The knight of the burning pestle

Actus quartus,

Scoena prima.

Boy daunceth.

Wife.

Looke George, the little boy's come againe, mee thinkes he lookes something like the prince of Orange in his long stocking, if hee had a little harnesse about his necke. George I will haue him dance Fading; Fading is a fine Iigge Il'e assure you Gentlemen: begin brother, now a capers sweet heart, now a turne a'th toe, and then tumble: cannot you tumble youth?

Boy.

No indeed forsooth:

Wife.

Nor eate fire?

Boy.

Neither.

Wife.

Why then I thanke you heartily, there's two pence to buy you points withall.

Enter Iasper and Boy.

Iasp.

There boy, deliuer this: but do it well. Hast thou prouided me foure lusty fellowes?

Able to carry me? and art thou perfect In all thy businesse?

Boy.

Sir, you need not feare, I haue my lesson here, and cannot misse it: The men are ready for you, and what else Pertaines to this imployment.

Iasp.

There my boy, Take it, but buy no land.

Boy.

Faith sir 'twere rare To see so yong a purchaser: I flye, And on my wings carry your destinie.

Exit.

Iasp.

Go, and be happy. Now my latest hope Forsake me not, but fling thy Anchor out, And let it hold: stand fixt thou rolling stone, Till I enioy my deerest: heare me all You powers that rule in men coelestiall.

Exit.

Wife.

Go thy wayes, thou art as crooked a sprigge as euer grew in London; I warrant him hee'l come to some naughty end or other: for his lookes say no lesse: Besides, his father (you know George) is none of the best, you heard him take me vp like a flirt Gill, and sing baudy songs vpon me: but I faith if I liue George—

Cit.

Let me alone sweet-heart, I haue a tricke in my head shall lodge him in the Arches for one yeare, and make him sing Peocani, er'e I leaue him, and yet hee shall neuer know who hurt him neither.

Wife.

Do my good George, do.

Cit.

What shall we haue Rafe do now boy?

Boy.

You shall haue what you will sir.

Cit.

Why so sir, go and fetch me him then, and let the So∣phy of Persia come and christen him a childe.

Boy.

Beleeue me sir, that will not doe so well, 'tis stale, it has beene had before at the red Bull.

Wife.

George let Rafe trauell ouer great hils, & let him be ve∣ry weary, and come to the King of Cracouia's house, couered with veluet, and there let the Kings daughter stand in her window all in beaten gold, combing her golden locks with a combe of Iuory, and let her spy Rafe, and fall in loue with him, and come downe to him, and carry him into her fathers house, and then let Rafe talke with her.

Cit.

Well said Nell, it shal be so: boy let's ha't done quickly.

Boy.

Sir, if you will imagine all this to be done already, you shall heare them talke together: but wee cannot pre∣sent a house couered with blacke veluet, and a Lady in bea∣ten gold.

Cit.

Sir boy, lets ha't as you can then.

Boy.

Besides it will shew ill-fauouredly to haue'a Gro∣cers prentice to court a kings 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 Foure Prentices of London, where they tosse 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 tee George. O here they come; how pretily the king of Cracuioa's daugh∣ter is drest.

Enter Rafe and the Lady, Squire and dwarfe.

Cit.

I Nell, it is the fashion of that country, I warrant tee.

Lady.

Welcome sir Knight vnto my fathers Court. King of Moldauia, vnto me Pompiona His daughter deere: but sure you do not like Your entertainment, that will stay with vs No longer but a night.

Rafe.

Damsell right faire, I am on many sad aduentures bound, That call me forth into the wildernesse: Besides, my horses backe is something gal'd, Which will inforce me ride a sober pace. But many thankes (faire Lady) be to you, For vsing errant Knight with curtesie.

Lady.

But say (braue knight) what is your name & birth?

Rafe.

My name is Rafe, I am an English man, As true as steele, a hearty Englishman, And prentice to a Grocer in the strond, By deed Indent, of which I haue one part: But Fortune calling me to follow Armes, On me this holy order I did take, Of Burning pestle, which in all mens eyes,

I beare, confounding Ladies enemies.

Lady.

