The knight of the burning pestle

Actus 5.

Scoena prima.

Enter Marchant, solus.

March.

I will haue no great store of company at the wed∣ding, a cupple of neighbours and their wiues, and wee will haue a Capon in stewed broth, with marrow, and a good peece of beefe, stucke with rose-mary.

Enter Iasper, his face mealed.

Iasp.

Forbeare thy paines fond man, it is too late.

March.

Heauen blesse me: Iasper?

Iasp.

I, I am his Ghost Whom thou hast iniur'd for his constant loue: Fond worldly wretch, who dost not vnderstand In death that true hearts cannot parted be. First know thy daughter is quite borne away, On wings of Angels, through the liquid aire, To farre out of thy reach, and neuer more Shalt thou behold her face: But shee and I Will in another world enioy our loues, Where neither fathers anger, pouertie, Nor any crosse that troubles earthly men Shall make vs seuer our vnited hearts. And neuer shalt thou sit, or be alone In any place, but I will visit thee With gastly lookes, and put into thy minde The great offences wich thou didst to me. When thou art at thy Table with thy friends Merry in heart, aud fild with swelling wine, Il'e come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, Inuisible to all men but thy selfe, And whisper such a sad tale in thine eare, Shall make thee let the Cuppe fall from thy hand, And stand as mute and pale as Death it selfe.

March.

Forgiue me Iasper; Oh! what might I doe?

Tell me, to satisfie thy trobled Ghost?

Iasp.

There is no meanes, too late thou thinkst of this.

March.

But tell me what were best for me to doe?

Iasp.

Repent thy deede, and satisfie my father, And beat fond Humphrey out of thy dores,

Exit Iasper.

Enter Humphrey.

Wife.

Looke George, his very Ghost would haue folkes beaten.

Humph.

Father, my bride is gone, faire mistresse Luce, My soule's the fount of vengeance, mischiefes sluce.

March.

Hence foole out of my sight, with thy fond passion Thou hast vndone me.

Humph.

Hold my father deere, For Luce thy daughters sake, that had no peere.

Mar.

Thy father foole? there's some blows more, begone. Iasper, I hope thy Ghost bee well appeased, To see thy will performd, now will I go To satisfie thy father for thy wrongs.

Exit.

Humph.

What shall I doe? I haue beene beaten twice, And mistresse Luce is gone? helpe me deuice: Since my true-loue is gone, I neuer more, Whilst I do liue, vpon the sky will pore; But in the darke will weare out my shooe-soles In passion, in Saint Faiths Church vnder Paules.

Exit.

Wife.

George call Rafe hither, if you loue me call Rafe hi∣ther, I haue the brauest thing for him to do George; pre'thee call him quickly.

Cit.

Rafe, Why Rafe boy.

Enter Rafe.

Rafe.

Heere sir.

Cit.

Come hither Rafe, come to thy mistresse boy.

Wife.

Rafe I would haue thee call all the youthes together in battle-ray, with drums, and guns, and flags, and march to Mile end in pompous fashion, and there exhort your Souldi∣ers to be merry and wise, and to keepe their beards from bur∣ning Rafe, and then skirmish, and let your flagges flye, and cry kill, kill, kill: my husband shall lend you his Ierkin Rafe, and there's a scarfe; for the rest, the house shall furnish you,

and wee'l pay for't: doe it brauely Rafe, and thinke before whom you performe, and what person you represent.

Rafe.

I warrant you mistresse if I do it not for the honour of the Citty, and the credit of my maister, let me neuer hope for freedome.

Wife.

'Tis well spoken I faith; go thy wayes, thou art a sparke indeed.

Cit.

Rafe, Rafe, double your files brauely Rafe.

Rafe.

I warrant you sir.

Exit Rafe.

Cit.

Let him looke narrowly to his seruice, I shall take him else, I was there my selfe a pike-man once in the hottest of the day, wench; had my feather shot sheere away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my pate broken with a scouring-sticke, and yet I thanke God I am heere.

Drum within.

Wife.

Harke George the drums.

Cit.

