THE PLEASANT HISTORY OF the two angry women of Abington.  
With the humorous mirth of Dick Coomes and Nicholas Proverbs, two servingmen.  
As it was lately played by the right Honourable the Earl of Nottingham, Lord high Admiral his servants.  
By Henry Porter Gent.  
Imprinted at London for William Ferbrand, and are to be sold at his shop at the corner of Colman street near Loathbury. 1599.   


The names of the speakers.  
M. Goursey.  
Mist. Goursey.  
M. Barnes.  
mistress Barnes.  
Frank Goursey.  
Philip.  
Boy.  
Mall Barnes.  
Dick Coomes.  
Hodge.  
Nicholas Proverbs.  
Sir Raph Smith.  
Will sir Ralph's man.    

The Prologue.  
GEntlemen, I come to ye like one that lacks and would borrow, but was loath to ask lest he should be denied: I would ask, but I would ask to obtain: O would I knew that manner of asking: to beg were base, and to couch low and to carry an humble show of entreaty, were too Dog-like that fawns on his master to get a bone from his Trencher: out cur I cannot abide it, to put on the shape and habit of this new world's new found beggars, mistermed Soldiers, as thus: sweet Gentlemen, let a poor Scholar implore and exerate, that you would make him rich in the possession of a mite of your favours, to keep him a true man in wit, and to pay for his lodging among the Muses: so God him help he is driven to a most low estate, 'tis not unknown what service of words he hath been at, he lost his limbs in a late conflict of flout, a brave repulse and a hot assault it was, he doth protest, as ever he saw since he knew what the report of a volley of testes were, he shall therefore desire you: A plague upon it, each Beadle disdained, would whip him from your company. Well Gentlemen, I cannot tell how to get your favours better than by desert: then the worse luck, or the worse wit or some what, for I shall not now deserve it. Welcome then, I commit myself to my fortunes, & your contents, contented to die, if your severe judgements shall judge me to be stung to death with the adder's hiss.   

The pleasant Comedy of the two angry Women of Abington.  Enter Master Goursey and his wife, and Master Barns and his wife, with their two sons, and their two servants. Master Goursey. 
GOod master Barns, this entertain of yours,  
So full of courtesy and rich delight,  
Makes me misdoubt my poor ability,  
In quittance of this friendly courtesy.  M, Bar. 
O master Goursey, neighbour amity,  
Is such aye well of high reckoned worth:  
As for the attain of it, what would not I  
Disburse, it is so precious in my thoughts.  M. Gou. 
Kind sir, near dwelling amity indeed,  
Offers the heart's inquiry better view.  
Then love that's seated in a farther soil,  
As prospectives the nearer that they be,  
Yield better judgement to the judging eye,  
Things seen far off, are lessened in the eye,  
When their true shape is seen being hard by.  M. Bar. 
True sir, 'tis so, and truly I esteem,  
Mere amity familiar neighbourhood,  
The x germane unto wedded love.  M. Gou. 
ay sir, there's surely some alliance twixt them,  
For they have both the offspring from the heart,  
Within the heart's blood Ocean still are found,  
jewels of amity, and gems of love.  M. Bar. 
I master Goursey, I have in my time,  
Seen many shipwrecks of true honesty,  
But incident such dangers ever are,  
To them that without compass sail so far,  
Why what need men to swim when they may wade?  
But leave this talk, enough of this is said,  
And Master Goursey, in good faith sir welcome:  
And mistress Goursey, I am much in debt,  
Unto your kindness that would visit me.  Mi. Gou. 
O master Barnes, you put me but in mind,  
Of that which I should say: 'tis we that are  
Indebted to your kindness for this cheer:  
Which debt that we may repay, I pray let's have,  
Sometimes your company, at our homely house.  Ms. Bar. 
That mistress Goursey you shall surely have,  
he'll be a bold guest I warrant ye,  
And boulder too with you than I would have him.  Mis. Gou. 
How do ye mean he will be bold with me?  Mi. Bar. 
Why he will trouble you at home forsooth,  
Often call in, and ask ye how ye do:  
And sit and that with you all day till night,  
And all night too if he might have his will.  M. Bar. 
I wife indeed, I thank her for her kindness,  
She hath made me much good cheer passing that way.  Mi. Bar. 
Passing well done of her, she is a kind wench,  
I thank ye mistress Goursey for my husband,  
And if it hap your husband come our way  
A hunting, or such ordinary sports,  
I'll do as much for yours, as you for mine.  MASTER Gou 
Pray do forsooth, God's Lord what means the woman,  
She speaks it scornfully, i'faith I care not,  
Things are well spoken, if they be well taken,  
What mistress Barns, is it not time to part?  Mis. Bar. 
What's o'clock sirrah?  Nicholas. 
'tis but new struck one.  M. Gou. 
I have some business in the town by three.  M. Bar. 
Till then let's walk into the Orchard sir.  
What can you play at Tables?  M. Gou. 
Yes, I can.  M. Bar. 
What, shall we have a game?  MASTER Gou. 
And if you please.  M. Bar 
i'faith content, we'll spend an hour so:  
Sirrah fetch the Tables,  Nic. 
I will sir.  Exit. Phil. 
Sirrah Frank, whilst they are playing here,  
we'll to the green to Bowls.  Fra. 
Philip content, Coomes come hither sirrah,  
When our Father's part, call us upon the green,  
Philip come, a rubber and so leave,  Phil, 
Come on.  Exeunt. Coom. 
'sblood, I do not like the humour of these springals, they'll spend all their fathers' good at gaming: But let them troll the bowls upon the green: He troll the bowls in the Buttery, by the leave of God and master Barns: and his men be good fellows so it is, if they be not let them go snick up.  Exit, Enter Nicholas with the Tables. M. Bar. 
So set them down,  
Mistress Goursey, how do you like this game?  Mi. Gou. 
Well sir.  M. Bar. 
Can ye play at it?  Mis. Gou. 
A little sir.  M. Bar. 
Faith so can my wife.  M. Gou. 
Why then master Barnes, and if you please,  
Our wives shall try the quarrel twixt us two,  
And we'll look on?  M. Bar. 
I am content, what woman will you play?  Mis. Gou. 
I care not greatly.  Mis. Bar. 
Nor I, but that I think she'll play me false.  M. Gou. 
I'll see she shall not.  Mis Ba. 
Nay sir, she will be sure you shall not see.  
You of all men shall not mark her hand,  
She hath such close conveyance in her play.  M. Gou. 
Is she so cunning grown, come, come, let's see.  Mis. Gou. 
Yea mistress Barnes, will ye not house your jests,  
But let them roam abroad so carelessly?  
Faith, if your jealous tongue utter another,  
I'll cross ye with a jest, and ye were my mother,  
Come shall we play?  Mis Bar, 
ay, what shall we play a game?  Mis. Gou. 
A pound a game.  M. Gou 
How wife?  Mis. Gou. 
Faith husband not a farthing less.  M. Gou. 
It is too much, a shilling were good game.  M. Gou. 
No, we'll be ill housewives once,  
You have oft been ill husbands, let's alone.  M. Bar. 
Wife, will you play so much?  Mis Bar. 
I would be loath to be so frank a gamester  
As mistress Goursey is, and yet for once,  
I'll play a pound a game as well as she.  M. Bar. 
Go to, you'll have your will.  Offer to go from them. Mis. Bar. 
Come, there's my stake.  Mis. Gou. 
And there's mine.  Mis. Bar. 
Throw for the Dice: Ill luck they are yours.  M. Bar. 
Master Goursey, who says that game's bad,  
When such good Angels walk twixt every cast?  M. Gou. 
This is not noble sport, but royal play.  M. Bar 
It must be so where royals walk so fast.  Mis. Bar. 
Play right I pray.  Mr. Gou. 
Why so I do.  Mis. Bar. 
Where stands your man?  Mis. Gou. 
In his right place.  Mis. Bar. 
Good faith, I think ye play me foul an Ace,  M. Bar. 
No wife, she plays ye true.  Mis. Bar. 
Peace husband, peace, i'll not be judged by you.  Mis. Gou. 
Husband master Barnes, pray both go walk.  
We cannot play, if standers by do talk.  M. Gou. 
Well to your game, we will not trouble ye.  Go from them. Mi. Gou. 
Where stands your man now?  Mi. Bar. 
Doth he not stand right?  Mi. Gou. 
It stands between the points.  Mi. Bar. 
And that's my spite.  
But yet methinks the dice runs much uneven,  
That I throw but dews ase and you eleven.  Mis. Gou. 
And yet you see that I cast down the hill,  Mi. Ba. 
ay, I beshrew ye, 'tis not with my will.  Mis Gou. 
Do ye beshrew me?  Mi. Bar. 
No, I beshrew the dice.  
That turn you up more at once, then me at twice.  Mi. Gou. 
Well, you shall see them turn for you anon.  Mi. Bar. 
But I care not for them when your game is done,  Mi. Gou. 
My game, what game?  Mi. Bar. 
Your game, your game at tables.  Mi. Gou. 
Well mistress, well, I have read Aesop's sables,  
And know your morals meaning well enough.  Mi, Bar. 
Lo you'll be angry, now here's good stuff,  M. Gour. 
How now woman, who hath won the game?  Mi. Gou. 
nobody yet.  M. Bar. 
Your wife's the fairest far't.  Mi Bar. 
I in your eye.  Mr. Gou. 
How do you mean?  Mi Bar. 
He holds you fairer for't than I.  Mi. Gou. 
For what forsooth?  Mi. Bar. 
Good gamester, for your game.  M, Bar. 
Well, try it out, 'tis all but in the hearing.  Mi. Bar. 
Nay if it come to bearing, she'll be best.  Mi. Gou. 
Why, you're as good a bearer as the rest.  Mi. Bar. 
Nay that's not so, you bear one man too many.  Mi. Gou. 
Better do so then bear not any.  M. Ba. 
Beshrew me, but my wives jests grow too bitter,  
Plainer speeches for her were more better,  
Malice lies emboweled in her tongue,  
And new hatched hate makes every jest a wrong.  Mi. Go. 
Look ye mistress now I hit ye.  Mi. Bar. 
Why I, you never use to miss a blot,  
Especially when it stands so fair to hit.  Mi. Gou. 
How mean ye mistress Barnes?  Mi. Ba. 
That mistress Gourse's in the hitting vain.  Mi. Gou. 
I hot your man.  Mi. Bar. 
ay, ay, my man, my man, but had I known,  
I would have had my man stood nearer home.  Mi. Gou. 
Why had ye kept your man in his right place,  
I should not then have hit him with an ace.  Mis. Bar. 
Right by the Lord, a plague upon the bones.  Mi. Gou. 
And a hot mischief on the curser too.  M. Bar. 
How now wife?  M. Gour. 
Why what's the matter woman?  Mi. Gou. 
It is no matter. I am.  Mis. Bar. 
I you are.  Mis. Gou. 
What am I?  Mis Bar. 
Why that's as you will be ever.  Mis. Gou. 
That's every day as good as Barnes's wife.  Mi. Bar. 
And better too, then what needs all this trouble?  
A single horse is worse than that bears double.  M. Bar. 
Wife go to, have regard to that you say,  
Let not your words pass forth the verge of reason:  
But keep within the bounds of modesty,  
For ill report doth like a Bailiff stand,  
To pound the straying, and the wit-lost tongue,  
And makes it forfeit into follies hands,  
Well wife, you know 'tis no honest part,  
To entertain such guests with jests and wrongs,  
What will the neighbouring country vulgar say,  
whenas they hear that you fell out at dinner?  
Forsooth they'll call it a pot quarrel straight,  
The best they'll name it, is a woman's jangling,  
Go too, be ruled, be ruled.  Mi Bar 
God's Lord, be ruled, be ruled  
What, think ye I have such a baby's wit,  
To have a rod's correction for my tongue?  
School infancy, I am of age to speak,  
And I know when to speak, shall I be child for such a?  Mi. Gou. 
What a? nay mistress speak it out,  
I scorn your stopped compares, compare not me  
To any but your equals, mistress Barnes,  M. Gou. 
Peace wife be quiet.  M. Bar. 
O persuade, persuade.  
Wife, mistress Goursey, shall I win your thoughts,  
To composition of some kind effects?  
Wife, if you love your credit leave this strife,  
And come shake hands, with mistress Goursey here,  Mi. Ba. 
Shall I shake hands? let her go shake her heels,  
She gets nor hands, nor friendship at my hands,  
And so sir while I live I will take heed,  
What guests I bid again unto my house.  M. Bar. 
Impatient woman, will you be so stiff in this absurdness?  Mi. Ba. 
I am impatient now I speak,  
But sir I'll tell you more another time,  
Go too, I will not take it as I have done.  Exit Mis. Gou. 
Nay, she might stay, I will not long be here  
To trouble her: well master Barnes,  
I am sorry that it was our haps today,  
To have our pleasures parted with this fray,  
I am sorry too for all that is amiss,  
Especially that you are moved in this,  
But be not so, 't's but a woman's jar,  
Their tongues are weapons, words their blows of war,  
'twas but a while we buffeted you saw,  
And each of us was willing to withdraw,  
There was no harm nor bloodshed you did see:  
Tush, fear us not, for we shall well agree:  
I take my leave sir, come kind hearted man,  
That speaks his wife so fair, I now and than,  
I know you would not for an hundredth pound,  
That I should hear your voices churlish sound,  
I know you have a far more milder tune  
Than peace, be quiet wife, but I have done:  
Will ye go home? the door directs the way,  
But if you will not, my duty is to stay.  M. Bar. 
Ha, ha, why here's a right woman, is there not?  
They both have dined, yet see what stomachs they have.  M. Gou. 
Well master Barnes, we cannot do with all,  
Let us be friends still.  M. Bar. 
O master Goursey, the metal of our minds,  
Having the temper of true reason in them,  
Affords a better edge of argument,  
For the maintain of our familiar loves,  
Than the soft leaden wit of women can,  
Wherefore with all the parts of neighbour love,  
I impart myself to master Goursey.  M. Gou. 
And with exchange of love I do receive it,  
Then here we'll part partners of two cursed wives.  M. Ba 
Oh where shall we find a man so blessed that is not,  
But come, your business and my home affairs,  
Makes me deliver that unfriendly word 'mongst friends, farewell.  M. Gou. 
twenty farewells sir.  M. Bar. 
But hark ye master Goursey,  
Look ye persuade at home as I will do,  
What man, we must not always have them soes.  M. Go. 
If I can help it.  MASTER Bar. 
God help, God help,  
Women are even untoward creatures still.  Exeunt Enter Philip, Francis and his boy from bowling. Phil. 
Come on Frank Goursey, you have good luck to win the game.  Fran. 
Why tell me, be't not good, that never played before upon your green.  Phil. 
'tis good, but that it cost me ten good crowns that makes it worse.  Fran. 
Let it not grieve thee man, come over to us,  
We will devise some game to make you win  
Your money back again sweet Philip.  Phil. 
And that shall be ere long and if I live, But tell me Francis, what good Horses have ye to hunt this Summer?  Fra. 
Two or three jades, or so.  Phil. 
Be they but jades?  Fran. 
No faith my wag string here  
Did founder one the last time that he rid,  
The best grey Nag that ever I laid my leg over.  Boy. 
You mean the flea bitten.  Fran. 
Good sir the same.  Boy. 
And was the same the best that ere you rid on?  Fran. 
I was it sir.  Boy. 
i'faith it was not sir.  Fran. 
No, where had I one so good?  Boy. 
One of my colour, and a better too.  Fran. 
One of your colour, I near remember him, one of that colour.  Boy. 
Or of that complexion.  Fran. 
What's that ye call complexion in a horse.  Boy. 
The colour sir.  Fran. 
Set me a colour on your jest, or I will:  Boy. 
Nay good sir hold your hands.  Fran. 
What, shall we have it?  Boy. 
Why sir, I cannot paint.  Fran. 
Well then, I can. and I shall find a pencil for ye sir.  Boy. 
Then I must find the table if you do.  Fran. 
A whoreson barren wicked urchin.  Boy. 
Look how you chafe, you would be angry more, if I should tell it you.  Fran. 
Go to, I'll anger ye and if you do not.  Boy. 
Why sir, the horse that I do mean,  
Hath a leg both straight and clean.  
That hath nor spavin, splint nor flaw.  
But is the best that ever ye saw,  
A pretty rising knee, O knee!  
It is as round as round may be,  
The full flank makes the buttock round,  
This palfrey standeth on no ground,  
whenas my master's on her back,  
If that he once do say but, tick,  
And if he prick her, you shall see  
Her gallop amain, she is so free,  
And if he give her but a nod,  
She thinks it is a riding rod:  
And if he'll have her softly go,  
Than she trips it like a do,  
She comes so easy with the rain,  
A twine thread turns her back again,  
And truly I did near see yet;  
A horse play proudlier on the bit,  
My master with good managing,  
Brought her first unto the ring,  
He likewise taught her to curvet,  
To run and suddenly to set,  
she's cunning in the wild goose race,  
Nay she's apt to every pace,  
And to prove her colour good,  
A flea enamoured of her blood,  
digged for channels in her neck,  
And there made many a crimson speck,  
I think there's none that use to ride,  
But can her pleasant trot abide,  
She goes so even upon the way,  
She will not stumble in a day,  
And when my master.  Fra. 