Oft haue I heard of your braue country-men, And fertill soyle, and store of holesome food: My Father oft will tell me of a drinke In England found, and Nipitato cal'd. Which driueth all the sorrow from your hearts.

Rafe.

Lady 'tis true, you need not lay your lips To better Nipitato then there is.

Lady.

And of a wild-fowle he will often speake, Which poudred beefe and mustard called is: For there haue beene great warres 'twixt vs and you, But truly Rafe, it was not long of me. Tell me then Rafe, could you contented be, To weare a Ladies fauour in your shield?

Rafe.

I am a knight of religious order, And will not weare a fauour of a Ladies That trusts in Antichrist, and false traditions.

Cit.

Well sayd Rafe, conuert her if thou canst.

Rafe.

Besides, I haue a Lady of my owne In merry England, for whose vertuous sake I tooke these Armes, and Susan is her name, A Coblers maid in Milke-street, whom I vow Nere to forsake, whilst life and Pestle last.

Lady.

Happy that Cobling dame, who ere she be, That for her owne (deere Rafe) hath gotten thee. Vnhappy I, that nere shall see the day To see thee more, that bearst my heart away.

Rafe.

Lady fare-well, I needs must take my leaue.

Lady.

Hard-harted Rafe, that Ladies dost deceiue.

Cit.

Harke thee Rafe, there's money for thee; giue something in the King of Cracouia's house, be not beholding to him.

Rafe.

Lady before I go, I must remember Your fathers Officers, who truth to tell, Haue beene about me very diligent. Hold vp thy snowy hand thou princely maid, There's twelue pence for your fathers Chamberlaine,

And another shilling for his Cooke, For by my troth the Goose was rosted well. And twelue-pence for your fathers horse-keeper, For nointing my horse backe; and for his butter There is another shilling. To the maid That wash't my boot-hose, there's an English groat; And two pence to the boy that wip't my boots: And last, faire Lady, there is for your selfe Three pence to buy you pins at Bumbo faire.

Lady.

Full many thankes, and I will keepe them safe Till all the heads be off, for thy sake Rafe.

Rafe.

Aduance my Squire and Dwarfe, I cannot stay.

Lady.

Thou kilst my heart in parting thus away.

Exeūt.

Wife.

I commend Rafe yet that hee will not stoope to a Craconian, there's properer women in London then any are there I-wis. But heere comes Maister Humphrey and his loue againe now George.

Cit.

I cony, peace.

Enter Marchant, Humphrey, Luce and a Boy.

March.

Go get you vp, I will not be intreated. And gossip mine, Il'e keepe you sure hereafter From gadding out againe with boyes and vnthrifts, Come, they are womens teares, I know your fashion. Go sirrah, locke her in, and keepe the key,

Exit Luce & Boy.

Safe as you loue your life. Now my sonne Humfrey, You may both rest assured of my loue In this, and reape your owne desire.

Hum.

I see this loue you speake of, through your daughter, Although the hole be little; and hereafter Will yeeld the like in all I may, or can, Fitting a Christian, and a gentleman.

March.

I do beleeue you (my good sonne) and thanke you: For 'twere an impudence to thinke you flattered.

Humph.

It were indeed, but shall I tell you why, I haue beene beaten twice about the lye.

March.

Well son, no more of complement, my daughter Is yours againe; appoint the time, and take her,

We'le haue no stealing for it, I my selfe And some few of our friends will see you married.

Hum.

I would you would i'saith, for be it knowne I euer was afraid to lie alone.

March.

Some three daies hence then.

Hum.

Three daies, let me see, 'Tis some-what of the most, yet I agree, Because I meane against the appointed day, To visite all my friends in new array.

Enter seruant.

Ser.

Sir, there's a Gentlewoman without would speake with your Worship.

Merch.

What is shee?

Seru.

Sir I askt her not.

Merch.

Bid her come in.

Enter mistresse Merry-thought and Michael.

Mist. mer.

Peace be to your Worship, I come as a poore Suter to you sir, in the behalfe of this child.

Merch.

Are you not wife to Merrie-thought?

Mist. mer.

