look'd upon this mould of men, As I have done upon a lion's den!

Praised I have the gallant beast I saw, Yet wish'd me no acquaintance with his paw: And must I now be grated with them? well, Yet I may hap to prove a Daniel; And, if I do, sure it would make me laugh, To be among wild beasts and yet be safe.

Is there a remedy to abate their rage?

Yes, many catch them, and put them in a cage.

Ay, but how catch them? marry, in your hand Carry me forth a burning firebrand, For with his sparkling s.h.i.+ne, old rumour says, A firebrand the swiftest runner frays: This I may do; but, if it prove not so, Then man goes out to seek his adjunct woe.

Philip, away! and, father, now adieu!

In quest of sorrow I am sent by you.

MR GOUR. Return, the messenger of joy, my son.

FRAN. Seldom in this world such a work is done.

PHIL. Nay, nay, make haste, it will be quickly night.

FRAN. Why, is it not good to woo by candle-light?

PHIL. But, if we make not haste, they'll be a-bed.

FRAN. The better, candles out and curtains spread.

[_Exeunt_ FRANCIS and PHILIP.]

MR GOUR. I know, though that my son's years be not many, Yet he hath wit to woo as well as any.

Here comes my wife: I am glad my boy is gone.

_Enter_ MISTRESS GOURSEY.

Ere she came hither. How now, wife? how is't?

What, are ye yet in charity and love With Mistress Barnes?

MRS GOUR. With Mistress Barnes! why Mistress[295] Barnes, I pray?

MR GOUR. Because she is your neighbour and--

MRS GOUR. And what?

And a jealous, slandering, spiteful quean she is, One that would blur my reputation With her opprobrious malice, if she could; She wrongs her husband, to abuse my fame: 'Tis known that I have lived in honest name All my lifetime, and been your right true wife.

MR GOUR. I entertain no other thought, my wife, And my opinion's sound of your behaviour.

MRS GOUR. And my behaviour is as sound as it; But her ill-speeches seeks to rot my credit, And eat it with the worm of hate and malice.

MR GOUR. Why, then, preserve it you by patience.

MRS GOUR. By patience! would ye have me shame myself, And cosen myself to bear her injuries?

Not while her eyes be open, will I yield A word, a letter, a syllable's value.

But equal and make even her wrongs to me To her again.

MR GOUR. Then, in good faith, wife, ye are more to blame.

MRS GOUR. Am I to blame, sir? pray, what letter's this?

[_s.n.a.t.c.hes the letter_.]

MR GOUR. There is a dearth of manners in ye, wife, Rudely to s.n.a.t.c.h it from me. Give it me.

MRS GOUR. You shall not have it, sir, till I have read it.

MR GOUR. Give me it, then, and I will read it to you.

MRS GOUR. No, no, it shall not need: I am a scholar Good enough to read a letter, sir.

MR GOUR. G.o.d's pa.s.sion, if she know but the contents, She'll seek to cross this match! she shall not read it. [_Aside_.]

Wife, give it me; come, come, give it me.

MRS GOUR. Husband, in very deed, you shall not have it.

MR GOUR. What, will you move me to impatience, then?

MRS GOUR. Tut, tell not me of your impatience; But since you talk, sir, of impatience, You shall not have the letter, by this light, Till I have read it; soul, I'll burn it first!

MR GOUR. Go to, ye move me, wife; give me the letter; In troth, I shall grow angry, if you do not.

MRS GOUR. Grow to the house-top with your anger, sir!

Ne'er tell me, I care not thus much for it.

MR GOUR. Well, I can bear enough, but not too much.

Come, give it me; 'twere best you be persuaded; By G.o.d--ye make me swear--now G.o.d forgive me!-- Give me, I say, and stand not long upon it; Go to, I am angry at the heart, my very heart.

MRS GOUR. Heart me no hearts! you shall not have it, sir, No, you shall not; ne'er look so big, I will not be afraid at your great looks; You shall not have it, no, you shall not have it.

MR GOUR. Shall I not have it? in troth, I'll try that: Minion, I'll ha"t; shall I not ha"t?--I am loth-- Go to, take paus.e.m.e.nt, be advis'd-- In faith, I will; and stand not long upon it-- A woman of your years! I am asham'd A couple of so long continuance Should thus--G.o.d's foot--I cry G.o.d heart'ly mercy!-- Go to, ye vex me; and I'll vex ye for it; Before I leave ye, I will make ye glad To tender it on your knees; hear ye, I will, I will.

What, worse and worse stomach! true faith, Shall I be cross'd by you in my old age?

And where I should have greatest comfort, too, A nurse of you?--nurse in the devil's name!-- Go to, mistress; by G.o.d's precious deer, If ye delay--

MRS GOUR. Lord, Lord, why, in what a fit Are you in, husband! so enrag'd, so mov'd, And for so slight a cause, to read a letter!

Did this letter, love, contain my death, Should you deny my sight of it, I would not Nor see my sorrow nor eschew my danger, But willingly yield me a patient Unto the doom that your displeasure gave.

Here is the letter; not for that your incens.e.m.e.nt [_Gives back the letter_.]

Makes me make offer of it, but your health, Which anger, I do fear, hath craz'd[296], And viper-like hath suck'd away the blood That wont was to be cheerful in this cheek: How pale ye look!

MR GOUR. Pale! Can ye blame me for it? I tell you true, An easy matter could not thus have moved me.

Well, this resignment--and so forth--but, woman, This fortnight shall I not forget ye for it.-- Ha, ha, I see that roughness can do somewhat!