What do I?  Boy. 
Nay nothing sir.  Phil. 
O fie Frank fie,  
Nay, nay, your reason hath no justice now,  
I must needs say, persuade him first to speak,  
Then chide him for it: tell me pretty wag,  
Where stands his prancer, in what Inn or stable?  
Or hath thy master put her out to run,  
Then in what field, what champion feeds this courser?  
This well past bonny steed that thou so praisest.  Boy. 
Faith sir I think.  Fran. 
Villain, what do ye think?  Boy. 
I think that you sir have been asked by many,  
But yet I never heard that ye told any,  Phil. 
Well boy, than I will add one more to many,  
And ask thy master where this jennet feeds:  
Come Frank tell me, nay prithee tell me Frank,  
My good horse-master tell me, by this light  
I will not steal her from thee: if I do,  
Let me beheld a felon to thy love.  Fran. 
No Philip no.  Phil. 
What, wilt thou were a point but with one tag?  
Well Francis well, I see you are a wag.  Enter Comes. Com. 
'swounds where he these timber turners, these troll the bowls, these green men, these.  Fran. 
What, what sir?  Comes. 
These bowlers sir.  Fra. 
Well sir, what say you to Bowlers?  Coo. 
Why I say they cannot be saved.  Fra. 
Your reason sir?  Coo. 
Because they throw away their souls at every mark  Fra. 
Their souls, how mean ye?  Phi. 
Sirrah he means the soul of our bowl.  Fra. 
Lord how his wit holds bias like a bowl.  Coo. 
Well, which is the Bias?  Fra. 
This next to you.  Coo. 
Nay turn it this way, than the bowl goes true.  Boy. 
Rub, rub.  Coo. 
Why rub?  Boy. 
Why you overcast the mark and miss the way.  Coo. 
Nay boy juse to take the fairest of my play.  Phi. 
Dick Coomes methinks thou art very pleasant. When got'st thou this merry humour?  Coo. 
In your father's Seller, the merriest place in th'house.  Phi. 
Then you have been carousing hard,  Coo. 
Yes faith, 'tis our custom when your father's men & we meet.  Phi. 
Thou art very welcome thither Dick.  Coo. 
By God I thank ye sir, I thank ye sir, by God I have a quart of Wine for ye sir in any place of the world, there shall not a servingman in Berkshire fight better for ye than I will do, if you have any quarrel in hand, you shall have the maidenhead of my new sword: I paid a quarter's wages for't by jesus.  Phi. 
Oh this meat failer Dick,  
How well t'as made apparel of his wit,  
And brought it into fashion of an honour,  
prithee Dick Coomes but tell me how thou dost?  Coo. 
Faith sir like a poor man at service.  Phi. 
Or serving man.  Coo. 
Indeed so called by the vulgar.  Phi. 
Why where the devil hadst thou that word?  Coo. 
O sir, you have the most eloquenst ale in all the world, our blunt soil affords none such,  Fra. 
Philip leave talking with this drunken fool, Say sirrah where's my father?  Coo. 
Marry I thank ye for my very good cheer, O Lord it is not so much worth, you see I am bold with ye, Indeed you are not so bold as welcome, I pray ye come oftener, Truly I shall trouble ye, all these ceremonies are dispatched between them, and they are gone.  Fra. 
Are they so?  Coo. 
I before God are they.  Fra. 
And wherefore came not you to call me then?  Coo. 
Because I was loath to change my game,  Fra. 
What game?  Coo. 
You were at one sort of bowls, as I was at another,  Phi. 
Sirrah, he means the buttery bowls of beer.  Coo. 
By God sirrah we tickled it.  Fra, 
Why what a swearing keeps this drunken ass,  
Canst thou not say but swear at every word?  Phi. 
Peace do not mar his humour prithee Frank.  Coo. 
Let him alone, he's a springal, he knows not what belongs to an oath.  Fra. 
Sirrah, be quiet, or I do protest.  Coo. 
Come, come, what do you protest?  Fra. 
By heaven to crack your Crown,  Coo. 
To crack my crown, I lay yea crown of that,  
Lay it down and ye dare:  
Nay 'sblood, i'll venture a quarter's wages of that,  
Crack my crown quoth 'a?  Fra. 
Will ye not be quiet, will ye urge me?  Coo. 
Urge ye with a pox, who urges ye?  
You might have said so much to a clown,  
O Or one that had not been o'er the sea to see fashions,  
I have I tell ye true, and I know what belongs to a man,  
Crack my crown and ye can.  Fra. 
And I can ye rascal. Phi. Hold hair brain hold,  
Dost thou not see he's drunk?  Coo. 
Nay let him come,  
Though he be my master's son, I am my master's man,  
And a man is a man in any ground in England:  
Come, and he dare, 'a comes upon his death,  
I will not budge an inch: no 'sblood will not,  Fran. 
Will ye not?  Phi. 
Stay prithee Frank, Coomes dost thou hear?  Coo. 
Hear me no hears  
Stand away, I'll trust none of you all,  
If I have my back against a Cart wheel,  
I would not care, if the devil came.  Phi. 
Why ye fool, I am your friend.  Coo. 
Fool on your face, I have a wife,  Fra. 
she's a whore then.  Coo. 
she's as honest as Nan Lawson.  Phi. 
What's she?  Coo. 
One of his whores.  Phi. 
Why hath he so many?  Coo. 
I as many as there be Churches in London.  Phil. 
Why that's an hundred and nine.  Boy. 
Faith he lies a hundred.  Phi. 
Then thou art a witness to nine.  Boy, 
No by God, I'll be witness to none:  Coo. 
Now do I stand like the George at Colbrooke:  Boy. 
No thou standst like the Bull at S. Alban's.  Coo. 
Boy ye lie the horns.  Boy. 
The bull's bitten, see how he butts.  Phil. 
Comes, Comes, put up, my friend and thou art friends  Coo. 
I'll hear him say so first.  Phil. 
Frank prithee do, be friends and tell him so,  Fra. 
Go to I am.  Boy. 
Put up sir, and ye be a man put up.  Coom. 
I am easily persuaded boy.  Phil, 
Ah ye mad slave.  Coomes 
Come, come, a couple of whoremasters I found  
ye, and so I leave ye.  Exit. Phil. 
Lo Frank dost thou not see he's drunk,  
That twits me with my disposition?  Fra. 
What disposition?  Phil. 
Nan Lawson, Nan Lawson,  Fran. 
Nay then,  Phil. 
Go to ye wag, 'tis well,  
If ever ye get a wife, i'faith I'll tell,  
Sirrah at home we have a Servingman,  
he's not humoured bluntly as Coomes is,  
Yet his condition makes me often merry,  
I'll tell thee sirrah, he's a fine neat fellow,  
A spruce slave, I warrant ye, he'll have  
His Cruel garters cross about the knee,  
His woollen hose, as white as the driven snow,  
His shoes dry leather neat, and tied with red ribbons,  
A nosegay bound with laces in his Hat,  
bride-laces sir his hat, and all green hat.  
green Coverlet, for such a grass green wit,  
The goose that grazeth on the green quoth he,  
May I eat on, when you shall buried be,  
All Proverbs in his speech, he's proverbs all.  Fra. 
Why speaks he Proverbs?  Phi. 
Because he would speak truth,  
And proverbs you'll confess, are old said sooth.  Fra. 
I like this well, and one day I'll see him,  
But shall we part?  Phil. 
Not yet, I'll bring you somewhat on your way,  
And as we go, between your boy and you,  
I'll know where that Prancer stands at livery.  Fra. 
Come, come you shall not.  Phil. 
i'faith I will.  Exeunt. Enter master Barnes and his wife. M. Bar. 
Wife in my mind, today you were too blame  
Although my patience did not blame ye for it:  
methought the rules of love and neighbourhood,  
Did not direct your thoughts, all indirect  
Were your proceedings, in the entertain  
Of them that I invited to my house.  
Nay stay. I do not chide but counsel wife,  
And in the mildest manner that I may,  
You need not view me with a servants eye,  
Whose vassals senses tremble at the look  
Of his displeased master, O my wife,  
You are myself, when self sees fault in self.  
Self is sin obstinate, if self amend not,  
Indeed I saw a fault in thee myself,  
And it hath set a foil upon thy fame,  
Not as the foil doth grace the Diamond.  Mi. Ba. 
What fault sir did you see in me today?  M. Bar. 
O do not set the organ of thy voice,  
On such a grunting key of discontent:  
Do not deform the beauty of thy tongue,  
With such misshapen answers, rough wrathful words  
Are bastards got by rashness in the thoughts,  
Fair demeanours, are Virtues nuptial babes,  
The offspring of the well instructed soul,  
O let them call thee mother, than my wife,  
So seem not barren of good courtesy.  Mi. Bar. 
So, have ye done?  M. Bar. 
ay, and I had done well.  
If you would do, what I advise for well.  Mi. Bar. 
What's that?  M. Bar. 
Which is, that you would be good friends with mistress Goursey.  Mi. Bar. 
With mistress Goursey.  M. Bar. 
I sweet wife.  Mis. Bar. 
Not so sweet husband.  M. Bar. 
Could you but show me any grounded cause.  M. s. Bar. 
The grounded cause, I ground because I will not  M. Bar. 
Your will hath little reason than I think.  MASTER i. Bar. 
Yes sir, my reason equalleth my will.  M. Bar. 
Let's hear your reason, for your will is great.  Mi. Bar. 
Why for I will not.  M. Bar. 
Is all your reason, for I will not wife.  
Now by my soul I held ye for more wise,  
Discreet, and of more temperature in sense,  
Then in a sullen humour to effect,  
That woman's will borne common scholar phrase,  
Oft have I heard a timely married girl,  
That newly left to call her mother mam,  
Her father Dad, but yesterday come from,  
That's my good girl, God send thee a good husband,  
And now being taught to speak the name of husband,  
Will when she would be wanton in her will,  
If her husband ask her why, say for I will,  
Have I chid men for unmanly choice,  
That would not sit their years, have I seen thee  
Pupell such green young things, and with thy counsel,  
Tutor their wits, and art thou now infected,  
With this disease of imperfection,  
I blush for thee ashamed at thy shame.  Mi. Bar. 
A shame on her, that makes thee rate me so,  M. Bar 
O black mouthed rage, thy breath is boisterous,  
And thou mak'st virtue shake at this high storm,  
she's of good report, I know thou know'st it.  Mi. Bar. 
She is not, nor I know not, but I know  
That thou dost love her, therefore thinkst her so,  
Thou bear'st with her, because she bears with thee:  
Thou mayst be ashamed to stand in her defence,  
She is a strumpet, and thou art no honest man  
To stand in her defence against thy wife,  
If I catch her in my walk now by Cocks bones,  
I'll scratch out both her eyes.  M. Bar. 
O God!  Mi. Bar. 
Nay never say O God for the matter,  
Thou art the cause, thou badst her to my house,  
Only to blear the eyes of Goursey, didst not?  
But I will send him word I warrant thee,  
And ere I sleep to, trust upon it sir.  Exit. M. Bar. 
Methinks this is a mighty fault in her,  
I could be angry with her: O if I be so,  
I shall but put a Link unto a Torch,  
And so give greater light to see her fault:  
I'll rather smother it in melancholy,  
Nay, wisdom bids me shun that passion,  
Than I will study for a remedy,  
I have a daughter now heaven invocate,  
She be not of like spirit as her mother,  
If so she'll be a plague unto her husband,  
If that he be not patient and discreet,  
For that I hold the ease of all such trouble,  
Well, well, I would my daughter had a husband,  
For I would see how she could demean herself,  
in that estate, it may be ill enough,  
And so God shall help me, well remembered now,  
Frank Goursey is his father's some and heir,  
A youth that in my heart I have good hope on,  
My senses say a match, my soul applauds  
The motion: O but his lands are great,  
He will look high why I will strain myself.  
To make her dowry equal with his land,  
Good faith and 'twere a match 'twould be a means,  
To make their mother's friends: I'll call my daughter,  
To see how she's disposed to marriage:  
Mall, where are ye?  Enter Mall. Mall. 
Father, here I am  M. Bar. 
Where is your mother?  Mal. 
I saw her not forsooth, since you and she  
Went walking both together to the garden.  M. Ba. 
Dost thou hear me girl? I must dispute with thee  Mal. 
Father the question then must not be hard,  
For I am very weak in argument.  M. Bar. 
Well, this it is, I say 'tis good to marry.  Mal. 
And this say I, 'tis not good to marry.  M. Bar. 
Were it not good, than all men would not marry  
But now they do.  Mal. 
Marry not all, but it is good to marry.  M. Bar. 
It is both good and bad, how can this be?  Mal. 
Why it is good to them that marry well,  
To them that marry ill, no greater hell.  M. Bar. 
If thou mightst marry well, wouldst thou agree?  Mall. 
I cannot tell, heaven must appoint for me.  M. Bar. 
Wench I am studying forty thy good indeed,  Mall 
My hopes & duty, wish your thoughts good speed  M. Bar. 
But tell me wench, hast thou a mind to marry:  Mall. 
This question is too hard for bashfulness,  
And Father, now ye pose my modesty,  
I am a maid, and when ye ask me thus,  
I like a maid must blush look pale and wan,  
And then look pale again, for we change colour,  
As our thoughts change, with true faced passion,  
Of modest maidenhead, I could adorn me,  
And to your question, make a sober curtsy,  
And with close clipped civility be silent,  
Or else say no forsooth, or I forsooth,  
If I said no forsooth, I lied forsooth,  
To lie upon myself were deadly sin,  
Therefore I will speak truth and shame the devil,  
Father, when first I heard you name a husband,  
At that same very name, my spirits quickened,  
despair before had killed them, they were dead,  
Because it was my hap so long to tarry,  
I was persuaded I should never marry.  
And sitting sowing thus upon the ground,  
I fell in trance of meditation,  
But coming to myself, O Lord said I,  
Shall it be so, must I unmarried die?  
And being angry Father, farther said,  
Now by saint Anne, I will not die a maid,  
Good faith before I came to this ripe groat,  
I did accuse the labouring time of sloth,  
methought the year did run but slow about,  
For I thought each year ten I was without,  
Being fourteen, and toward the other year:  
Good Lord thought I, fifteen will near be here,  
For I have heard my mother say, that then  
Pretty maids, were fit for handsome men,  
fifteen past, sixteen and seventeen too,  
What, thought I, will not this husband do?  
Will no man marry me, have men forsworn,  
Such beauty and such youth? shall youth be worn  
As rich men's gowns, more with age then use?  
Why then I let restrained fancy loose,  
And bade it gaze for pleasure: then love swore me  
To do whate'er my mother did before me,  
Yet in good faith, I was very loath,  
But now it lies in you to save my oath:  
If I shall have a husband, get him quickly,  
For maids that wears Cork shoes, may step awry.  M. Bar. 
Believe me wench, I do not apprehend thee,  
But for this pleasant answer do commend thee.  
I must confess, love doth thee mighty wrong,  
But I will see thee have thy right ere long,  
I know a young man, whom I hold most fit,  
To have thee, both for living and for wit,  
I will go write about it presently.  Exit. Mall. 
Good father do, O God methinks I should  
Wife it as fine as any woman could:  
I could carry a port to be obeyed,  
Carry a mastering eye upon my maid,  
With minion do your business or I'll make ye,  
And to all house authority be take me.  
O God would I were married, be my troth,  
But if I be not, I swear I'll keep my oath.  Ent. Mi. Ba. 
How now minion, where have you been gadding  Mall. 
Forsooth my father called me forth to him.  Mi. Bar. 
Your Father, and what said he too ye I pray?  Mall. 
Nothing forsooth.  Mi. Bar. 
Nothing that cannot be, something he said.  Mall. 
I something, that as good as nothing was.  Mi. Bar. 
Come let me hear, that something nothing then  Mal. 
Nothing but of a husband for me mother.  Mi. Ba. 
A husband, that was something, but what husband  Mall. 
Nay faith I know not mother, would I did.  Mis. Bar. 
I would ye did, i'faith are ye so hasty?  Mall. 
Hasty mother, why how old am I?  Mas. Ba. 
Too young to marry.  Mal. 
Nay by the mass ye lie  
Mother, how old were you when you did marry.  Mis. Ba. 
How old soe'er I was, yet you shall tarry.  Mall.. 
Then the worse for me, hark Mother hark,  
The Priest forgets that ere he was a clerk,  
When you were at my years, I'll hold my life,  
Your mind was to change maidenhead for wife,  
Pardon me mother, I am of your mind,  
And by my troth I take it but by kind.  Mis. Bar. 
Do ye hear daughter, you shall stay my leisure  Mall. 
Do you hear mother, would you stay from pleasure  
When ye have mind to it? go to, there's no wrong  
Like this, to let maids lie alone so long  
Lying alone they muse but in their beds,  
How they might lose their long kept maiden heads,  
This is the cause there is so many scapes,  
For women that are wise, will not lead Apes  
In hell, I tell ye mother I say true,  
Therefore come husband, maiden head adieu.  Exit. Mis. Bar. 