Yes truely, would I had nere seene his eles, ha has vndone me and himselfe and his children, & there he liues at home & sings, & hoights, & Reuels among his drunken cō∣panions, but, I warrant you, where to get a peny to put bread in his mouth, he knowes not: and therefore if it like your Worship, I would entreate your letter, to the honest Host of the Bel in VValtham, that I may place my child vnder the protection of his Tapster, in some setled course of life.

Merch.

I'me glad the heauens haue heard my prayers: thy husband VVhen I was ripe in sorrows laught at me, Thy sonne like an vnthankefull wretch, I hauing Redeem'd him from his fall and made him mine, To shew his loue againe, first stole my daughter, Then wrong'd this Gentleman, and last of all, Gaue me that griefe, had almost brought me downe Vnto my graue, had not a stronger hand Releiu'd my sorrowes, go, and weepe, as I did And be vnpittied, for I heere professe An euerlasting hate to all thy name.

Mist. mer.

VVill you so sir, how say you by that? come

Micke, let him keepe his winde to coole his Porrage, we'le go to thy Nurces Micke, shee knits silke stockings boy, and we'le knit too boy, and bee beholding to none of them all.

Exeunt Michael and mother.

Enter a boy with a letter.

Boy.

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

Merch.

How then boy?

Boy.

Then to your selfe sir comes this letter.

Merch.

From whom my pretty Boy?

Boy.

From him that was your seruant, but no more Shall that name euer be, for hee is dead, Griefe of your purchas'd anger broke his heart, I saw him die, and from his hand receiu'd This paper, with a charge to bring it hither, Reade it, and satisfie your selfe in all.

Letter.

March.

Sir, that I haue wronged your loue, I must confesse, in which I haue purchast to my selfe, besides myne owne vndoing, the ill opinion of my friends, let not your anger, good sir, out liue me, but suffer mee to rest in peace with your forgiuenesse; let my body (if a dying man may so much preuails with you) bee brought to your daughter, that shee may truely know my hate flames are now buried, and, withall, receiue a testimony of the zeale I bore her vertue: fare∣well for euer, and be euer happy. Iasper.

Gods hand is great in this, I do for giue him, Yet I am glad he's quiet, where I hope He will not bite againe: boy bring the body And let him haue his will, if that be all.

Boy.

'Tis here without sir.

March.

So sir, if you please You may conduct it in, I do not feare it.

Hump.

I'le be your Vsher boy, for though I say it, He ow'd me something once, and well did pay it.

Exeunt.

Enter Luce alone.

Luce.

If there be any punishment inflicted Vpon the miserable, more then yet I feele, Let it together ceaze me, and at once

Presse downe my soule, I cannot beare the paine Of these delaying tortures: thou than art The end of all, and the sweete rest of all; Come, come ô death, bring me to thy peace, And blot out all the memory I nourish Both of my father and my cruell friend. O wretched maide still liuing to be wretched, To be a say to fortune in her changes, And grow to number times and woes together, How happy had I bene, if being borne My graue had bene my cradle?

Enter seruant.

Ser.

By your leaue Yong Mistresse, here's a boy hath brought a coffin, What a would say I know not, but your father Charg'd me to giue you notice, here they come.

Enter two bearing a Coffin, Iasper in it.

Luce.

For me I hop't 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome.

Boy.

Faire Mistresse let me not adde greater griefe To that great store you haue already; Iasper That whilst he liu'd was yours, now dead, And here enclos'd, commanded me to bring His body hither, and to craue a teare From those faire eyes, though he deseru'd not pitty, To decke his funerall, for so he bid me Tell her for whom he di'de.

Luce.

He shall haue many: Good friends depart a little, whilst I take

Exeunt Coffin carrier & boy.