Ran, tan, tan, tan; ran, tan: O wench an thou hadst but seene little Ned of Algate, drum Ned, how hee made it rore againe, and layd on like a tyrant: and then stroke softly till the ward came vp, and then thundred againe, and toge∣ther we go: sa, sa, sa, bounce quoth the guns: courage my hearts, quoth the Captaines: Saint George, quoth the pike∣men; and withall here they lay, and there they lay: And yet for all this I am heere wench.

Wife.

Be thankfull for it George, for indeed 'tis wonder∣full.

Enter Rafe and his company with Drummes and colours.

Rafe.

March faire my hearts, Lieuetenant beate the reare vp: Ancient, let your colours flye; but haue a great care of the Butchers hookes at white-Chappell, they haue beene the death of many a faire Ancient. Open your files that I may take a view both of your persons and munition: Serge∣ant call a muster.

Serg.

A stand, William Hamerton peuterer.

Ham.

Here Captaine.

Rafe.

A Corslet, and a spanish pike; 'tis well, can you shake it with a terror?

Ham.

I hope so Captaine.

Rafe.

Charge vpon me, 'tis with the weakest: put more strength William Hammerton, more strength: as you were a∣gaine. Proceed Sergeant.

Serge.

George Greene-goose, Poulterer?

Greene.

Heere.

Rafe.

Let me see your peece neighbour Greene-goose, when was she shot in?

Greene.

And like you maister Captaine, I made a shot euen now, partly to scoure her, and partly for audacity.

Rafe.

It should seeme so certainely, for her breath is yet inflamed: besides, there is a maine fault in the touch-hole, it runnes, and stinketh; and I tell you moreouer, and be∣leeue it: Ten such touch-holes would breed the pox in the Army. Get you a feather, neighbour, get you a feather, sweet oyle, and paper, and your peece may do well enough yet. Where's your powder?

Greene.

Heere.

Rafe.

What in a paper? As I am a Souldier, and Gentle∣man, it craues a Martiall Court: you ought to dye for't. Where's your horne? answere me to that.

Greene.

An't like you sir, I was obliuious.

Rafe.

It likes me not you should bee so; 'tis a shame for you, and a scandall to all our neighbours, beeing a man of worth and estimation, to leaue your horne behinde you: I am afraid 'twill breed example. But let me tell you no more on't; stand, till I view you all. What's become o'th nose of your flaske?

1. Souldier.

Indeed law Captaine, 'twas blowne away with powder.

Rafe.

Put on a new one at the Cities charge. Wheres the stone of this peece?

2. Souldier.

The Drummer tooke it out to light To∣bacco.

Rafe.

'Tis a fault my friend, put it in againe: You want a Nose, and you a Stone; Sergeant, take a note on't, for I meane to stoppe it in the pay. Remoue and march, soft and

faire Gentlemen, soft and faire: double your files, as you were, faces about. Now you with the sodden face, keepe in there: looke to your match sirrah, it will be in your fellowes flaske anone. So, make a crescent now, aduance your pikes, stand and giue eare. Gentlemen, Countrey-men, Friends, and my fellow-Souldiers, I haue brought you this day from the Shops of Security, and the Counters of Content, to mea∣sure out in these furious fields, Honour by the ell; and pro∣wesse by the pound: Let it not, ô let it not, I say, bee told hereafter, the noble issue of this Citie fainted: but beare your selues in this faire action, like men, valiant men, and free∣men; Feare not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the guns: for beleeue me brethren, the rude rumbling of a Brew∣ers Carre is farre more terrible, of which you haue a daily experience: Neither let the stinke of powder offend you, since a more valiant stinke is nightly with you. To a resol∣ued minde, his home is euery where: I speake not this to take away the hope of your returne; for you shall see (I do not doubt it) and that very shortly, your louing wiues againe, and your sweet children, whose care doth beare you company in baskets. Remember then whose cause you haue in hand, and like a sort of true-borne Scauingers, scoure me this famous Realme of enemies. I haue no more to say but this: Stand to your tacklings lads, and shew to the world you can as well brandish a sword, as shake an apron. Saint George and on my hearts.

Omnes. S^t. George, S^t. George. Exeunt

Wife.

'Twas well done Rafe, Il'e send thee a cold Capon a field, and a bottle of March-beere; and it may be, come my selfe to see thee.

Cit.