Well lusty guts, I mean to make ye stay,  
And set some rubs in your minds smoothest way.  Enter Philip. Phi. 
Mother.  Mi. Ba. 
How now sirrah, where have ye been walking?  Phil. 
Over the meads half way to Milton mother,  
To bear my friend Frank Goursey company.  Mi. Ba. 
where's your blue coat, your sword & buckler sir  
Get you such like habit for a servingman,  
If you will weight upon the brat of Goursey.  Phil. 
Mother, that you are moved this makes me wonder,  
When I departed I did leave ye friends,  
What undigested jar hath since betided?  Mi. Bar. 
Such as almost doth choke thy mother boy.  
And stifles her with the conceit of it,  
I am abused my son by Goursey's wife.  Phil. 
By mistress Goursey?  Mi. Bar. 
Mistress flirt, you foul strumpet,  
Light alone, short heels, mistress Goursey,  
Call her again and thou were better no.  Phil. 
O my dear more have some patience,  Mis. Bar. 
ay sir, have patience, and see your father  
To rifle up the treasure of my love,  
And play the spendthrift upon such an harlot?  
This same will make me have patience, will it not?  Phili. 
This same is women's most impatience,  
Yet mother I have often heard ye say,  
That you have found my father temperate,  
And ever free from such affections.  Mi. Bar. 
ay, till my too much love did glut his thoughts,  
And make him seek for change,  Phi. 
O change your mind  
My father bears more cordial love to you.  Mi. B. 
Thou liest, thou liest, for he loves Goursey's wife, not me.  Phil. 
Now I swear mother you are much too blame,  
I durst be sworn he loves you as his soul.  Mi. Bar. 
Wilt thou be pampered by affection?  
Will nature teach thee such wild perjury?  
Wilt thou be sworn, I forlorn, careless boy?  
And if thou swearest, I say he loves me not.  Phil. 
He loves ye but too well I swear,  
Unless ye knew much better how to use him,  Mi. Bar. 
Doth he so sir? thou unnatural boy,  
Too well sayest thou, that word shall cost thee somewhat,  
O monstrous, have I brought thee up to this?  
Too well, O unkind, wicked and degenerate,  
Hast thou the heart to say so of thy mother?  
Well, God will plague thee sort, I warrant thee,  
Out on thee villain, fie upon thee wretch,  
Out of my sight, out of my sight I say.  Phil. 
This air is pleasant, and doth please me well,  
And here I will stay,  Mi. Bar. 
Wilt thou stubborn villain?  Enter M. Bar. M. Bar. 
How now, what's the matter?  Mi. Bar. 
Thou setst thy son to scoff and mock at me,  
be't not sufficient I am wronged of thee?  
But he must be an agent to abuse me?  
Must I be subject to my cradle too? O God, o God amend it.  M. Bar. 
Why how now Philip, is this true my son?  Phil. 
Dear father she is much impatient:  
near let that hand assist me in my need,  
If I more said, then that she thought amiss,  
To think that you were so licentious given,  
And thus much more, when she inferred it more,  
I swore an oath you loved her but too well,  
In that as guilty I do hold myself,  
Now that I come to more considerate trial,  
I know my fault, I should have borne with her,  
Blame me for rashness, than not for want of duty.  M. Ba. 
I do absolve thee, and come hither Philip,  
I have writ a letter unto master Goursey,  
And I will tell thee the contents thereof,  
But tell me first, thinkst thou Frank Goursey? loves thee?  Phil 
If that a man devoted to a man,  
Loyal, religious, in loves hallowed vows,  
If that a man that is soul laboursome,  
To work his own thoughts to his friend's delight,  
May purchase good opinion with his friend,  
Than I may say, I have done this so well,  
That I may think Frank Goursey loves me well.  M. Ba. 
'tis well, and I am much deceived in him,  
And if he be not sober, wise, and valiant.  Phi. 
I hope my father takes me for thus wise,  
I will not glue myself in love to one,  
That hath not some desert of virtue in him,  
whate'er you think of him, believe me Father,  
He will be answerable to your thoughts,  
In any quality commendable.  M. Bar. 
Thou cheer'st my hopes in him, and in good faith,  
thou'dst made my love complete unto thy friend,  
Philip I love him, and I love him so,  
I could afford him a good wife I know.  Phi. 
Father, a wife?  M. Bar. 
Philip a wife.  Phil. 
I lay my life my sister.  M. Bar. 
I in good faith.  Phi. 
Then father he shall have her he shall I swear.  M. Bar. 
How canst thou say so knowing not his mind?  Phi 
All is one for that, I will go to him straight,  
Father if you would seek this seven years day,  
You could not find a fitter match for her,  
And he shall have her, I swear he shall,  
He were as good be hanged as once deny her, I saith I'll to him  M. Bar. 
Hairebraine, hairebraine, stay,  
As yet we do not know his father's mind,  
Why what will master Goursey say my son,  
If we should motion it without his knowledge?  
Go to, he's a wise and discreet Gentleman,  
And that respects from me all honest parts,  
Nor shall he fail his expectation,  
First I do mean to make him privy to it,  
Philip this letter is to that effect.  Phil. 
Father, for God's sake send it quickly then,  
I'll call your man, what Hugh, where's Hugh, there ho.  M, Bar. 
Philip if this would prove a match, it were the only means that could be found, to make thy mother friends with Mist. Gou. Phil How a match? I'll warrant ye a match  
My sister's fair, Frank Goursie he is rich,  
His dowry too, will be sufficient,  
frank's young, and youth is apt to love,  
And by my troth my sister's maiden head  
Stands like a game at tennis, if the ball  
Hit into the hole or hazard, farewell all.  Ma. Bar. 
How now, where's Hugh?  Phil. 
Why what doth this proverbial with us, why where's Hugh?  M. Bar. 
Peace, peace.  Phil. 
Where's Hugh I say?  MASTER Bar. 
Be not so hasty Philip.  Phil. 
Father let me alone,  
I do it but to make myself some sport,  
This formal fool your man speaks nought but proverbs,  
And speak men what they can to him, he'll answer  
With some time, rotten sentence, or old saying,  
Such spokes as the ancient of the parish use,  
With neighbour 'tis an old proverb and a true,  
Goose giblets are good meat, old sack better than new,  
Then says another, neighbour that is true,  
And when each man hath drunk his gallon round,  
A penny pot, for that's the old man's gallon,  
Then doth he lick his lips and stroke his beard,  
That's glued together with his slavering drops,  
Of yeasty ale, and when he scarce can trim,  
His gouty fingers, thus he'll fillip it,  
And with a rotten hem say heigh my hearts,  
Merry go sorry cock and pie my hearts,  
But then their saving penny proverb comes,  
And that is this: they that will to the wine,  
by’r lady mistress shall lay their penny to mine,  
This was one of this penny-fathers bastards,  
For on my life he was never begot,  
Without the consent of some great proverb-monger.  M. Bar. 
O ye are a wag.  Phil. 
Well, now unto my business;  
'swounds will that mouth that's made of old said saws,  
And nothing else, say nothing to us now?  Nich. 
O you must not leap over the style before you come at it, haste makes waste, soft fire makes sweet mast, not too fast for falling, there's no haste to hang true men.  Phil. 
Father we hait, ye see we hait, now will I see if my memory will serve for some proverbs too. O a painted cloth were as well worth a trifling, as a thief worth a halter well, after my hearty commendations, as I was at the making hereof, so it is, that I hope as you speed, so you're sure a swift horse will tire, but he that trots easily will endure, you have most learnedly proverbed it, commending the virtue of patience or forbearance, but yet you know forbearance is no quittance.  Nich. 
I promise ye master Philip you have spoken as true as steel.  Phil. 
Father, there's a proverb well applied.  Nich. 
And it seemeth unto me, I it seems to me, that you master Philip mock me, do you not know qui mocat mocabitur, mock age and see how it will prosper?  Phil. 
Why ye whoreson proverb book bound up in folio,  
Have ye no other sense to answer me,  
But every word a proverb, no other English?  
Well, I'll fulfil a proverb on thee straight.  Nich. 
What is it sir?  Phil. 
I'd fetch my fist from thine ear,  Nich. 
Bear witness he threatens me.  Phil. 
Father that same is the cowards common proverb:,  
But come, come sirrah, tell me where Hugh is?  Nich. 
I may and I will, I need not except I list, you shall not command me, you glue me neither meat, drink, nor wages, I am your father's man, and a man's a man, and 'a have but a hose on his head, do not misuse me so, do not, for though he that is bound must obey, yet he that will not tarry, may run away so he may.  M. Bar. 
Peace Nick, I'll see he shall use thee well,  
Go to peace sirrah, here Nick take this let,  
Carry it to him to whom it is directed.  Nich. 
To whom is it?  M. Bar. 
Why read it, canst thou read?  Nich. 
Forsooth though none of the best yet meanly:  M. Bar. 
Why dost thou not use it?  Nich. 
Forsooth as use makes perfectness, so seldom seen is soon forgotten.  M. Bar. 
Well said, but go, it is to Master Goursey,  Phil. 
Now sir, what proverb have ye to deliver a letter?  Nich. 
What need you to care? who speaks to you? you may speak when you are spoken to, and keep your wind to cool your pottage: well, well, you are my masters son & you look for his land, but they that hope for dead men's shoes, may hap to go barefoot: take heed, as soon goes the young sheep to the pot as the old. I pray God save my masters life, for seldom comes the better.  Phil. 
O he hath given it me: farewell proverbs.  Nich. 
Farewell frost,  Phil. 
Shall I fling an old shoe after ye?  Nich. 
No, you should say God send fair weather after me,  Phil. 
I mean for good luck.  Nich. 
A good luck on ye.  Exit. M. Bar. 
Alas poor fool, he uses all his wit,  
Philip in faith this mirth hath cheered thought,  
And cozened it of his right play of passion,  
Go after Nick, and when thou thinkst he's there,  
Go in and urge to that which I have writ,  
I'll in these meadows make a circling walk,  
And in my meditation conjure so,  
As that some send of thought self-eating anger,  
Shall by my spells of treason vanish quite  
Away, and let me beat from thee tonight.  Phil. 
tonight, yes that you shall, but hark ye father,  
Look that you my sister waking keep,  
For Frank I swear shall kiss her ere I sleep.  Exeunt. Enter Frank and Boy. Frank 
I am very dry with walking o'er the green,  
Butler some Beer, sirrah call the Butler.  Bo. 
Nay faith sir, we must have some smith to give the butler  
A drench, or cut him in the forehead, for he hath got  
A horse's disease, namely the staggers, tonight he's a good  
housewife, he reels all that he wrought today, & he were good  
Now to play at dice, for he casts excellent well.  Fran. 
How meanst thou, is he drunk?  Boy. 
I cannot tell, but I am sure he hath more liquour in him  
Then a whole dicker of hides, he's socked thoroughly i'faith.  Fran. 
Well go and call him, bid him bring me drink.  Boy. 
I will sir.  Exit. Fran. 
My mother powers and will look merrily,  
Neither upon my father nor on me,  
He says she fell out with mistress Barns today,  
Than I am sure they'll no: be quickly friends,  
Good Lord what kind of creatures women are?  
Their love is lightly won and lightly lost,  
And then their hate is deadly and extreme.  
He that doth take a wife, betakes himself  
To all the cares and troubles of the world,  
Now her disquietness doth grieve my father,  
Grieves me, and troubles all the house beside,  
What, shall I have so x drink? how now a horn?  
Belike the drunken slave is fallen asleep,  
And now the boy doth wake him with his horn,  
How now sirrah, where's the butler?  Ent. Boy. 
marry sir, where he was even now asleep, but I waked him, and when he waked, he thought he was in master Barnses buttery, for he stretched himself thus: and yawning said, Nick, honest Nick fill a fresh bowl of ale, stand to it nick and thou be'st a man of God's making, stand to it, and then I winded my horn, and he's horn mad.  Enter Hodge. Hodg. 
Boy heigh, ho boy, and thou be'st a man draw, O here's a blessed moonshine God be thanked, boy is not this goodly weather for barley?  Boy. 
Spoken like a right maulster Hodge, but dost thou hear? thou art not drunk.  Hod. 
No, I scorn that i'faith.  But. 
But thy fellow Dick Coomes is mightily drunk.  Hod. 
Drunk, a plague on it, when a man cannot carry his drink well: 'sblood I'll stand to it.  Boy. 
Hold man, see and thou canst stand first,  Hodge. 
Drunk? he's a beast and he be drunk, there's no man that is a sober man will be drunk, he's a boy and he be drunk.  Boy. 
No, he's a man as thou art.  Hodge. 
Thus 'tis when a man will not be ruled by his friends, I bade him keep under the lee, but he kept down the weather two bows, I told him he would be taken with a planet, but the wisest of us all may fall.  Boy trip him. B. 
True Hodge.  Hod. 
Whope lend me thy hand Dick, I am fallen into a Well, lend me thy hand, I shall be drowned else.  Boy. 
Hold fast by the bucket  Hodge. 
hodge, A rope on it.  Boy. 
I there is a rope on it, but where art thou Hodge?  Hodge. 
In a Well, I prithee draw up.  Boy. 
Come give up thy body, wind up, hoist.  Hodg. 
I am over head and ears,  Boy. 
In all Hodge, in all.  Fran. 
How loathsome is this beast man's shape to me?  
This mould of reason so unreasonable,  
Sirrah, why dost thou trip him down seeing he's drunk?  Boy. 
Because sir I would have drunkards cheap.  Fran. 
How mean ye?  Boy, 
Why they say, that when any thing hath a fall, it is cheap, and so of drunkards.  Fran. 
Go to help him up, but hark who knocks?  Bo. 
Sir, here's one of Master barnsy's men with a letter to my old master. Fran. Which of them is it?  Boy. 
They call him Nicholas sir.  Fran. 
Go call him in.  Enter Coomes. Coom. 
By your leave ho, how now young master how be't?  Fran. 
Look ye sirrah, where your fellow lies,  
he's in a fine taking, is he not?  Coom. 
Whope Hodge, were art thou man, where art thou?  Hodge. 
O in a well.  Co. 
In a well man, nay then thou art deep in understanding,  Fran. 
I once today you were almost so sir,  Coom. 
Who I, go to young master, I do not like this humour in ye give every man his do, and give him no more: say I was in such a case, go to 'tis the greatest indignation that can be offered to a man: and but a man's more god her given, you were able to make him swear out his hear: blood, what though that honest Hodge have cut his finger heere? or as some say, cut a feather? what though he be mump, misled, blind, or as it were 'tis no consequent to me: you know i have drunk all the Alehouses in Abington dry, and laid the taps on the tables when i had done: 'sblood I'll challenge all the true rob. pots in Europe, to leap up to the chin in a barrel of beer, and if i can not drink it down to my foot ere i leave, and then set the tap in the midst of the house, and then turn a good turn on the toe on it, let me be counted nobody, a pingler, nay let me be bound to drink nothing but small beer seven years after, and I had as .  Enter Nicholas. Fran. 
Peace sir, I must speak with one, Nicholas I think your name is,  Nich. 
True as the skin between your brows.  Fran. 
Well, how doth my master?  Nich. 
Forsooth live, and the best doth no better.  Fran. 
Where is the letter he hath sent me?  Nich. 
  Fran. 
'tis right as Philip said, 'tis a fine fool,  
This letter is directed to my father.  
I'll carry it to him, Dick Coomes make him drink.  Exit. Coom. 
ay, I'll make him drunk and he will.  Nicho 
Not so Richard, it is good to be .  Coom. 
Well Nicholas, as thou art Nicholas, welcome, but as thou art Nicholas and a boon companion, ten times welcome, Nicholas give me thy hand; shall we be merry? and we shall, say but we shall, and let the first word stand.  Nich. 
Indeed as long lives the merry man ,  
a ounce of debt will not pay a pound of care.  Coom, 
Nay, a pound of care will not pay a ounce of debt.  Nich. 
Well, 'tis a good horse never stumbles but who lies here?  Coom. 
'tis our Hodge, and I think he lies asleep, you made him drunk at your house to but I'll pepper some of you for't.  Nic. 
I Richard, I know you'll put a man over the shoes, & if you can, but he's a fool will take more than will do him good.  Coom. 
'sblood ye shall take more than will do ye good,  
Or I'll make ye clap under the table.  Nich. 
Nay, I hope, as I have temperance to forbear drink so have I patience to endure 〈…〉 company doth, for when a man doth to Rome come, he must do as there is done,  Coomes. 
Ha my resolved nick Frolagogene, fill the pot Hostess, swoons you whore, Harry Hooke's a rascal: help me but carry my fellow Hodge in, and we'll crush it I i'faith.  Enter Phillip. Exeunt. Phil. 