My leaue of this dead man, that once I lou'd: Hold, yet a little, life and then I giue thee To thy first heauenly being; O my friend! Hast thou deceiu'd me thus, and got before me? I shall not long bee after, but beleeue me, Thou wert too cruell Iasper gainst thy selfe, In punishing the fault, I could haue pardoned, With so vntimely death; thou didst not wrong me, But euer wer't most kind, most true, most louing; And I the most vnkind, most false, most cruell. Didst thou but aske a teare? Il'e giue thee all,

Euen all my eies can powre downe, all my sigh's And all my selfe, before thou goest from me There are but sparing rites: But if thy soule Be yet about this place, and can behold And see what I prepare to decke thee with, It shall go vp, borne on the wings of peace And satisfied: first will I sing thy dirge, Then kisse thy pale lips, and then die my selfe, And fill one Coffin and one graue together.

Song.

Come you whose loues are dead, And whiles I sing Weepe and wring Euery hand and euery head, Bind with Cipres and sad Ewe, Ribands blacke, and candles blew, For him that was of men most true.

Come with heauy mourning, And on his graue Let him haue Sacrifice of sighes and groaning, Let him haue faire flowers enow, White and purple, greene and yellow, For him that was of men most true.

Thou sable cloth, sed couer of my ioies I lift thee vp, and thus I meete with death.

Iasp.

And thus you meete the liuing

Luce.

Saue me heauen.

Ias.

Nay do not flie me faire, I am no spirit, Looke better on me, do you know me yet?

Luce.

O thou deere shadow of my friend.

Iasp.

Deere substance, I sweare I am no shadow, feele my hand, It is the same it was, I am your Iasper, Your Iasper that's yet liuing, and yet louing, Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proofe

I put in practise of your constancy, For sooner should my sword haue drunke my bloud, And set my soule at liberty, then drawne The least drop from that body; for which boldnesse Doome me to any thing: if death I take it And willingly.

Luce.

This death I'le giue you for it, So, now I am satisfied: you are no spirit, But my owne truest, truest, truest friend, VVhy doe you come thus to mee.

Iasper.

First to see you, Then to conuey you hence.

Luce.

It cannot bee, For I am lockt vp here and watcht at all howers, That 'tis impossible for me to scape.

Iasp.

Nothing more possible, within this coffin Do you conuey your selfe, let me alone, I haue the wits of twenty men about me, Onely I craue the shelter of your Closet A little, and then feare me not; creepe in That they may presently conuey you hence: Feare nothing deerest loue, Il'e be your second, Lie close, so, all goes well yet; Boy.

Boy.

At hand sir.

Iasp.

Conuey away the Coffin, and be wary.

Boy.

'Tis done already.

Iasp.

Now must I go coniure.

Exit.

Enter Merchant.

Merch.

Boy, Boy.

Boy.

Your seruant sir.

March.

Do me this kindnesse Boy, hold here's a crowne: Before thou bury the body of this fellow, carry it to his old merie father, and salute him from mee, and bid him sing, he hath cause.

Boy.

I will sir.

Merch.

And then bring me word what tune he is in, and haue another crowne: but do it truely.

I haue fitted him a bargaine, now, will vex him.

Boy.

God blesse your VVorships health sir.

March.

Fare-well boy.

Exeunt.

Enter Maister Merrie-thought.

Wife.

Ah old Merry-thought, art thou there againe, let's here some of thy songs.

Old Mer.

Who can sing a merrier noate, Then he that cannot change a groat?

Not a Denier left, and yet my heart leapes, I do wonder yet, as old as I am, that any man will follow a Trade, or serue, that may sing and laugh, and walke the streetes, my wife and both my sonnes are I know not where, I haue no∣thing left, nor know I how to come by meate to supper, yet am I merry still; for I know I shall finde it vpon the Table at sixe a clocke, therefore hang Thought.

I would not be a Scruigman to carry the cloke-bag still, Nor would I be a Fawleconer the greedy Hawlkes to fill. But I would be in a good house, & haue a good Maister too. But I would eat & drink of the best, & no work would I do.

This is it that keepes life and soule together, mirth, this is the Philosophers stone that they write so much on, that keepes a man euer yong.

Enter a Boy.

Boy.

Sir, they say they know all your mony is gone, and they will trust you for no more drinke.

Old mer.

Will they not? let am choose, the best is I haue mirth at home, and neede not send abroad for that, let them keepe their drinke to themselues.