Nell, the boy has deceiued me much, I did not thinke it had beene in him: he has performed such a matter wench, that if I liue, next yeare Il'e haue him Captaine of the Gally∣foist, or Il'e want my will.

Enter old Merri-thought.

Old mer.

Yet I thanke God, I breake not a rinkle more then I had, not a stoope boyce: Care liue with Cats, I defie thee, my heart is as sound as an Oke; and though I want drinke

to wet my whistle, I can sing:

Come no more there boyes, come no more there: For we shall neuer whilst we liue, come any more there.

Enter a boy with a Coffin.

Boy.

God saue you sir.

Oldmer.

It's a braue boy: canst thou sing?

Boy.

Yes sir, I can sing, but 'tis not so necessary at this time.

Old merri.

Sing wee, and chaunt it, whilst loue doth grant it.

Boy.

Sir, sir, if you knew what I haue brought you, you would haue little list to sing.

Old mer.

O the Mimon round, full long long I haue thee sought, And now I haue thee found, & what hast thou here brought?

Boy.

A Coffin sir, and your dead son Iasper in it.

Old mer.

Dead? why fare-well he: Thou wast a bonny boy, and I did loue thee.

Enter Iasper.

Iasp.

Then I pray you sir do so still.

Old mer.

Iaspers ghost? thou art welcome from Stygian lake so soone, Declare to mee what wondrous things in Pluto's court are done.

Ias.

By my troth sir, I nere came there, tis too hot for me sir.

Old mer.

A merry ghost, a very merry ghost. And where is your true-loue? ô where is yours?

Ias.

Marie looke you sir.

Heaues vp the Coffin.

Old mer.

Ah ha! Art thou good at that I faith? With hey trixie terlery-whiskin, the world it runnes on wheeles, When the yong mans—vp goes the maidens heeles.

Mistresse Merri-thought, and Michael within.

Mist. mer.

What M^r. Merri-thought, will you not let's in? what do you thinke shall become of vs?

Old mer.

What voyce is that that calleth at our doore?

Mist. mer.

You know me well enough, I am sure I haue not

beene such a stranger to you.

Old mer.

And some they whistled, and some they sung, Hey downe, downe: and some did lowdly say, euer as the Lord Bar∣nets horne blew, away Musgraue, away.

Mist. mer.

You will not haue vs starue here, will you M^r. Merri-thought?

Iasp.

Nay good sir be perswaded, she is my mother: if her offences haue beene great against you, let your owne loue remember she is yours, and so forgiue her.

Luce

Good M^r. Merri-thought let mee entreat you, I will not be denied.

Mist. mer.

Why M^r. Merri-thought, will you be a vext thing still?

Old. mer.

Woman I take you to my loue againe, but you shall sing before you enter: therefore dispatch your song, and so come in.

Mist. mer.

Well, you must haue your will when al's done. Micke what song canst thou sing boy?

Mich.

I can sing none forsooth, but a Ladies daughter of Paris properly.

Mist. mer.

Song. It was, a Ladies daaghter, &c.

Old. mer.

Come, you'r welcome home againe. If such danger be in playing, and iest must to earnest turne, You shall go no more a maying.

March. within.

Are you within sir, Maister Merri-thought?

Iasp.

It is my maisters voyce, good sir go hold him in talke whilst we conuey our selues into some inward roome.

Old mer.

What are you? are you merry? you must bee very merry if you enter.

March.

I am sir.

Old mer.

Sing then.

March.

Nay good sir open to me.

Old mer.

Sing, I say, or by the merry heart you come not in.

March.

Well sir, Il'e sing. Fortune my Fee, &c.

Old mer.

You are welcome sir, you are welcome, you see your entertainment, pray you bee merry.

March.

O M^r. Merri-thought, I am come to aske you

Forgiuenesse for the wrongs I offered you, And your most vertuous sonne, they're infinite, Yet my contrition shall be more then they. I do confesse my hardnesse broke his heart, For which, iust heauen hath giuen me punishment More then my age can carry, his wandring spirit Not yet at rest, pursues me euery where, Crying, I'le haunt thee for thy cruelty. My daughter she is gone, I know not how, Taken inuisible, and whether liuing, Or in graue, 'tis yet vncertaine to me. O Maister Merry-thought, these are the weights, Will sinke me to my graue, forgiue me sir.