By this I think, the letter is delivered,  
And 'twill be shortly time that I step in,  
And woo their favours for my sister's fortune,  
And yet I need not, she may do as well,  
But yet not better, as the case doth stand,  
Between our mothers it may make them friends,  
Nay I would swear that she would do as well,  
Were she a stranger to  
But they are so acquainted, they 'll near part,  
Why she will flout the devil and make blush  
The boldest face of man, that ever man saw,  
He that hath best opinion of his wit,  
And hath his brain pan fraught with bitter jests,  
Or of his own, or stolen, or how so ever,  
Let him: stand here so high in his own conceit,  
Her wit's a sun, that melts him down like butter,  
And makes him sit at table Pancake wise,  
Flat, flat, and near a word to say,  
Yet she'll not love him then, but like a tyrant,  
she'll persecute the poor wit-beaten man,  
And so be bang him with dry bobs and scoffs,  
When he is down, most cowardly good faith,  
As I have pitied the poor patient.  
There came a farmer's son a-wooing to her,  
A proper man, well landed too he was,  
A man that for his wit need not to ask,  
What time a year 'twere good to sow his Oats,  
Nor yet his Barley, no nor when to reap,  
To plough his fallows, or to fell his Trees,  
Well experienced thus each kind of way,  
After a two months labour at the most,  
And yet 'twas well he held it out so long,  
He left his love, she had so last his lips,  
He could say nothing to her, but God be with ye,  
Why she, when men have dined and call for cheese,  
Will straight maintain jests bitter to digest,  
And then some one will fall to argument,  
Who if he over master her with reason,  
Then she'll begin to buffet him with mocks,  
Well I do doubt, Frances hath so much spleen,  
they'll near agree, but I will moderate.  
By this time, 'tis time I think to enter,  
This is the house, shall I knock? no I will not  
Wait while one comes out to answer:  
I'll in, and let them be as bold with us.  Exit. Enter master Goursey reading a letter. M. Gour 
If that they like her dowry shall be equal,  
To your sons wealth or possibility,  
It is a means to make our wines good friends,  
And to continue friendship twixt to two,  
'tis so indeed, I like this motion,  
And it hath my consent, because my wife, is sore infected and heart sick with hate: & I have sought the Galen of advice, which only tells me this same potion, to be most sovereign for her sickness cure.  Enter Frank and Phillip. 
Here comes my son, conferring with his friend,  
Frances, how do you like your friend's discourse?  
I know he is persuading to this motion.  Fra. 
Father, as matter that befits a friend,  
But yet not me, that am too young to marry.  M. Gou. 
Nay, if thy mind be forward with thy years, The time is lost thou tarriest, trust me boy, This match is answerable to thy birth, Her blood and portion give each other grace: These indented lines promise a sum, And I do like the value, if it hap thy liking to accord to my consent, It is a match: wilt thou go see the maid?  Fra. 
near trust me Father, the shape of marriage,  
Which I do see in others, seem so severe,  
I dare not put my youngling liberty,  
Under the awe of that instruction,  
And yet I grant the limits of free youth  
Going astray, are often restrained by that:  
But mistress wedlock, to my scholar thoughts,  
Will be too cursed I fear, O should she snip,  
My pleasure aiming mind, I shall be sad,  
And swear, when I did marry I was mad.  M, Gour. 
But boy, let my experience teach thee this,  
Yet in good faith, thou speakst not much amiss,  
When first thy mother's same to me did come,  
Thy grandsire thus, then came to me his son,  
And even my words to thee, to me he said,  
And as to me thou sayst, to him I said,  
But in a greater huff, and hotter blood,  
I tell ye, on youths tiptoes then I stood,  
Says he (good faith this was his very say)  
When I was young, I was but reason's fool,  
And went to wedding, as to wisdoms school:  
It taught me much, and much I did forget,  
But beaten much by it, I got some wit,  
Though I was shackled from an often scout,  
Yet I would wanton it when I was out,  
'twas comfort, old acquaintance then to meet,  
Restrained liberty, attained is sweet,  
Thus said my Father to thy Father, son  
And thou mayst do this to, as I have done.  Phi. 
In faith good counsel Frank, what sayst thou to it?  Fra. 
Philip, what should I say?  Phil. 
Why, either I or no.  Fra. 
O but which rather?  Phil. 
Why that which was persuaded by thy father.  Fra. 
That's I, than I, O should it fall out ill.  
Then I, for I am guilty of that ill.  
I'll not be guilty, no.  Phi. 
What backward gone?  Fra. 
Philip, no whit backward, that is on.  Phi. 
On then,  Fra. 
O stay.  Phil. 
Tush, there is no good luck in this delay,  
Come, come, late comers man are shent.  Fra. 
Heigh ho, I fear I shall repent,  
Well, which way Frank?  Phi. 
Why this way.  Fra. 
Canst thou tell?  
And takest upon thee to be my guide to hell,  
But which way Father?  M. Gou. 
That way.  Fran. 
ay, you know,  
You found the way to sorrow long ago,  
Father God boy ye, you have sent your son,  
To seek on earth an earthly day of doom,  
Where I shall be judged, alack the ruth,  
To penance for the follies of my youth.  
Well I must go, but by my troth my mind,  
Is not love capable to that kind,  
O I have looked upon this mould of men,  
As I have done upon a lions den,  
Praised I have the gallant beast I saw,  
Yet wished 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,  
I but how catch them, marry in your hand,  
Carry me forth a burning firebrand,  
For with his sparkling shine, old rumor 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.  M. Gou. 
Return the messenger of joy my son.  Fran. 
Seldom in this world, such a work is done.  Phi. 
Nay, nay, make haste, it will be quickly night.  Fra. 
Why is it not good to woo by candle light.  Phi. 
But if we make not haste they'll be a-bed.  Fran. 
The better candles out, and curtains spread  Exeunt M. Gour. 
I know, though that my sons 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 in stress Goursey. 
Ere she came hither, how now wife, how be't?  
What are ye yet in charity and love with mistress Barns?  Mi. Gou, 
What mistress Barns, why mistress Barnes I pray  M. Gou. 
Because she is your neighbour and  Mi. Gou. 
And what?  
And a jealous slandering spiteful quean she is,  
One that would blur my reputation,  
With her approbrious malice if she could,  
She wrongs her husband, to abuse my fame,  
'tis known that I have lived in honest name,  
All my life time, and been your right true wife,  M. Gour. 
I entertain no other thought my wife,  
And my opinion's sound of your behaviour.  Mis. 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.  M. Gou. 
Why then preserve it you by patience.  Mi. Gou. 
By patience, would ye have me shame myself,  
And cozen myself to bear her injuries:  
Not while her eyes be open will I yield,  
A word, a letter, a syllables value,  
But equal and make even her wrongs to me,  
To her again.  M, Gou. 
Then in good faith wife ye are more to blame.  Mi. Gou. 
Am I too blame sir pray what letters this.  M. Gou. 
There is a dearth of manners in ye wife,  
Rudely to snatch it from me, give it me?  Mi. Gou. 
You shall not have it, till I have read it.  M, Gou. 
Give me it then, and I will read it to you?  Mi. Gou, 
No, no, it shall not need, I am a scholar  
Good enough to read a letter sir,  M. Gou 
God's passion, if she knew but the contents,  
she'll seek to cross this match, she shall not read it.  
Wife, give it me, come, come, give it me.  Mi. Gou. 
Husband, in very deed you shall not have it.  M. Gou. 
What will you move me to impatience then?  Mi. Gou. 
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.  M. Gou. 
Go to, ye move me wife, give me the letter,  
Introth I shall grow angry, if you do not.  Mi. Gou. 
Grow to the house top with your anger sir.  
near tell me, I care not thus much for it.  M. Gour. 
Well, I can bear enough, but not too much,  
Come give it me, 'twere best you be persuaded,  
By God ye make me swear, now God forgive me,  
Give me I say, and stand not long upon it,  
Go to, I am angry at the heart, my very heart,  Mis. Gou. 
Heart me no hearts, you shall not have it sir,  
No you shall not, near look so big,  
I will nor be afraid at your great looks,  
You shall not have it, no you shall not have it.  M. Gou. 
Shall I not have it, in troth I'll try that,  
Minion I'll have't, shall I not have 't, I am loath,  
Go too, take pausement, be advised,  
in faith I will, and stand not long upon it,  
A woman of your years, I am ashamed,  
A couple of so long continuance,  
Should thus, God's foot, I cry God heartily 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, give ye faith,  
Shall I be crossed by you in my old age?  
And where I should have greatest comfort to,  
A nurse of you nursed in the devils name,  
Go to mistress, by God's precious dear,  
If ye delay.  Mi. Gou. 
Lord, Lord, why in what a fit,  
Are you in husband, so enraged, so moved,  
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,  
Not see my sorrow, not eschew my danger,  
But willingly yield me a patient,  
unto the doom that your displeasure gave:  
Here is the letter, not for that your incensement,  
Makes me make offer of it, but your health,  
Which anger I do fear hath erased.  
And viper like hath sucked away the blood,  
That wont was to be cheerful in this cheek,  
How pale ye look.  M. Gou. 
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,  
I did not think good faith, I could have set,  
So sour a face upon it, and to her,  
My bed embracer, my right bosom friend,  
I would not that she should have seen the letter  
As poor a man as I am by my troth  
For twenty pound: well I am glad I have it.  
Ha, here's ado about a thing of nothing,  
What stomach, ha, 'tis happy you're come down.  Exit. Mi. Gou. 
Well crafty Fox, I'll hunt ye by my troth,  
Deal ye so closely? well I see his drift.  
He would not let me see the letter, lest  
That I should cross the match, and I will cross it.  Ent. Comes. 
Dick Coomes?  Coom. 
Forsooth.  Mis. Gour. 
Come hither Dick, thou art a man I love,  
And one whom I have much in my regard,  Coo. 
I thank ye for it mistress, I thank ye for it,  Mi. Gou. 
Nay here's my hand, I will do very much for thee  
If e'er thou standst in need of me,  
Thou shall not lack, whilst thou hast a day to live.  
Money apparel.  Coo. 
And sword and Bucklers.  Mis. Gou. 
And sword and Bucklers too my gallant Dick,  
So thou wilt use but this in my defence.  Coom. 
This, no faith I have no mind to this, break my head if this break not if we come to any tough play, nay mistress I had a sword, I the flower of smithfield for a sword a right Fox i'faith, with that & a man had come over with a smooth and a sharp stroke, it would have cried twang, & then when I had doubled my point, traced my ground, and had carried my buckler before me like a garden But, and then come in with a cross blow, & over the pick of his buckler two else long, it would have cried twang, twang, mettle, mettle: but a dog hath his day, 'tis gone, and there are few good ones made now, I see by this dearth of good swords, that dearth of sword and Buckler fight, begins to grow out, I am sorry for it, I shall never see good manhood again, if it be once gone, this poking fight of rapier and dagger will come up then, then a man, a tall man, & a good sword and buckler man, will be spitted like a Cat or a coney, than a boy will be as good as a man, unless the Lord show mercy unto us, well, I had as heaven be hanged as live to see that day, well mistress, what shall I do? what shall I do?  Mis Gour. 
Why this brave Dick,  
Thou knowest that Goursey's wife and I am foes:  
Now man me to her house,  
And though it be dark Dick, yet we'll have no light,  
lest that thy master should prevent our journey  
By seeing our depart: then when we come,  
And if that she and I do fall to words,  
Set in thy foot and quarrel with her men,  
Draw, fight, strike, hurt, but do not kill the slaves,  
And make as though thou struckst at a man,  
And hit her and thou canst, a plague upon her,  
She hath misused me Dick, wilt thou do this?  Coom. 
Yes mistress I will strike her men, but God forbid,  
That ere Dick Coomes should be seen to strike a woman.  Mi. Gour. 
Why she is mankind, therefore thou mayst strike her.  Coom. 
Mankind, nay and she have any part of a man, I'll strike her I warrant.  Mr. Gour. 
That's my good Dick, that's my sweet Dick,  Coom. 
'swounds who would not be a man of valour to have such words of a Gentlewoman, one of their words are more to me then twenty of these russet coats Cheesecake; and buttermakers: well, I thank God I am none of these cowards, well and a man have any virtue in him, I see he shall be regarded.  Mi. Gour. 
Art thou resolved Dick? wilt thou do this for me, and it thou wilt, here is an earnest penny, of that rich guerdon I do mean to give thee.  Coom. 
An angel mistress let me see, stand you on my left hand, and let the angel lie on my buckler on my right hand, for fear of losing, now here stand I to be tempted, they say, every man hath two spirits attending on him, either good or bad, now I say a man hath no other spirits but either his wealth or his wife, now which is the better of them, why that is as they are used, for use neither of them well, and they are both nought, but this is a miracle to me, that gold that is heavy hath the upper, and a woman that is light doth soonest fall, considering that light things aspire, and heavy things soonest go down, but leave these considerations to sir john, they become a black coat better than a blue, well mistress I had no mind to day to quarrel, but a woman is made to be a man's seducer, you say quarrel.  Mi. Gou. I. 
Coom. There speaks an angel, is it good?  Mis. Gou. 
I.  Coom. 
Then I cannot do amiss, the good angel goes with me.  Exeunt. Enter sir Raph Smith his Lady and Will. S. Raph. 
Come on my hearts, i'faith it is ill luck,  
To hunt all day and not kill any thing,  
What sayest thou Lady, art thou weary yet?  La. 
I must not say so sir.  S. Ra. 
Although thou art.  Wil. 
And can you blame her to be forth so long,  
And see no better sport?  Ra. 
Good faith 'twas very hard.  La. 
No 'twas not ill.  
Because you know it is not good to kill.  Ra. 
Yes venison Lady.  La. 
No indeed nor them,  
Life is as dear in Dear as 'tis in men.  Ra. 
But they are killed for sport.  La. 
But that's bad play,  
When they are made to sport their lives away.  Ra. 
'tis fine to see the run.  La. 
What out of breath?  
They run but ill that run themselves to death,  Ra. 
They might make then less haste & keep their wind.  La. 
Why then they see the hounds brings death behind.  Rap. 
Then 'twere as good for them at first to stay,  
As to run long and run their lives away.  La. 
ay but the stoutest of you all that's here,  
Would run from death, and nimbly scud for fear,  
Now by my troth I pity those poor elves.  Ra. 
Well, they have made us but bad sport today.  La. 
Yes 'twas my sport to see them scape away.  Will. 
I wish that I had been at one Bucks fall.  La. 
Out thou wood-tyrant thou art worst of all.  Wil.. 
A woodman Lady, but no tyrant I.  La. 
Yes tyrantlike thou lovest to see lives die.  Ra. 
Lady no more, I do not like this luck,  
To hunt all day and yet not kill a Buck,  
Well, it is late, but yet I swear I will  
Stay here all night, but I a Buck will kill.  La. 
All night, nay good sir Raph Smith do not so.  Ra. 
Content ye Lady, Will, go fetch my bow,  
A berry of fair Roes I saw today,  
Down by the groves, and there i'll take my stand,  
And shoot at one, God send a lucky hand.  La. 
Will ye not then sir Raph go home with me?  Ra. 
No, but my men shall bear thee company.  
Sirs man her home, Will bid the Huntmen couple,  
And bid them well reward their hounds tonight.  
Lady farewell, Will haste ye with the Bow,  
I'll stay for thee here by the grove below.  Wil. 
I will, but 'twill be dark I shall not see,  
How shall I see ye then?  Ra. 
Why hollo to me, and I will answer thee.  Wil. 
Enough, I will.  Raph. 
Farewell.  Exit. La. 
How willingly dost thou consent to go,  
To fetch thy master that same killing bow.  Wil. 
Guilty of death I willing am in this,  
Because 'twas our ill haps today to miss,  
To hunt and not to kill is hunter's sorrow,  
Come Lady, we'll have venison ere tomorrow.  Exeunt. Enter Philip and Frank. Phil. 
Come Frank now are we hard by the house,  
But how now, sad?  Fran. 
No, to study how to woe thy sister.  Phil. 
How man, how to woe her? why no matter how,  
I am sure thou wilt not be ashamed to woe,  
Thy cheeks not subject to a childish blush,  
Thou hast a better warrant by thy wit,  
I know thy oratory can unfold,  
Quick invention, plausible discourse,  
And set such painted beauty on thy tongue,  
As it shall ravish every maiden sense,  
For Frank, thou art not like the russet youth  
I told thee of, that went to woe a wench,  
And being full stuffed up with fallow wit,  
And meadow matter, asked the pretty maid,  
How they sold corn last market day with them.  
Saying: indeed 'twas very dear wit them:  
And do ye hear, he had not need do so,  
For she will Francis thoroughly try your wit,  
Sirrah she'll bow the metal of your wits,  
And if they crack she will not hold ye currant,  
Nay she will weigh your wits as men may angels,  
And if I lack a grain, she will not chanke with ye,  
I cannot speak it but in passion,  
She is a wicked wench to make a jest,  
ay me how full of flouts and mocks she is?  Fran. 
Some Aquavitae reason to recover,  
This sick discourser, soond not prithee Philip,  
Tush, tush, I do not think her as thou sayest,  
Perhaps she's opinions darling Philip:  
Wise in repute, the crows bird o my friend,  
Some judgements slave themselves to small desert,  
And wondernize the birth of common wit,  
When their wone strangeness do but make that strange,  
And their ill errors do but make that good,  
And why should men debase to make that good,  
Perhaps such admiration wins her wit.  Phil. 
