A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ix Part 105

SCAR. Your own, sir? what's your own?

THOM. Our portions given us by our father's will.

JOHN. Which here you spend.

THOM. Consume.

JOHN. Ways worse than ill.

SCAR. Ha, ha, ha!

_Enter_ ILFORD.

ILF. Nay, nay, nay, Will: prythee, come away, we have a full gallon of sack stays in the fire for thee. Thou must pledge it to the health of a friend of thine.

SCAR. What dost think these are, Frank?

ILF. Who? They are fiddlers, I think. If they be, I prythee send them into the next room, and let them sc.r.a.pe there, and we'll send to them presently.

SCAR. They are my brothers, Frank, come out of Yorks.h.i.+re To the tavern here, to ask their portions: They call my pleasures riots, my company leprous; And like a schoolboy they would tutor me.

ILF. O, thou shouldst have done well to have bound them 'prentices when they were young; they would have made a couple of good saucy tailors.

THOM. Tailors?

ILF. Ay, birdlime tailors. Tailors are good men, and in the term-time they wear good clothes. Come, you must learn more manners: as to stand at your brother's back, to s.h.i.+ft a trencher neatly, and take a cup of sack and a capon's leg contentedly.

THOM. You are a slave, That feeds upon my brother like a fly, Poisoning where thou dost suck.

SCAR. You lie.

JOHN. O (to my grief I speak it), you shall find There's no more difference in a tavern-haunter Than is between a spital and a beggar.

THOM. Thou work'st on him like tempests on a s.h.i.+p.

JOHN. And he the worthy traffic that doth sink.

THOM. Thou mak'st his name more loathesome than a grave.

JOHN. Livest like a dog by vomit.

THOM. Die a slave!

[_Here they draw_, WENTLOE _and_ BARTLEY _come in, and the two vintner's boys with clubs. All set upon the two brothers_.

BUTLER, _Scarborow's man, comes in, stands by, sees them fight, takes part with neither_.

BUT. Do, fight. I love you all well, because you were my old master's sons, but I'll neither part you, nor be partaker with you. I come to bring my master news; he hath two sons born at a birth in Yorks.h.i.+re, and I find him together by the ears with his brothers in a tavern in London.

Brother and brother at odds, 'tis naught: sure it was not thus in the days of charity. What's this world like to? Faith, just like an innkeeper's chamber-pot, receives all waters, good and bad. It had need of much scouring. My old master kept a good house, and twenty or thirty tall sword-and-buckler men about him, and i'faith his son differs not much, he will have metal too; though he hath not store of cutler's blades, he will have plenty of vintner's pots. His father kept a good house for honest men his tenants, that brought him in part; and his son keeps a bad house with knaves that help to consume all. 'Tis but the change of time; why should any man repine at it? Crickets, good, loving, and lucky worms, were wont to feed, sing, and rejoice in the father's chimney, and now carrion crows build in the son's kitchen. I could be sorry for it, but I am too old to weep. Well then, I will go tell him news of his offspring.

[_Exit.

_Enter the two brothers_, THOMAS _and_ JOHN SCARBOROW, _hurt, and_ SISTER.

SIS. Alas! good brothers, how came this mischance?

THOM. Our portions, our brother hath given us our portions, sister, hath he not?

SIS. He would not be so monstrous, I am sure.

JOHN. Excuse him not; he is more degenerate, Than greedy vipers that devour their mother, They eat on her but to preserve themselves, And he consumes himself, and beggars us.

A tavern is his inn, where amongst slaves He kills his substance, making pots the graves To bury that which our forefather's gave.

I ask'd him for our portions, told him that you Were brought to London, and we were in want; Humbly we crav'd our own; when his reply Was, he knew none we had: beg, starve, or die.

SIS. Alas!

What course is left us to live by, then?

THOM. In troth, sister, we two to beg in the fields, And you to betake yourself to the old trade, Filling of small cans in the suburbs.

SIS. Shall I be left then like a common road, That every beast that can but pay his toll May travel over, and, like to camomile,[396]

Flourish the better being trodden on.

_Enter_ BUTLER, _bleeding_.

BUT. Well, I will not curse him: he feeds now upon sack and anchovies, with a pox to him: but if he be not fain, before he dies, to eat acorns, let me live with nothing but pollard, and my mouth be made a cucking-stool for every scold to set her tail on.

THOM. How now, butler, what's the meaning of this?

BUT. Your brother means to lame as many as he can, that when he is a beggar himself, he may live with them in the hospital. His wife sent me out of Yorks.h.i.+re to tell him that G.o.d had blessed him with two sons; he bids a plague of them, a vengeance of her, crosses me o'er the pate, and sends me to the surgeon's to seek salve: I looked, at least he should have given me a brace of angels for my pains.

THOM. Thou hast not lost all thy longing; I am sure he hath given thee a cracked crown!

BUT. A plague on his fingers! I cannot tell, he is your brother and my master; I would be loth to prophesy of him; but whosoe'er doth curse his children being infants, ban his wife lying in childbed, and beats his man brings him news of it, they may be born rich, but they shall live slaves, be knaves, and die beggars.

SIS. Did he do so?

BUT. Guess you? he bid a plague of them, a vengeance on her, and sent me to the surgeon's.

SIS. Why then I see there is no hope of him; Some husbands are respectless of their wives, During the time that they are issueless; But none with infants bless'd can nourish hate, But love the mother for the children's sake.

JOHN. But he that is given over unto sin, Leproused therewith without, and so within-- O butler, we were issue to one father!

BUT. And he was an honest gentleman.

JOHN. Whose hopes were better than the son he left Should set so soon unto his house's shame.

He lives in taverns, spending of his wealth, And here his brothers and distressed sister, Not having any means to help us with.

THOM. Not a Scots baubee (by this hand) to bless us with.

JOHN. And not content to riot out his own, But he detains our portions, suffers us In this strange air, open to every wrack, Whilst he in riot swims to be in lack.