For Iillian of Berry shee dwels on a Hill, And shee hath good Beere and Ale to sell. And of good fellowes she thinks no ill, And thether will we go now, now, now, now, and thether Will wee go now. And when you haue made a little stay, You need not aske what is to pay, But kisse your Hostesse and go your way, And thither, &c.

Enter another Boy.

2. Boy.

Sir, I can get no bread for supper.

Old mer.

Hang bread and supper, let's preserue our mirth, and we shall neuer feele hunger, I'le warrant you, let's haue a Càtch, boy follow me, come sing this Catch.

Ho, ho, no body at home, meate, nor drinke, nor money ha wee none, fill the pot Eedy, neuer more need I.

Old mer.

So boies enough, follow mee, let's change our place and we shall laugh afresh.

Exeunt.

Wife.

Let him goe George, a shall not haue any counte∣nance from vs, nor a good word from any i'th' Company, if I may strike stroke in't.

Cit.

No more a shannot loue; but Nel I will haue Raph doe a very notable matter now, to the eternall honour and glory of all Grocers, sirrah you there boy, can none of you heare?

Boy.

Sir, your pleasure.

Cit.

Let Raph come out on May-day in the morning and speake vpon a Conduit with all his Scarfes about him, and his fethers and his rings and his knacks.

Boy.

Why sir you do not thinke of our plot, what will be∣come of that then?

Cit.

Why sir, I care not what become on't, I'le haue him come out, or I'le fetch him out my selfe, I'le haue some∣thing done in honor of the Citty, besides, he hath bene long enough vpon Aduentures, bring him out quickely, or if I come in amongst you—

Boy.

Well sir hee shall come out, but if our play miscar∣ry, sir you are like to pay for't.

Exit Boy.

Cit.

Bring him away then.

Wife.

This will bebraue i'faith, George shall not he dance the morrice too for the credit of the Strand.

Cittiz.

No sweete heart it will bee too much for the boy, ô there he is Nel, hee's reasonable well in reparell, but hee has not rings enough.

Enter Raph.

Raph.

London, to thee I do present the merry Month of May

Let each true Subiect be content to heare me what I say: For from the top of Conduit head, as plainely may appeare, I will both tell my name to you and wherefore I came heere. My name is Raph, by due discent, though not ignoble I, Yet far inferior to the Flocke of gratious Grocery. And by the Common-councell, of my fellowes in the Strand, With guilded Staffe, and crossed Skarfe, the May-lord here I stand. Reioyce, ô English hearts, reioyce, reioyce ô Louers deere, Reioyce ô Citty, Towne, and Country, reioyce eke euery Shire; For now the fragrant Flowers do spring and sprout in seemely sort, The little Birds do sit and sing, the Lambes do make fine sport. And now the Burchin Tree doth bud that maks the Schoole boy cry The Morrice rings while Hobby-horse doth foote it feateously: The Lords and Ladies now abroad for their disport and play, Do kisse sometimes vpon the Grasse, and sometimes in the Hey. Now Butter with a leafe of Sage is good to Purge the bloud, Fly Venus and Phlebotomy for they are neither good. Now little fish on tender stone, beginne to cast their bellies, And sluggish snails, that erst were mute, do creep out of their shelies The rumbling Riuers now do warme for little boies to padle, The sturdy Steede, now goes to grasse, and vp they hang his saddle. The heauy Hart, the bellowing Bucke, the Rascal and the Pricket, Are now among the Yeomans Pease, and leaue the fearefull thicket. And be like them, ô you, I say, of this same noble Towne, And lift aloft your veluet heads, and slipping of your gowne: With bels on legs, and napkins cleane vnto your shoulders tide, With Scarfes & Garters as you please, & Hey for our Town cri'd March out and shew your willing minds by twenty and by twenty, To Hogsdon or to Newington, where Ale and Cakes are plenty: And let it nere be said, for shame, that we the youths of London, Lay thrumming of our Caps at home, and left our custome vndone. Vp then, I say, both yong and old, both man and maide a Maying With Drums and Guns that bounce alowd, & mery Taber playing. VVhich to prolong, God saue our King, and send his Country peace And roote out Treason from the Land, and so, my friends I cease.

Finis Act. 4.