Well, I am glad to hear this bold prepare,  
For this encounter, forward hardy Frank,  
Yonder's the window, with the candle in't,  
Belike she's putting on her night attire,  
I told ye Frank 'twas late, well I will call her,  
Marry softly that my mother may not hear:  
Mall, sister Mall.  Enter Mall in the window. Mal. 
How now, whose's there?  Phil. 
'tis I,  Mal. 
'tis I, who I? I quoth the dog, or what?  
A christ cross rowel?  Phi. 
No sweet pinkany.  Mal. 
O be't you wild oats?  Phil. 
I forsooth wanton.  Mal. 
Well said scapethrift.  Fran. 
Philip be these your usual best salutes?  Phi. 
This is the harmless chiding of that Dove,  Fran. 
Dove, one of those that draw the Queen of love?  Mal. 
How now? whose's that brother, whose's that with ye?  Phil. 
A Gentleman my friend.  Mal. 
Belady he hath a pure wit.  Fran. 
How means your holy judgement?  Mal. 
O well put in sir.  Fran. 
Up you would say.  Mal. 
Well climbed Gentleman,  
I pray sir tell me, do you cart the queen of love?  Fran. 
Not cart her, but couch her in your eye,  
And a fit place for gentle love to lie.  Mal. 
ay but methinks you speak without the book,  
To place a sour wheel wagon in my look,  
Where will you have room to have the coachman sit?  Fran. 
Nay, that were but small manners, and not fit,  
His duty is before you bare to stand,  
Having a lusty whipstock in his hand.  Ma. 
The place is void, will you provide me one?  Fra. 
And if you please I will supply the room.  Mal. 
But are ye cunning in the carman's lash?  
And can ye whistle well?  Fran. 
Yes I can well direct the coach of love.  Mal. 
Ah cruel carter, would you whip a dove?  Phil. 
Hark ye sister?  Mal. 
Nay, but hark ye brother?  
Whose white boy is that same? know ye his mother?  Phil. 
He is a Gentleman of a good house.  Mal. 
Why is his house of gold, is it not made of lime and stone like this?  Phil. 
I mean he's well descended.  Mal. 
God be thanked.  
Did he descend some steeple or some ladder?  Phi. 
Well, you will still be cross, I tell ye sister,  
This Gentleman by all your friends consent,  
Must be your husband.  Mal. 
Nay not all, some sing another note,  
My mother will say no, I hold a groat.  
But I thought 'twas somewhat, he would be a carter,  
He hath been whipping lately some blind bear,  
And now he would seek the blind boy here with us.  Phil. 
Well, do you hear, you sister, mistress would have  
You that do long for somewhat I know what.  
My father told me, go to I'll tell all,  
If ye be cross, do ye hear me? I have laboured  
A years work in this afternoon for ye,  
Come from your cloister, votary, chase Nun,  
Come down and kiss Frank Goursey's mother's son.  Mal. 
Kiss him I pray?  Phi. 
Go to, stale maidenhead, come down I say,  
You seventeen and upward, come come down,  
You'll stay till twenty else for your wedding gown,  Mal. 
Nun, votary, stale maidenhead, seventeen and upward,  
Here be names, what nothing else?  Fran. 
Yes, or a fair built steeple without bells,  Mal. 
Steeple good people, nay another cast.  Fran. 
ay, or a well made ship without a mast.  Mal. 
Fie not so big sir, by one part of four.  Fran. 
Why then ye are a boat without an oar,  Mal. 
O well rode wit, but what's your fare I pray?  Fran. 
Your fair self must be my fairest pay.  Mal. 
Nay, and you be so dear, I'll choose another.  Fran. 
Why take your first man wench, and go no further.  Phi. 
Peace Francis, hark ye sister, this I say, you know my mind, or answer I or nay, Wit & judgement hath resolved his mind, And he foresees what after he shall find,  
If such discretion then shall govern you,  
Vow love to him, he'll do the like to you.  Mal. 
Vow love? who would not love such a comely feature?  
Nor high nor low, but of the middle stature,  
A middle man that's the best size indeed,  
I like him well, Love grant us well to speed.  Fran. 
And let me see a woman of that tallness,  
So slender and of such a middle smallness,  
So old enough, and in each part so fit,  
So fair, so kind, endowed with so much wit,  
Of so much wit as it is held a wonder,  
'twere pity to keep love and her asunder,  
Therefore go up my joy, call down my bliss,  
Bid her come seal the bargain with a kiss.  Mal. 
Frank, Frank, I come through dangers, death and harms  
To make loves patient with thy seal of arms.  Phi. 
But sister softly, lest my mother hear.  Exit. Mal. Mal. 
Hush then, mum, mouse in cheese, cat is near.  Fran. 
Now in good faith Philip this makes me smile.  
That I have wooed and won in so small while.  Phi. 
Francis, indeed my sister I dare say,  
Was not determined to say thee nay,  
For this same other thing, called maidenhead,  
Hangs by so small a hair or spider's thread,  
And worn so too with time, it must needs fall,  
And like a well lured hawk, she knows her call.  Mal. 
Whist brother whist, my mother heard me tread,  
And asked whose's there? I would not answer her,  
She called a light, and up she's gone to seek me,  
There when she finds me not, she'll hither come,  
Therefore dispatch, let it be quickly done,  
Francis, my loves lease I do let to thee,  
Date of my life and thine, what sayest thou to me?  
The entering, fine, or income thou must pay,  
Are kisses and embraces every day,  
And quarterly I must receive my rent,  
You know my mind.  Fran. 
I guess at thy intent,  
Thou shalt not miss a minute of thy time.  Mal.. 
Why then sweet Francis I am only thine,  
Brother bear witness.  Phi. 
Do ye deliver this as your deed?  Mal. 
I do I do,  Ph. 
God send you both good speed, God's lord my mother  
stand aside and closely too, lest that you be espied,  Mi Ba. 
whose's there?  Phi. 
Mother 'tis I.  Mis. Bar. 
You disobedient ruffian, careless wretch,  
That said your Father loud me too well,  
I'll think on't when thou thinkst I have forgotten it:  
whose's with thee else? how now minion you?  
With whom? with him? why what make you here sir?  
And thus late too, what hath your mother sent ye  
To cut my throat, that here you be in wait?  
Come from him mistress, and let go his hand,  
Will ye not sir?  Fra. 
Stay mistress Barnes, or mother, what ye will,  
she's my wife, and here she shall be still.  Mi. Ba. 
How sir your wife? wouldst thou my daughter have  
I'll rather have her married to her grave,  
Go to be gone, and quickly, or I swear,  
I'll have my men beat ye for staying here,  Phi. 
Beat him mother as I am true man,  
They were better beat the devil and his dam.  Mi. Bar. 
What wilt thou take his part?  Phil. 
To do him good,  
And 'twere to wade hitherto up in blood.  Fran. 
God a mercy Phil, but mother hear me.  Mis. Bar. 
call'st thou me mother, no thy mother's name  
Carries about with it, reproach and shame:  
Give me my daughter, ere that she shall wed,  
A strumpet's son, and have her so misled,  
I'll marry her to a Carter: come I say,  
Give me her from thee.  Fra. 
Mather not today,  
Nor yet tomorrow, till my lives last morrow,  
Make me leave that, which I with leave did borrow,  
Here I have borrowed love, i'll not deny it,  
Thy wedding night's my day, then I'll repay it:  
Till then she'll trust me, wench be't not so?  
And if it be, say I, if nor, say no.  Mal.. 
Mother, good mother, hear me O good God,  
Now we are even what would you make us odd?  
Now I beseech ye for the love of Christ,  
To give me leave once to do what I list.  
I am as you were when you were a maid,  
Guess by yourself, how long you would have staid,  
Might you have had your will, as good begin,  
At first as last, it saves us from much sin,  
Lying alone, we muse on things and things,  
And in our minds, one thought another brings,  
This maids life mother is an idle life,  
Therefore I'll be, I, I will be wife,  
And mother do not mistrust my age or power,  
I am sufficient, I lack near an hour,  
I had both wit to grant when he did woe me,  
And strength to bear whate'er he can do to me.  MASTER Mi.. Gou. 
Well bold face, but I mean to make you stay,  
Go to, come from him, or i'll make ye come,  
Will ye not come?  Phi. 
Mother, I pray forbear,  
This match is for my sister.  Mi. Bar. 
Villain 'tis not,  
Nor she shall not be so matched now.  Phi. 
In troth she shall, and your unruly hate,  
Shall not rule us, we'll end all this debate,  
By this begun devise.  Mi. Bar. 
I end what you begun, villains thieves  
Give me my daughter, will ye rob me of her?  
Help, help, they'll rob me here, they'll rob me here,  Enter master Barnes and his men. M. Bar. 
How now, what outcry is here? why how now woman?  Ms. Ba. 
Why Goursey's son, confederates with this boy,  
This wretch unnatural and undutiful.  
Seeks hence to steal my daughter, will you suffer it?  
Shall he that's son to my arch-enemy,  
Enjoy her, have I brought her up to this?  
O God he shall not have her, no he shall not.  M. Bar. 
I am sorry she knows it, hark ye wife,  
Let reason moderate your rage a little,  
If you examine but his birth and living.  
His wit and good behaviour, you will say,  
Though that ill hate make your opinion bad,  
He doth deserve as good a wife as she  Enter mistress Goursey and Coomes. Mi. Bar. 
Why will you give consent he shall enjoy her?  M. Bar. 
ay, so that thy mind would agree with mine.  Mi. Bar. 
My mind shall near agree to this agreement.  MASTER Ba. 
And yet it shall go forward, but who's here?  
What, Mistress Goursey, how knew she of this?  Phi. 
Frank, thy mother.  Fra. 
'swounds where? a plague upon it,  
I think the devil is set to cross this match.  Mi. Go. 
This is the house Dick Coomes, & yonder's light,  
Let us go near: how now, methinks I see,  
My son stand hand in hand, with Barns his daughter:  
Why how now sirrah, is this time of night,  
For you to be abroad, what have we here?  
I hope that love hath not thus coupled you:  Fra. 
Love by my troth mother, Love, she loves me,  
And I love her, than we must needs agree.  Mi. Bar. 
ay but I'll keep her sure enough from thee.  Mi. Go. 
It shall not need, I'll keep him safe enough,  
Be sure he shall not graft in such a stock.  Mi. Bar. 
What a stock forsooth? as good a stock as thine,  
I do not mean that he shall graft in mine.  Mi. Gou. 
Nor shall he mistress, hark boy? thouart but mad  
To love the branch, that hath a root so bad,  Fra. 
Then Mother, i'll graft a Pippin on a Crab.  Mi. Gou. 
It will not prove well.  Fra. 
But I'll prove my skill.  Mi. Bar. 
Sir but you shall not.  Fra. 
Mother's both I will.  M. Ba. 
Hark Philip, send away thy sister straight,  
Let Francis meet her where thou shalt appoint,  
Let them go several to shun suspicion,  
And bid them go to Oxford both this night,  
There tomorrow say that we will meet them,  
And there determine of their marriage.  Phi. 
I will, though it be very late and dark,  
My sister will endure it for a husband.  M. Ba. 
Well then to Carfolke's boy, I mean to meet them.  Phil. 
Enough, would they would begin to chide,  Exit. 
For I would have them brawling, that meanwhile,  
They nay steal hence, to meet where I oppoint it,  
What mother, will you let this match go forward:  
Or mistress Goursey will you first agree?  Mi. Gou. 
Shall I agree first?  Phi. 
I why not, come, come.  Mi. Go. 
Come from her son, & if thou lov'st thy mother.  Mi. Bar. 
With the like spell, daughter I conjure thee,  Mi. G. 
Francis, by fair means let me win thee from her,  
And I will gild my blessing gentle son,  
With store of Angels, I would not have thee,  
Check thy good fortune, by this thy cozening choice,  
O do not thrall thy happy liberty,  
In such a bondage, if thou'lt be needs bound,  
Be then to better worth, this worthless choice  
Is not fit for thee.  Mi. Bar. 
be't not fit for him, wherefore be't not fit?  
Is he too brave a gentleman I pray,  
No 'tis not fit, she shall not fit his turn,  
If she were wise, she would be fitter for  
Three times his better, minion go in, or i'll make ye,  
I'll keep ye safe from him I warrant ye.  Mi. Gou. 
Come Francis, come from her.  Fra. 
Mothers, with both hands, shove I hate from love,  
That like an ill companion would infect,  
The infant mind of our affection,  
Within this cradle shall this minute's babe,  
Be laid to rest, and thus I'll huge my joy.  Mi. Gou, 
Wilt thou be obstinate, thou self wild boy.  
Nay then perforce I'll part ye since ye will not.  Coom. 
Do ye hear mistress, pray ye give me leave to talk two or three cold words with my young Master, hark ye sir, ye are my Master's son, and so forth, and indeed I bear ye some good will, partly for his sake, and partly for your own, and I do hope you do the like to me, I should be sorry else: I must needs say ye are a young man, and for mine own part, I have seen the world, & I know what belongs to causes, & the experience that I have, I thank God I have traveled for it.  Fra. 
Why how far have ye traveled for it?  Boy 
From my master's house to the Alehouse.  Coo. 
How sir?  Bo 
So sir.  Coo. 
Go to I pray, correct you boy, 'twas near a good world, since a boy would face a man so,  Fra. 
Go to forward man.  Coom. 
Well sir, so it is, I would not wish ye to marry without my mistress consent.  Fra. 
And why?  Coom. 
Nay, there's near a why, but there is a wherefore, I have known some have done the like, & they have danced a Galliard at beggars bush for it.  Boy. 
At beggars bush, here him no more master, he doth bedaub ye with his dirty speech: do ye hear sir, how far stands beggars bush from your father's house sir? how thou whoreson refuge of a tailor, that wert prentice to a tailor half an age, & because if thou hadst served ten ages thou wouldst prove but a butcher, thou leap'st from the shop board to a Blue coat: doth it become thee to use thy terms so? well, thou degree above a hackney, and ten degrees under a Page, sow up your lubber lips, or 'tis not your sword and Buckler, shall keep my Poniard from your breast.  Coo. 
Do ye hear sir, this is your boy?  Fran. 
How then?  Coom. 
You must breech him for it.  Fran. 
Must I? how if I will not.  Coom. 
Why then 'tis a fine world, when boys keep boys, and know not how to use them.  Fra. 
Boy, ye rascal.  Mi. Gour. 
Strike him and thou darest.  Coom. 
Strike me, alas he were better strike his father, 'sounds go to, put up your Bodkin.  Fran. 
Mother stand by, I'll teach that rascal,  Coom. 
Go to, give me good words, or by Gods dines I'll buckle ye, for all your bird-spit.  Fran. 
Will ye so sir?  Phi. 
Stay Frank, this pitch of Frenzy will defile thee,  
Meddle not with it, thy unreproved valour,  
Should be high minded: couch it not so low,  
Dost hear me? take occasion to slip hence,  
But secretly, let not thy mother see thee,  
At the backside there is a coney green,  
Stay there for me, and Mall and I will come to thee.  Fra. 
Enough, I will: mother you do me wrong,  
To be so peremptory in your command,  
And see that rascal to abuse me so.  Coom 
Rascal, take that and take all, do ye hear sir, I do not mean to pocket up this wrong.  Bo. 
I know why that is.  Coo. 
Why?  Bo. 
Because you have near a pocket,  Co. 
A whip sirrah, a whip: but sir provide your tools against tomorrow morning 'tis somewhat dark now indeed, you know dawson's close, between the hedge & the pond, 'tis good even ground, I'll meet you there, & I do not, call me cut, and you be a man show yourself a man, we'll have a bout or two, and so we'll part for that present.  Fran. 
Well sir, well.  Nic. 
Boy, have they appointed to fight?  Boy. 
I Nicholas, wilt not thou go see the fray?  Nich. 
No indeed, even as they brew so let them bake. I will not thrust my hand into the flame and need not, 'tis not good to have an oar in another man's boat, little said is soon amended, & in little meddling cometh great rest, 'tis good sleeping in a whole skin, so a man might come home by weeping cross: no by lady, a friend is not so soon gotten as lost, blessed are the peacemakers, they that strike with the sword, shall be beaten with the scabbard.  Phil. 
Well said proverbs, near another to that purpose?  Nic. 
Yes I could have said to you sir, take heed is a good reed.  Phil. 
Why to me take heed?  Ni, 
For happy is he whom other men's harms do make to beware.  Phi. 
O beware Frank, slip away Mall, You know what I told ye, i'll hold our mothers both in talk meanwhile: Mother and Mistress Barns, methinks you should not stand in hatred so hard one with the other.  Mi. Bar. 
Should I not sir 'should I not hate a harlot,  
That robs me of my right, vide boy?  Mi. Gou. 
That title I return unto thy teeth,  
And spit the name of harlot in thy face.  Mi. Bar. 
Well 'tis not time of night to hold out chat,  
With such a scold as thou art, therefore now,  
Think that I hate thee as I do the devil.  Mi. Gou. 
The devil take thee if thou dost not wretch.  Mi. Bar. 
Out upon thee strumpet.  Mi. Gou. 
Out upon thee harlot.  Mis. Bar. 
Well, I will find a time to be revenged:  
Mean time I'll keep my daughter from thy son,  
Where are you minion? how now are ye gone.  Phi. 