Old mer.

Why sir, I do forgiue you, and be merry, And if the wag, in's life time, plaid the knaue, Can you forgiue him too?

Merch.

Withall my heart sir.

Old mer.

Speake it againe, and hartely.

Merch.

I do sir, Now by my soule I do.

Old mer.

With that came out his Paramoure, Shee was as white as the Lillie flower, Hey troule trollie lollie.

Enter Luce and Iasper.

With that came out her owne deere Knight, He was as true as euer did fight. &c.

Sir, if you will forgiue ham, clap their hands together, there's no more to be sad i'th' matter.

Merch.

I do, I do.

Cit.

I do not like this, peace boies, heare me one of you, euery bodies part is come to an end but Raphes, and hee's left out.

Boy.

'Tis long of your selfe sir, wee haue nothing to doe with his part.

Cit.

Raph come away, make on him as you haue done of the rest, boies come.

VVife.

Now good husband let him come out and die.

Cit.

He shall Nel, Raph come away quickely and die boy.

Boy.

'Twill be very vnfit he should die sir, vpon no occa∣sion,

and in a Comedy too.

Cit.

Take you no care of that sir boy, is not his part at an end, thinke you, when he's dead? come away Raph.

Enter Raph, with a forked arrow through his head.

Raph.

When I was mortall, this my costiue corps Did lap vp Figs and Raisons in the Strand, Where sitting I espi'd a louely Dame, Whose Maister wrought with Lingell and with All, And vnder ground he vampied many a boote, Straight did her loue pricke forth me, tender sprig To follow feats of Armes in warlike wise, Through VValtham Desert, where I did performe Many atchieuements, and did lay on ground Huge Barbaroso that insulting Giant, And all his Captiues soone set at liberty. Then honour prickt me from my natiue soile, Into Meldauia, where I gain'd the loue Of Pompiana his beloued daughter: But yet prou'd constant to the blacke thum'd maide Susan, and skorn'd Pompianaes loue: Yet liberall I was and gaue her pinnes, And money for her fathers Officers. I then returned home, and thrust my selfe In action, and by all men chosen was Lord of the May, where I did flourish it, With Skarfes and Rings, and Posie in my hand, After this action, I preferred was, And chosen Citty Captaine at Mile-end, With hat and feather and with leading staffe, And train'd my men and brought them all off cleere, Saue one man that berai'd him with the noise. But all these things I Raph did vndertake, Onely for my beloued Susans sake. Then comming home, and sitting in my Shop With Apron blew, death came vnto my Stall To cheapen Aqua-vitae, but ere I Could take the bottle downe, and fill a taste,

Death caught a pound of Pepper in his hand, And sprinkled all my face and body ore, And in an instant vanished away.

Cit.

'Tis a pretty fiction i'faith.

Raph.

Then tooke I vp my Bow and Shaft in hand, And walkt into Moore-fields to coole my selfe, But there grim cruell death met me againe, And shot this forked arrow through my head, And now I faint, therefore be warn'd by me, My fellowes euery one of forked heads. Fare-well all you good boies in merry London, Nere shall we more vpon Shroue-tuesday meete And plucke downe houses of iniquitie. My paine increaseth, I shall neuer more Hold open, whilst another pumpes both legs, Nor daube a Satten gowne with rotten egs: Set vp a stake, ô neuer more I shall, I die, flie, flie my soule to Grocers Hall. oh, oh, oh, &c.

Wife.

Well said Raph, doe your obeysance to the Gentle∣men and go your waies, well said Raph.

Exit Raph.

Old mer.

Me thinkes all we, thus kindly and vnexpectedly reconciled should not depart without a song.

Merch.

A good motion.

Old mer.

Strike vp then.

Song.

Better Musicke nere was knowne, Then a quire of hearts in one. Let each other that hath beene, Troubled with the gall or spleene: Learne of vs to keepe his brow, Smoth and plaine as ours are now. Sing though before the houre of dying He shall rise and then be crying. Hey ho, 'tis nought but mirth. That keepes the body from the earth.

Exeunt Omnes.