She went in mother.  Mi. Go. 
Francis where are ye?  Mi. Ba. 
He is not here o then they split away & both together.  Phi. 
I'll assure ye no, my sister she went in, into the house,  Mi. Ba. 
But then she'll out again at the back door,  
And meet with him, but I will search about,  
All these same fields and paths near to my house,  
They are not far I am sure, if I make haste,  Exit. Mi. Go. 
O God how went he hence? I did not see him,  
It was when Barnes wife did scold with me,  
A plague on her, Dick why didst not thou look to him?  Coo. 
What should I look for him? no, no, I look not for him while tomorrow morning.  Mi. Gou. 
Come go with me to help to look him out,  
Alas, I have nor light, nor Link, nor Torch,  
Though it be dark, I will take any pains,  
To cross this match, I prithee Dick away.  Coo. 
Mistress because I brought ye out, I'll bring ye home but if I should follow, so he might have the law on his side.  Mi. Go 
Come 'tis no matter, prithee go with me.  Exeunt M. Ba. 
Philip thy mothers gone to seek thy sister.  
And in a rage i'faith, but who comes here?  Phi. 
Old master Goursey, as I think 'tis he.  M. Ba. 
'tis so indeed.  M. Gou. 
who's there?  M. Bar. 
A friend of yours.  M. Gou. 
What master Barnes did ye not see my wife?  M. Bar. 
Yes sir I saw her, she was here even now.  M. Gour. 
I doubted that, that made me come unto you:  
But whether is she gone?  Phil, 
To seek your son, who slipped away from her,  
To meet with Mall my sister in a place  
Where I appointed: and my mother too,  
Seek for my sister, so they both are gone,  
My mother hath a Torch, marry your wife  
Goes darkling up and down, and Coomes before her.  M. Gou. 
I thought that knave was with her, but 'tis well,  
I pray God they may come by near a light,  
But both be led a dark dance in the night.  Ho. 
Why is my fellow Dick in the dark with my Mistress. I pray God they be honest, for there may be much knavery in the Dark, faith if I were there, I would have some knavery with them, good master will ye carry the torch yourself, & give me leave to play the blind man buff with my mistress,  Phil. 
On that condition thou wilt do thy best,  
To keep thy Mistress and thy fellow Dick,  
Both from my sister, and thy master's son,  
I will entreat thy master let thee go.  Hod. 
O ay, I warrant ye, i'll have fine tricks to cozen them  M, Gou. 
Well sir, then go your ways, I give you leave.  Hod. 
O brave, but where about are they?  Phil. 
About our coney green they surely are, if thou canst find them.  Hod. 
O let me alone to grope for coneys.  Exit Phi. 
Well, now will I to Frank and to my sister,  
Stand you two hearkening near the coney green,  
But sure your light in you must not be seen,  
Or else let Nicholas stand afar off with it,  
And as his life keep it from mistress Goursey,  
Shall this be done?  M. Bar. 
Philip it shall,  Phi, 
God be with ye, I'll be gone.  Exit. M. Bar. 
Come on master Goursey, this fame is a means,  
To make our wives friends, if they resist not.  Mr. Go. 
Tut sir, howsoever it shall go forward.  M. Bar. 
Come then let's do, as Philip hath advised.  Exeunt Enter Mall, Mal. 
Here is the place where Philip bid me stay,  
Till Francis came, but wherefore did my bother,  
Appoint it here? why in the coney borough?  
He had some meaning in't I warrant ye,  
Well here i'll set me down under this tree,  
And think upon the matter all alone,  
Good Lord what pretty things these coneys are,  
How finely they do feed till they be fat,  
And then what a sweet meat a coney is,  
And what smooth skins they have, both black and grey,  
They say they run more in the night than day,  
What is the reason? mark, why in the light,  
They see more passengers than in the night,  
For harmful men many a hay do set.  
And laugh to see them tumble in the net,  
And they put ferrets in the holes, fie, fie,  
And they go up and down where conies lie,  
And they lie still, they have so little wit,  
I marvel the warrener will suffer it,  
Nay, nay, they are so bad, that they themselves,  
Do give consent to catch these pretty elves,  
How if the warrener should spy me here?  
He would take me for a coney I dare swear,  
But when that Francis comes, what will he say?  
Look boy there lies a coney in my way:  
But soft, a light, whose's that? sold my mother,  
Nay then all hid, i'faith she shall not see me,  
I'll play bo peep with her behind this tree.  Mis. Ba. 
I marvel where this wench doth hide herself  
So closely? I have searched in many a bush,  Mal. 
Belike my mother took me for a Thrush,  Mis. Bar. 
she's hid in this same Warren I'll lay money.  Mal. 
Close as a rabbit sucker from an old coney.  Mi. Bar. 
O God, I would to God that I could find her,  
I would keep her from her loves toys yet.  Mal. 
I so you might, if your daughter had no wit.  Mi. Ba. 
What a wild girl 'tis, that would have't so young.  Mal. 
A murrain take that dissembling tongue,  
Ere your calves teeth were out you thought it long.  Mi. Bar. 
But minion, yet I'll keep you from the man.  Mall 
To save a lie mother, say if you can.  Mi. Bar. 
Well, now to look for her.  Mal. 
I there's the spite,  
What trick shall I now have to scape her light?  Mi. Bar. 
whose's there? what minion is it you?  
Beshrew her heart, what a fright she put me to,  
But I am glad I found her, though I was afraid,  
Come on your ways, you are a handsome maid,  
Why you forth a doors so late at night?  
Why whether go ye? come stand still I say.  Mal. 
No indeed mother, this is my best way.  M. Ba. 
'tis not the best way, stand by me I tell ye.  Mall. 
No you would catch me mother, o I smell ye.  Mi. Bar. 
Will ye not stand still?  Mal. 
No by Lady no.  Mis. Bar. 
But I will make ye.  Mal. 
Nay then trip and go.  Mi. Bar. 
Mistress, I'll make ye weary ere I have done.  Mal 
Faith mother then I'll try how you can run,  Mis. Bar. 
Will ye?  Mal. 
Yes faith.  Exunt. Enter Fran. 
Mal. sweet heart, Mall? what not a word?  Boy. 
A little further, call again.  Fran. 
Why Mal. I prithee speak, why Mal I say?  
I know thou art not far, if thou wilt not speak, why mal,  
But now I see she's in her merry vain,  
To make me call and put me to more pain,  
Well, I must bear with her, she'll bear with me,  
But I will call, lest that it be not so,  
What Mall? what Mall I say, boy are we right?  
Have we not missed the way this same dark night?  Boy. 
Mass it may be so as I am true man,  
I have not seen a coney since I came,  
Yet at the Cunny-borow we should meet,  
But hark, I hear the trampling of some feet.  Fran. 
It may be so, then therefore let's lie close.  Mis. Gou. 
Where art thou Dick?  Coo. 
Where am I quoth 'a, marry I may be where anybody will say I am, either in France or at Rome, or at jerusalem they may say I am, for I am not able to disprove them, because I cannot tell where I am.  Mi. Gou. 
O what a blindfold walk have we had Dick,  
To seek my son and yet I cannot find him?  Coo. 
Why then Mistress let's go home.  Mi. Gou. 
Why 'tis so dark we shall not find the way.  Fran. 
I pray God ye may not mother till it be day.  Coo. 
'sblood take heed mistress here's a tree.  Mis. Go. 
Lead thou the way, and let me hold by thee,  Bo. 
Dick Coomes, what difference is there between a blind man, and he that cannot see?  Fra. 
Peace, a pox on thee.  Coo. 
'swounds somebody spoke.  Mi. Gou. 
Dick look about,  
It may be here we may find them out.  Coo. 
I see the glimpse of somebody here,  
And ye be a sprite I'll fray the bug bear,  
There 'a goes mistress.  Mi. Gour. 
O sir have I spied you?  Fr. 
A plague on the boy, 'twas he that descried me.  Exeunt Phi. 
How like a beauteous Lady masked in black,  
Looks that same large circumference of heaven,  
The sky that was so fair three hours ago,  
Is in three hours become an Aethiop,  
And being angry at her beauteous change,  
She will not have one of those pearled stars,  
To blab her sable metamorphosis,  
'tis very dark, I did appoint my sister,  
To meet me at the coney berry below,  
And Francis too, but neither can I see,  
Belike my mother happened on that place.  
And frayed them from it, and they both are now  
wandering about the fields, how shall I find them?  
It is so dark, I scarce can see my hand,  
Why then I'll hollow for them, no not so,  
So will his voice betray him to our mothers,  
And if he answer, and bring them where he is.  
What shall I then do? it must not be so?  
'sblood it must be so, how else I pray?  
Shall I stand gaping here all night till day?  
And then near the near, so ho, so ho.  Wil. 
So ho, I come, where are ye? where art thou? here.  Phi 
How now Frank, where hast thou been?  Wil. 
Frank, what Frank? 'sblood is sir Raph mad, here's the bow.  Phi. 
I have not been much private with that voice,  
methink Frank Goursey's talk and his doth tell me,  
I am mistaken, especially by his bow,  
Frank had no bow, well, I will leave this fellow,  
And hollow somewhat farther in the fields,  
Dost thou hear fellow, I perceive by thee,  
That we are both mistaken, I took thee,  
For one thou art not, likewise thou tookst me,  
For sir Raph Smith, but sure I am not he,  
And so farewell, I must go seek my friend, so ho:  Wil. 
So ho, so ho, nay then sir Raph so whore,  
For a whore she was sure, if you had her here  
So late, now you are sir Raphe Smith,  
Well do ye counterfeit and change your voice,  
But yet I know ye, but what should be that Francis?  
Belike that Francis cozened him of his wench,  
And he conceals himself to find her out,  
'tis so upon my life, well I will go  
And help him ring his peal of so ho, soho,  Enter Frank. Fra. 
A plague on Coomes, a plague upon the boy,  
A plague too, not on my mother for an hundredth bound,  
'twas time to run, and yet I had not thought  
My mother could have followed me so close,  
Her legs with age I thought had foundered,  
She made me quite run through a quickset hedge,  
Or she had taken me: well I may say,  
I have run through the briars for a wench,  
And yet I have her not, the worse luck mine,  
methought I heard one hollow here about,  
I judge it Philip, O the slave will laugh  
whenas he hears how that my mother scared me,  
Well, here I'll stand until I hear him hollow,  
And then I'll answer him, he is not far.  Ra. 
my man is hollowing for me up and down,  
And yet I cannot meet with him, so ho:  Frank. 
So ho.  Ra. 
Why what a pox wert thou so near me man,  
And would not speak?  Fra. 
'sblood ye are very hot.  Rap 
No sir, I am cold enough with staying here  
For such a knave as you.  Fra. 
Knave, how now Philip, art mad, art mad?  Ra. 
Why art not thou my man.  
That went to fetch my bow,  〈◊〉. 
Indeed a bow,  
Might shoot me ten bows down the weather so,  
I your man.  Ra. 
What art thou then?  Hollow within Phillip and Will. Fran. 
A man, but what's thy name?  Rap. 
Some call me Raph.  Ra. 
Well said familiar Will, plain Raph i'faith,  Fran. 
There calls my man.  Ra. 
But there goes mine away.  
And yet I'll hear what this next call will say,  
And here I'll tarry till he call again.  Wil. 
So ho.  Fran. 
So ho, where art thou Philip,  Wil. 
'sblood Philip,  
But now he called me Francis, this is fine  Fran. 
Why studiest thou? I prithee tell me Philip.  
Where the wench is.  Wil. 
even now he asked me Francis for the wench,  
And now he ask me Philip for the wench,  
Well sir Raph. I must needs tell ye now,  
'tis not for your credit to be forth,  
So late a wenching in this order  Fran. 
What's this, so late a wenching doth he say?  
Indeed 'tis true, I am thus late a wenching,  
But I am forced to wench without a wench.  Wil. 
Why then you might have ta'en your bow at first,  
And gone and killed a buck, and not have been  
So long a drabbing, and be near the near.  Fran. 
'swounds what a pussel am I in this night,  
But yet I'll put this fellow farther,  
Dost thou hear man? I am not sir Raph Smith.  
As thou dost think I am, but I did meet him,  
Even as thou sayest in pursuit of a wench.  
I met the wench to, and asked for thee,  
Saying 'twas thou that wert her love, her dear,  
And that sir Raph was not an honest Knight,  
To train her thither, and to use her so.  Wil. 
'sblood my wench, 'swounds were he ten sir Raphs.  Fran. 
Nay 'tis true, look to it, and so farewell.  Exit. Wil. 
Indeed I do love Nan our dairy maid,  
And hath he train her forth to that intent?  
Or for another, I carry his crossbow,  
And he doth cross me, shooting in my bow,  
What shall I do?  Enter Phillip Phillip. 
So ho?  Raph. 
So ho,  Phil. 
Francies art thou there?  Ra. 
No here's no Francis, art thou Will my man?  Phi. 
Will fool your man, will goose your man,  
My back sir scorns to wear your livery.  Raph. 
Nay sir I moved but such a question to you,  
Had it hath not disparaged you I hope,  
'twas but mistaking, such a night as this  
May well deceive a man, God boy sir.  Phil. 
God's will 'tis sir Raph Smith, a virtuous knight,  
How gently entertains he my hard answer?  
Rude anger made my tongue unmannerly,  
I cry him mercy, well, but all this while,  
I cannot find a Francis, Francis ho?  Wil. 
Francis ho, o you call Francis now,  
How have ye used my Nan? come tell me how?  Phil. 
Thy Nan, what Nan?  Wil. 
ay, what Nan now, say, do you not seek a wench?  Phi. 
Yes I do.  Wil. 
Then sir that is she.  Phi. 
Art not thou I met withal before?  Wil. 
Yes sir, and you did counterfeit before,  
And said to me you were not sir Raph Smith,  Phil. 
No more I am not, I met sir Raph Smith,  
Even now he asked me if I saw his man.  Wil. 
O fine.  Phi. 
Why sirrah thou art much deceived in me,  
Good faith I am not he thou thinkst I am.  Wil. 
What are ye then?  Phi. 
Why one that seeks one Francis and a wench.  Wil. 
And Francis seeks one Philip and a wench:  Phil. 
How canst thou tell?  Wil. 
I met him seeking Philip and a wench,  
As I was seeking sir Raph and a wench.  Phil. 
Why then I know the matter, we met cross,  
And so we missed, now here we find our loss,  
Well, if thou wilt, we two will keep together,  
And so we shall meet right with one or other,  Wil. 
I am content, but do you hear me sir?  
Did not sir Raph Smith ask ye for a wench?  Phi. 
No I promise thee, nor did he look for any  
But thyself, as I could guess.  Wil. 
Why this is strange, but come sir let's away,  
I fear that we shall walk here till it be day.  Exeunt. Enter Boy. 
O God I have run so far into the wind, that I have run myself out of wind, they say a man is near his end when he lacks breath, and I am at the end of my race, for I can run no farther than here I be in my breath bed, not in my death bed.  Enter Coomes. Coom. 
They say men moil and toil for a poor living, so I moil and toil, & am living I thank God, in good time be it spoken, it had been better for me my mistress angel had been light, for then perhaps it had not led me into this darkness, well, the devil never blesses a man better, when he purses up angels by owlight, I ran through a hedge to take the boy but I stuck in the ditch, and lost the boy: 'swounds a plague on that clod, that Molehill, that ditch, or what the devil soe'er it were, for a man cannot see what it was, well, I would not for the prize of my sword & buckler, anybody should see me in this taking for it would make me but cut off their legs for laughing at me, well, down I am, and down I mean to be, because I am weary, but to tumble down thus, it was no part of my meaning, then since I am down, here i'll rest me, and no man shall remove me.  Enter Hodge. Hodg. 
O I have sport in coney i'faith, I have almost burst myself with laughing at mistress Barns, she was following of her daughter, and I hearing her, put on my fellow Dickes sword and bucklers voice, & his swoons & 'sblood words, and led her such a dance in the dark as it passes, here she is quoth I, where quoth she? here quoth I, O it hath been a brave here & there night, but O what a soft natured thing the dirt is? how it would endure my hard treading, and kiss my feet for acquaintance, and how courteous and mannerly were the clods, to make me stumble only of purpose to entreat me lie down & rest me, but now and I could find my fellow Dick, I would play the knave with him honestly i'faith, Well, I will grope in the dark for him, or i'll poke with my staff like a blind man, to prevent a ditch.  He stumbles on Dick Coomes. Coom. 
whose's that with a pox?  Hod. 
Who art thou with a pestilence.  Coom. 
Why I am Dick Coomes?  Hodg. 
What have I found thee Dick? nay then I am for ye Dick, Where are ye Dick?  Coom. 
What can I tell where I am?  Hodg. 
Can ye not tell, come, come ye weight on your mistress well, come on your ways, I have sought you till I am weary, and called ye till I am hoarse, good Lord what a jaunt I have had this night, heigh ho?  Coom. 
be't you mistress that came over me, 'sblood 'twere a good deed to come over you for this night's work, I cannot afford all this pains for an angel I tell ye true a kiss were not cast away upon a good fellow, that hath deserved more that way then a kiss, if your kindness would afford it him, What shall I have it mistress?  Hodg. 
Fie, fie, I must not kiss my man.  Coom. 
Nay, nay, near stand, shall I, shall I, nobody sees, say but I shall, and i'll smack ye soundly i'faith.  Hodg. 
Away bawdy man, in truth I'll tell your master.  Coom 
My master, go to, near tell me of my master, he may pray for them that may, he is past it, and for mine own part, I can do somewhat that way I thank God, I am not now to learn, and 'tis your part to have your whole desire.  Hod. 
Fie, fie, I am ashamed of you, would you tempt your mistress to lewdness.  Coom. 
To lewdness, no by my troth there's no such matter in't, it is for kindness, & by my troth if you like my gentle offer, you shall have what courteously I can afford ye.  Hod. 
Shall I indeed Dick? i'faith, if I thought nobody would see.  Coom 
Tush, fear not that, 'swounds they must have Cats eyes then,  Hod. 
Then kiss me Dick.  Coom. 
A kind wench i'faith, where are ye mistress?  Hodge. 
Here Dick, O I am in the dark, Dick go about,  Coom. 
Nay, i'll grope sure, where are ye. Hodge. Here,  Coom. 
A plague on this post, I would the Carpenter had been hanged that set it up so, where are ye now?  Hod. 
Here.  Exit. Coo, 
Here, o I come, a plague on it, I am in a pond mistress.  Hod. 
Ha, ha, I have led him into a pond, where art thou Dick?  Coomes. 
Up to the middle in a pond.  Hod. 
Make a Boat of thy Buckler then, and swim out, are ye so hot with a pox? would you kiss my mistress, cool ye there then good Dick Coomes, o when he comes forth the skirts of his blue coat will drop like a paint-house, O that I could see and not be seen, how he would Spaniel it, and shake himself when he comes out of the pond, but i'll be gone, for now he'll fight with a fly, if he but buzz in his ear.  Exit. Enter Coomes. Coom 
here's so hoing with a plague, so hang and ye will for I have been almost drowned, a pox of your lips, and ye call this kissing: ye talk of a drowned Rat, but 'twas time to swim like a dog I had been served like a drowned Cattles, I would he had digged his grave that digged the pond, my feet were foul indeed, but a less pale than a pond would have served my turn to wash them: a man shall be served thus always, when he follows any of these females but 'tis my kind heart that makes me thus forward in kindness unto them, well God amend them, and make them thankful to them that would do them pleasure I am not drunk I would ye should know it, and yet I have drunk more than will do me good, for I might have had a Pump set up, with as good March Beer as this was, and near set up an Ale bush 'for the matter: well I am somewhat in wroth I must needs say, and yet I am not more angry than wise, nor more wise than angry, but i'll fight with the next man I mere, and it be but for luck's sake, and if he love to see himself hurt, let him bring light with him, i'll do it by darkling else by gods dines, well here will I walk whosoever says nay.  Entter Nicholas. Nic. 
He that worse may must hold the Candle, but my Master is not so wise as God might have made him, he is gone to seek a Hair in a hens nest, a Needle in a Bottle of Hay, which is as seldom seen as a black Swan: he is gone to seek my young Mistress, and I think she is better lost than found, for whosoever hath her, hath but a wet Eel by the tail, but they may do as they list, the law is in their own hands, but and they would be ruled by me, they should set her on the Leland, and bid the Devil split her, beshrew her fingers, she hath made me watch past mine hour, but I'll watch her a good turn for it.  Coom. 
How, whose's that Nicholas? so first come first served, I am for him: how now proverb, proverb, 'sblood how now proverb?  Ni. 
My name is Nicholas, Richard: and I know your meaning, and I hope ye mean no harm: I thank ye I am the better for your asking.  Coo. 
Where have you been a whoring thus late, ha?  Ni. 
Master Richard the good wife would not seek her daughter in the Oven unless she had been there herself, but good Lord you are knuckle deep in dirt, I warrant when he was in, he swore Walsingham, & chafed terrible for the time, look the water drops from you as fast as hops.  Coom. 
What needst thou to care, whipper-jenny, Tripecheeks, out you fat ass.  Ni. 
Good words cost nought, ill words corrupts good manners Richard, for a hasty man never wants woe, & I had thought you had been my friend, but I see all is not gold that glisters, there's falsehood in fellowship, a micus certus in re certa cernitur, time & truth tries all, & 'tis an old proverb, & not so old as true, bought wit is best, I can see day at a little hole, I know your mind as well as though I were within you, 'tis ill halting before a cripple, go to, you seek to quarrel but be ware of had I wist: so long goes the pot to the water at length it comes home broken, I know you are as good a man as ever drew sword, or as was ere girt ina girdle, or as ere went on neat's leather, or as one shall see upon a summer's day, or as ere looked man in the face, or as ere trodden on God's earth, or as ere broke bread, or drunk drink: but he is proper that hath proper conditions, but be not like the Cow that gives a good soap of milk and casts it down with her heels, I speak plainly, for plain dealing is a jewel, & he that useth it shall die a beggar, well, that happens in an hour, that happens not in seven years, a man is not so soon whole as hurt & you should kill a man, you would kiss him: well, I say little, but I think the more, yet I'll give him good words, 'tis good to hold a candle before the devil, yet by God's me, I'll take no wrong, if he had a head as big as Brass, or looked as high as Poule's steeple.  Coo. 
Sirrah, thou Grasshopper, that shalt skip from my sword as from a Sith, I'll cut thee out in collops & eggs, in sleeks, in sliced beef, and fry thee with the fire, I shall strike from the pike of they Buckler.  Nich. 
ay, brag's a good dog, threatened folks live long.  Coo. 
What say ye sir?  Nic. 
Why I say not so much as how do ye.  Coo. 
Do ye not so sir?  Nic. 
No indeed, whatsoe'er I think, and thought is free.  Coo. 
You whoreson Wafer-cake, by Gods dines i'll crush ye for this.  Ni. 
Give an inch and you'll take an elle, I will not put my finger in a hole I warrant ye, what man, near crow so fast, for a blind man may kill a Hare, I have known when a plain fellow hath hurt a Fencer, so I have: What, a man may be as slow as a Snail, but as fierce as a Lion, and he be moved: Indeed I am patient I must needs say, for patience in adversity, brings a man to the three Cranes in the Ventree.  Coo. 
Do ye hear, set down your Torch, draw, fight, I am for ye.  Ni. 
And I am for ye too, though it be from this midnight to the next morn.  Coo. 
Where be your tools?  Nic. 
Within a mile of an oak sir, he's a proud horse will not carry his own provender, I warrant ye.  Coo. 
Now am I in my quarreling humour, and now can I say nothing but sownes draw, but i'll untruss, & then have to it.  Enter Hodge and Boy. Hod. 
whose's there, Boy? honest Boy, well met, where hast thou been.  Boy. 
O Hodge, Dick Coomes hath been as good as a cry of Hounds, to make a breathed Hair of me, but didst thou see my master?  Hod. 
I met him even now, and he asked me for thee, and he is gone up and down, hooing like an Owl for thee.  Boy. 
Owl, ye Ass.  Hod. 
Ass, no nor glass, for then it had been owlglass, but whose's that boy?  Bo. 
By the mass 'tis our Coomes & Nicholas, & it seems they are providing to fight.  Hod. 
Then we shall have fine sport, i'faith sirrah, let's stand close, and when they have fought about or two, we'll run away with the torch, & leave them to fight darkling, shall we?  Boy. 
Content, I'll get the Torch, stand close.  Coo. 
So now my back hath room to reach, I do not love to be laced in, when I go to lace a rascal, I pray God Nicholas prove not a fly: it would do me good to deal with a good man now, that we might have half a dozen good smart strokes, ha' I have seen the day, I could have danced in my fight, on, two, three four & five, ou the head of him six, seven, eight, nine & ten, on the sides of him, & if I went so far as fifteen, I warrant I showed him a trick of one and twenty: but I have not sought this four days, & I lack a little practice of my warde, but I shall make a shift, ha close, are ye disposed sir?  Nic. 
Yes indeed I fear no colours, change sides Richard.  Coo. 
Change the gallows, I'll see thee hanged first.  Nich. 
Well, I see the fool will not leave his babble for the Tower of London.  Coo. 
Fool ye Rogue, nay then fall to it.  Nic. 
Good goose bite not.  Coo. 
'sblood how pursy I am, well I see exercise is all, I must practise my weapons oftener, I must have a goal or two at Football, before I come to my right kind, give me thy hand Nicholas, thou art a better man than I took thee for, and yet thou art not so good a man as I.  Ni. 
You dwell by ill neighbours Richard, that makes ye praise yourself.  Coo. 
Why I hope thou wilt say I am a man.  Ni. 
Yes I'll say so if I should see you hanged.  Coo. 
Hanged ye Rogue, nay then have at ye, swoons the light is gone.  Ni. 
O Lord, it is as dark as Pitch,  Coo, 
Well here I'll lie with my buckler thus, lest striking up and down at randall, the rogue might hurt me, for I cannot see to save it, and I'll hold my peace, lest my voice should bring them where I am.  Nic. 
'tis good. o have a cloak for the rain, a bad shift is better than none at all, I'll sit here as if I were as dead as a door nail.  Enter M. Barns and M. Goursey. M. Gou. 
Hark, there's one holloes.  M. Bar. 
And there's another.  M. Gour. 
And everywhere we come, I here some hollo. And yet it is our haps to meet with none.  M. Bar. 
I marvel where your Hodge is, and my man?  M. Gour. 
I and our wives, we cannot meet with them.  
Nor with the boy, nor Mall, nor Frank, nor Philip:  
Nor yet with Coomes, and yet we near stood still.  
Well I am very angry with my wife,  
And she shall find I am not pleased with her,  
If we meet near so soon, but 'tis my hap,  
She hath had as blind a journey out as we,  
Pray God she have, and worse if worse may be.  M. Bar. 
This is but short lived envy Master curtsy:  
But come, what say ye to my policy?  M. Gou. 
i'faith 'tis good, and we will practise it,  
But sir it must be handled cunningly,  
Or all is marred, our wives have subtle heads,  
And they will soon perceive a drift devise.  Enter sir Raphe Smith. Raph. 
So ho.  M, Gour. 
So ho.  Raph. 
whose's there?  M. Bar. 
here's on or two.  Raph. 
Is Will there?  M. Bar. 
No, Philip?  M. Gour. 
Frank?  Raph. 
No, no.  
Was ever man deluded thus like me,  
I think some spirit leads me thus amiss:  
As I have often heard, that some have been thus in the nights.  
But yet this mazes me where ere I come,  
Some asks me still for Frank or Philip,  
And none of them can tell me where Will is.  Wil. 
So ho?  Phil. 
So ho.  They hollo Hodg. 
So ho!  Boy. 
So ho?  within. Rap. 
'sounds now I here four hollow at the least,  
One had a little voice, then that's the wench  
My man hath lost, well I will answer all, so ho.  Hodg. 
Whope, whope.  Raph. 
whose's there will?  Hod. 
No sir, honest Hodge: but I pray ye sir did ye not meet with a boy with a Torch, he is run away from me a plague on him.  Raph. 
hay day, from Frank and Philip to a Torch,  
And to a Boy, nay 'sounds then hap as 'twill.  M. Gour. 
Who goes there?  Wil. 
guess here.  M. Bar. 
Philip.  Wil. 
Philip, no faith, my names Will, ill will, for I was never worse, I was even now with him, and might have been still, but that I fell into a ditch and lost him, and now I am going up and down to seek him.  M. Gor. 
What wouldst thou do with him.  Wil. 
Why I would have him go with me to my masters.  M. Gou. 
Whose thy master?  Wil. 
Why sir Raphe Smith, and thither he promised me he would come, if he keep his word so 'tis.  M. Ba. 
What was he a doing when thou first found him.  Wil. 
Why he holloed for one Francis, and Francis holloa'd for him, I hallowed for my master, and my master for me, but we missed still meeting contrary, Philip & Francis with me & my master, and I & my master with Philip and Frank.  M. Gou. 
Why wherefore is sir Raphe so late abroad?  Wil. 
Why he meant to kill a Buck, I'll say so to save his honesty, but my Nan was his mark, & when he sent me for his bow, and when I came, I holloa'd for him, but I never saw such luck to miss him, it hath almost made me mad.  M. Bar. 
Well stay with us, perhaps sir Raphe and he,  
Will come anon, hark I do here one hollo.  Enter Phillip. Phil. 
Is this broad waking in a winter's night,  
I am broad walking in a winter's night:  
Broad indeed, because I am abroad,  
But these broad fields methinks are not so broad,  
That they may keep me forth of narrow ditches,  
here's a hard world for I can hardly keep myself upright in it,  
I am marvelous dutiful, but so ho.  Wil. 
So ho.  Phil. 
whose's there?  Wil. 
here's will.  Phi. 
What Will, how scap'st thou?  Wil. 
What sir?  Phi. 
Nay, not hanging, but drowning,  
Wert thou in a pond or a ditch?  Wil. 
A pestilence on it, be't you Philip, no faith, I was but dirty a little, but here's one or two asked for ye.  Phil. 
Who be they man?  M. Bar. 
Philip, 'tis I and master Goursey.  Phi. 
Father, O father I have heard them say.  
The days of ignorance are past and done,  
But I am sure the nights of ignorance  
Are not yet past, for this is one of them,  
But where's my sister?  M. Bar. 
Why we cannot tell.  Phi. 
Where's Francis?  MASTER Gour. 
Neither saw we him.  Phi. 
Why this is fine.  
What neither he, nor I, nor she nor you,  
Nor I, nor she, nor you, and I will now,  
Can meet, could meet, or near I think shall meet,  
Call ye this wooing, no 'tis Christmas sport of Hob man blind  
All blind, all seek to catch, all miss: but who comes here?  Enter Frank and his Boy. Fra. 
O have I catched ye sir, it was your doing,  
That made me have this pretty dance tonight,  
Had not you spoke, my mother had not scared me,  
But I will swinge ye for it.  Phil. 
Keep the king's peace,  Fran 
How? art thou become a Constable?  
Why Philip where hast thou been all this while?  Phi. 
Why where you were not, but I pray where's my sister?  Fran. 
Why man I saw her not, but I have sought her as I should seek.  Phil. 
A needle have ye not?  
Why you man are the needle that she seeks  
To work withal, well Francis do you here,  
You must not answer so, that you have sought her,  
But have ye found her, faith and if you have,  
God give ye joy of that ye found with her,  
Fra I saw her not, how could I find her.  M. Gou. 
Why, could ye miss form Master Barnses house unto his Cunny-berry?  Fran. 
Whether I could or no, father I did.  Phill. 
Father I did, well Frank wilt thou believe me,  
Thou dost not know how much this same doth grieve me  
Shall it be said thou missed so plain away,  
whenas so fair a wench did for thee stay.  Fra, 
'sounds man.  Phi. 
'sounds man, and if thou hadst been blind,  
The cunny-borow thou needst must find:  
I tell thee Francis had it been my case,  
And I had been a wooer in thy place,  
I would have laid my head unto the ground,  
And scented out my wench's way like a Hound:  
I would have crept upon my knees all night,  
And have made the flint stones Links to give me light,  
Nay man I would.  Fran. 
Good Lord what you would do,  
Well we shall see one day how you can woe.  M. Gou. 
Come, come, we see that we have all been crossed.  
Therefore let's go, and seek them we have lost.  Exeunt. Enter Mal.. 
Am I alone? doth not my mother come?  
Her torch I see not, which I well might see,  
If any way she were coming toward me,  
Why then belike she's gone some other way,  
And may she go till I bid her turn,  
Far shall her way be then, and little fair,  
For she hath hindered me of my good turn,  
God send her wet and weary ere the turn,  
I had been at Oxenford, and tomorrow,  
Have been released from all my maiden's sorrow.  
And tasted joy, had not my mother been,  
God I beseech thee make it her worst sin,  
How many maids this night lies in their beds,  
And dream that they have lost their maidenheads,  
Such dreams, such slumbers I had to enjoy,  
If waking malice had not them destroyed,  
A starved man with double death doth die,  
To have the meat might save him in his eye,  
And may not have it so am I tormented,  
To starve for joy I see yet am prevented,  
Well Frank, although thou wooed'st and quickly won,  
Yet shall my love to thee be never done,  
I'll run through hedge and ditch, through brakes & briars  
To come to thee, sole Lord of my desires,  
Short wooing is the best, an hour, not years,  
For long debating love is full of fears,  
But hark, I hear one tread, o wert my brother,  
Or Frank, or any man, but not my mother.  S. Rap. 
O when will this same year of night have end?  
Long looked for days sun, when wilt thou ascend?  
Let not this these friend misty vale of night,  
Encroach on day, and shadow thy fair light,  
Whilst thou com'st tardy from my thete's bed,  
Blushing forth golden hair and glorious red,  
O stay not long bright lantern of the day,  
To light my mist way feet to my right way?  Mall. 
It is a man, his big voice tells me so,  
Much am I not acquainted with it tho,  
And yet mine ear sounds true distinguisher,  
Boys that I have been more familiar,  
With it then now I am, well, I do judge,  
It is not envies felon not of grudge,  
Therefore I'll plead acquaintance, higher his guiding,  
And buy of him some place of close abiding,  
Till that my mother's malice be expired,  
And we may joy in that is long desired, whoses there?  Ra. 
Are ye a maid? no question this is she,  
My man doth miss, faith since she lights on me,  
I do not mean till day to let her go,  
For what she is my man's love I will know,  
Hark ye maid, if maid, are ye so light,  
That you can see to wander in the night.  Mal. 
Hark ye true man, if true, I tell you no,  
I cannot see at all which way I go.  Ra. 
Fair maid be't so, say had ye near a fall,  Mal 
Fair man not so, no I had none at all.  Ra. 
Could you not stumble on one man I pray?  Mal. 
No, no, such block till now came in my way.  Ra. 
Am I that block sweet tripe, then fall and try.  Ma. 
The grounds too hard, a featherbed, not I.  Ra. 
Why how and you had met with such a stump?  Mal. 
Why if he had been your height I meant to jump?  Ra. 
Are ye so nimble?  Mal. 
Nimble as a do.  Ra. 
Backed in a pie.  Mal. 
Of ye.  Ra. 
Good meat ye know.  Mal. 
Ye hunt sometimes.  Ra. 
I do.  Mal. 
What take ye?  Ra. 
dear.  Mall. 
You'll near strike rascal?  Ra. 
Yes when ye art there.  Mal. 
Will ye strike me.  Ra. 
Yes, will ye strike again?  Mall. 
No sir, it fits not maids to fight with men.  Ra. 
I wonder wench, how I thy name might know.  Mall. 
Why you may find it in the Christcross row.  Ra. 
Be my Schoolmistress, teach me how to spell it.  Mall. 
No faith, I care not greatly if I tell it,  
My name is Marie Barnes.  Ra. 
How wench, Mall Barnes?  Mal. 
The very same.  Rap. 
Why this is strange.  Mal. 
I pray sir what's your name?  Raph. 
Why sir Raph Smith doth wonder wench at this  
Why what's the cause thou art abroad so late?  Mal. 
What sir Raph Smith, nay then I will disclose,  
All the whole cause to him, in him repose,  
My hopes, my love, God him I hope did send,  
Our loves and both our mothers hates to end,  
Gentle sir Raph if you my blush might see,  
You then would say I am ashamed to be  
Found like a wandering stray by such a knight,  
So far from home at such a time of night,  
But my excuse is good, love first by fate  
Is crossed, controlled, and sundered by fell hate,  
Frank Goursey is my love, and he loves me,  
But both our mother's hate and disagree,  
Our fathers like the match, and wish it done,  
And so it had, had not our mothers come,  
To Oxford we concluded both to go,  
Going to meet, they came, we parted so,  
My mother followed me, but I ran fast,  
Thinking who went from hate had need make haste,  
Take me she cannot though she still pursue,  
But now sweet knight, I do repose on you.  
Be you my Orator and plead my right,  
And get me one good day for this bad night.  Ra. 
Alas good heart, I pity thy hard hap,  
And I'll employ all that I may for thee,  
Frank Goursey wench, I do commend thy choice,  
Now I remember I met one Francis  
As I did seek my man, then that was he,  
And Philip too, belike like that was thy brother, why now I  
find how I did lose myself, And wander up & down, mistaking  
so, Give me thy hand Mall, I will never leave.  
Till I have made your mother's friends again,  
And purchased to ye both your hearts delight,  
And for this same one bad, many a good night,  
'twill not be long ere that Aurora will.  
Decked in the glory of a golden sun,  
Open the crystal windows of the East,  
To make the earth enamoured of thy face,  
When we shall have clear light to see our way,  
Come, night being done, expect a happy day.  Exeunt. Enter mistress Barnes Mis. Ba 
O what a race this peevish girl hath led me?  
How fast I ran and now how weary I am,  
I am so out of breath I scarce can speak.  
What shall I do? and cannot overtake her,  
It is late and dark, and I am far from home.  
May there not thieves lie watching here about,  
Intending mischief unto them they meet,  
There may, and I am much afraid of them,  
Being alone without all company,  
I do repent me of my coming forth,  
And yet I do not, they had else been married,  
And that I would not for ten times more labour.  
But what a winter of cold fear I stole,  
freezing my heart lest danger should betide me,  
What shall I do to purchase company?  
I hear some hollow here about the fields,  
Then here I'll set my Torch upon this hill,  
Whose light shall Beacon-like conduct them to it,  
They that have lost their way seeing a light,  
Will come to it, well, here i'll lie unseen,  
For it may be seen far off in the night,  
And look who comes, and choose my company,  
Perhaps my daughter may first come to it.  Mi. Gour. 
Where am I now? nay where was I ever now,  
Nor now, nor then, nor where I shall be, know I,  
I think I am going home I may as well  
Be going from home, 'tis so very dark,  
I cannot see how to direct a step,  
I lost my pursuing of my son,  
My son escaped me too, now all alone,  
I am enforced to wander up and down,  
Barnes' wife's abroad pray God that she:  
May have as good a dance, nay ten times worse,  
Oh but I fear she hath not, she hath light  
To see her way, O that some bridge would break  
That she might fall into some deep digged ditch,  
And either break her bones or drown herself,  
I would these mischiefs I could wish to her,  
Might light on her, but soft I see a light,  
I will go near, 'tis comfortable,  
After this nights sad spirits dulling darkness,  
How now? What is it set to keep itself?  Mis. Bar. 
A plague on't, is she there?  Mis Gou. 
O how it cheers & quickens up my thoughts,  Mi. Bar. 
O that it were the Basilisk's fell eye,  
To poison thee.  Mi. Gou. 
I care not if I take it.  
Sure none is here to hinder me,  
And light me home.  Mi. Bar. 
I had rather she were hanged.  
Then I should set it there to do her good.  Mis. Go. 
i'faith I will.  Mi. Ba. 
i'faith you shall not mistress.  
I'll venture a burnt finger but I'll have it.  Mi. Gou. 
Yet Barnes' wife would chafe if that she knew,  
That I had this good to get a light.  Mi. Ba. 
And so she doth, but praise you luck at parting.  Mi. Go. 
O that it were her light good faith, that she,  
Might darkling walk about as well as I.  Mi. Ba. 
O how this mads me, that she hath her wish,  Mi. Go. 
How I would laugh to see her trot about.  Mi. Bar 
Oh, I could cry for anger and for rage.  Mi. Go. 
But who should set it here I marvel a God's name?  Mi. Bar. 
One that will have't from you in the devils name  Mi. Go. 
I'll lay my life that it was Barnses son.  Mi. Ba. 
No forsooth, it was Barnses wife.  Mi. Gou, 
A plague upon her, how she made me start?  
Mistress let go the Torch,  Mis. Bar. 
No but I will not.  Mis. Gou. 
I'll thrust it in thy face then.  Mi. Bar. 
But you shall not.  Mi. Gou. 
Let go I say.  Mi. Ba. 
Let you go, for 'tis mine.  Mis. Go. 
But my possession says it is none of thine.  Mi. Bar. 
Nay, I have hold too,  Mi. Gou. 
Well, let go thy hold, or I will spurn thee.  Mi. Bar. 
Do, I can spurn thee too.  Mi. Go. 
Canst thou?  Mi. Ba. 
I that I can.  Enter Master Goursey and Barns. M. Go. 
Why how now woman, how unlike to women,  
Are ye both now? come part, come part I say.  M. Ba. 
Why what immodesty it this in you?  
Come part I say, fie, fie.  Mi. Ba. 
Fie, fie, she shall not have my torch,  
Give me thy torch boy, I will run a-tilt,  
And burn out both her eyes in my encounter.  Mi. Go. 
Give room and let's have this hat carerie.  M. Go. 
I say ye shall not, wife go to, tame your thoughts,  
That are so mad with fury.  M. Ba. 
And sweet wife,  
Temper you rage with patience, do not be  
Subject so much to such misgovernment.  Mi. Bar 
Shall I not sir, when such a strumpet wrongs me?  M. Go. 
How, strumpet mistress Barns, nay I pray hark ye,  
I oft indeed have heard you call her so,  
And I have thought upon it, why ye should  
Twither with name of strumpet,  
Do you know any hurt by her, that you term her so?  M. Ba. 
No on my life, rage only makes her say so,  M. Go. 
But I would know whence this same rage should come.  
where's smoke there's fire, and my heart misgives.  
My wives intemperance hath got that name,  
And mistress Barns, I doubt and shrewdly doubt,  
And some great cause begets this doubt in me,  
Your husband and my wife doth wrong us both.  M. Ba. 
How? think ye so, nay master Goursey then  
You run indebt to my opinion,  
Because you pay not such advised wisdom,  
As I think due unto my good conceit.  M. Go. 
Then still I fear I shall your debtor prove.  
Then I arrest you in the name of love,  
Not bale, but present answer to my plea,  
And in the Court of reason we will try,  
If that good thoughts should believe jealousy,  Phil. 
Why look you mother, this is long of you,  
For God's sake father hark, why these effects  
Come still from women's malice, part I pray,  
Comes, Will. and Hodge come all and help us part them,  
Father, but hear me speak one word no more:  Frank. 
Father, but hear me speak, the use your will.  Phil. 
Cry peace between ye for a little while.  Mi. Gou. 
Good husband hear him speak.  Mis. Ba. 
Good husband hear him.  Coom. 
Master hear him speak, he's a good wise young stripling, for his years I tell ye, & perhaps may speak wiser than an elder body, therefore hear him.  Hod. 
Master hear and make an end, you may kill one another in jest, and be hanged in earnest.  M. Go. 
Come let us hear him, then speak quickly Philip  M. Ba. 
Thou shouldst have done ere this, speak  Phil. 
Speak  Mis. Bar. 
O Lord what haste you make to hurt yourselves  
Good Philip use some good persuasions  
To make them friends.  Phi. 
Yes, I'll do what I can,  
Father and Master Goursey both attend,  
It is presumption in so young a man,  
To teach where he might learn or be derect,  
Where he hath had direction but in duty.  
He may persuade as long as his persuase,  
Is backed with reason and a rightful suit,  
Physics first rule is this, as I have learned,  
Kill the effect by cutting of the cause,  
The same effects of ruffian outrages,  
Comes by the cause of malice in your wines,  
Had not they two been foes, you had been friends,  
And we had been at home, and this same war,  
In peaceful sleep had near been dreamt upon,  
Mother, and mistress Goursey to make them friends,  
Is to be friends yourselves, you are the cause,  
And these effects proceed you know from you,  
Your hates give life unto these killing strifes,  
But die, and if that envy die in you,  
Fathers yet stay, O speak, O stay a while,  
Francis persuade thy mother master Goursey,  
If that my mother will resolve your minds,  
That 'tis but mere suspect, not common proof,  
And if my father swears he's innocent,  
As I durst pawn my soul with him he is,  
And if your wife vow truth and constancy,  
Will you be then persuaded?  M. Gou. 
Philip, if thy father will remit,  
The wounds I gave him, and if these conditions  
May be performed, I banish all my wrath.  M. Bar. 
And if thy mother will but clear me Philip,  
As I am ready to protest I am,  
Than master Goursey is my friend again.  Phi. 
Hark mother, now you hear that your desires,  
May be accomplished, they will both be friends  
If you'll perform these articles.  Mi. Ba. 
Shall I be friends with such an enemy?  Phil. 
What say you unto my persuase;  Mi. Bar. 
I say she's my deadly enemy.  Phil. 
ay but she will be your friend if you revolt.  Mi. Bar. 
The words I said, what shall I eat a truth?  Phi. 
Why hark ye mother.  Fra. 
Mother what say you?  Mis. Go. 
Why this I say she slandered my good name.  Fra. 
But if she now deny it, 'tis no defame.  Mi. Go. 
Why shall I think her hate will yield so much:  Fra. 
Why? doubt it not, her spirit may he such,  M. Go. 
why will it be?  Phi. 
Yet stay, I have some hope.  
Mother, why mother, why hear ye,  
Give me your hand, it is no more but thus,  
'tis easy labour to shake hands with her.  
A little breath is spent in speaking of fair words,  
When wrath hath violent delivered,  M. Bar. 
What shall we be resolved?  Mi. Bar. 
O husband stay,  
Stay Master Goursey, though your wife doth hate me,  
And bears unto me malice infinite.  
And endless, yet I will respect your safeties,  
I would not have you perish by our means,  
I must confess, that only suspect,  
And no proof else, hath fed my hate to her.  Mi. Gour. 
And husband I protest by heaven and earth,  
That her suspect is causeless and unjust,  
And that I near had such a wild intent,  
Harm she imagined, where as none was meant.  Phil. 
Lo sir, what would ye more?  M. Bar. 
Yes Philip this:  
That I confirm him in my Innocence,  
By this large universe.  M. Gour. 
By that I swear, i'll credit none of you, until I here  
Friendship concluded straight between them two,  
If I see that they willingly will do,  
Then i'll imagine all suspicion ends,  
I may be then assured they being friends.  Phil. 
Mother, make full my wish, and be it so.  Mi. Bar. 
What shall I sue for friendship to my foe?  Phil. 
No, if she yield will you?  Mi. Ba. 
It may be I.  Phil. 
Why this is well, the other I will try,  
Come Mistress Goursey, do you first agree?  Mi. Gour. 
What shall I yield unto mine enemy?  Phil. 
Why if she will, will you?  Mi. Gou. 
Perhaps I will.  Phil. 
Nay then I find this goes forward still:  
Mother give me your hand, give me yours to,  
Be not so loath, some good thing I must do,  
But lay your Torches by, I like not them,  
Come, come, deliver them unto your men,  
Give me your hands, so now sir here I stand,  
Holding two angry women in my hand,  
And I must please them both, I could please tone,  
But it is hard when there is two to one,  
Especially of women, but 'tis so,  
They shall be pleased whether they will or no,  
Which will come first? what both give back, ha, neither?  
Why then yond may help that come both together,  
So stand still, stand but a little while,  
And see how I your angers will beguile,  
Well yet there is no hurt, why then let me,  
join these two hands, and see how they'll agree,  
Peace, peace, they cry, look how they friendly kiss,  
Well all this while there is no harm in this,  
Are not these two twins? twins should be both alike,  
If tone speaks fair, the tother should not strike,  
jesus these warriors will not offer blows,  
Why then 'tis strange that you two should be foes,  
O yes, you'll say your weapons are your tongues,  
Touch lip with lip and they are bound from wrongs,  
Go to, embrace, and say if you be friends,  
That here the angry women's quarrels ends,  Mi. Gou. 
Then here it ends, if mistress Barns say so.  Mi. Bar. 
If you say I, I list not to say no.  M. Gou. 
If they be friends, by promise we agree.  M. Bar. 
And may this league of friendship ever be.  Phil. 
What sayst thou Frank, doth not this fall out well?  Fran. 
Yes if my Mall were here, than all were well.  Enter Sir Raphe Smith with Mall. Raph. 
Yonder they be Mall, stay, stand close and stir not  
Until I call: God save ye Gentlemen.  M. Bar. 
What sir Raph Smith, you are a welcome man,  
We wondered when we heard you were abroad.  Raph. 
Why sir, how heard ye that I was abroad?  M. Bar. 
By your man.  Raph. 
My man, where is he?  Wil. 
Here.  Raph. 
O ye are a trusty squire.  Nic. 
It had been better and he had said, a sure card.  Phil. 
Why sir? Nic, Because it is the Proverb.  Phil. 
Away ye Ass.  Nic. 
An Ass goes a four legs, I go of two christ cross.  Phi. 
Hold you tongue.  Nich. 
And make no mistake  M. Gou. 
Go to, no more ado, gentle sir Raphe,  
Your man is not in fault for missing you,  
For he mistook by us and we by him.  Raph. 
And I by you, which now I well perceive,  
But tell me Gentlemen, what made ye all,  
Be from your beds this night, and why thus late  
Are your wives walking here about the fields?  
'tis strange to see such women of account,  
Here, but I guess some great occasion,  M. Gour. 
Faith this occasion sir, women will jar.  
And jar they did today, and so they parted,  
We knowing women's malice let alone,  
Will Canker like eat farther in their hearts,  
Did seek a sudden cure, and thus it was,  
A match between his daughter and my son,  
No sooner motioned but 'twas agreed,  
And they no sooner saw but wooed and liked,  
They have it sought to cross, and cross it thus.  Rap. 
fie mistress Barns and mistress Goursey both,  
The greatest sin wherein your souls may sin,  
I think is this, in crossing of true love,  
Let me persuade ye.  Mi. Bar. 
Sir we are persuaded,  
And I and mistress Goursey are both friends,  
And if my daughter were but found again,  
Who now is missing, she had my consent,  
To be disposed off to her own content.  Raph. 
I do rejoice, that what I thought to do,  
Ere I begin, I find already done,  
Why this will please your friends at Abington,  
Frank, if thou seekst that way, there thou shalt find  
Her, whom I hold the comfort of thy mind.  Mall. 
He shall not seek me, I will seek him out,  
Since of my mother's grant I need not doubt.  Mi. Bar. 
Thy mother grants my girl, and she doth pray  
To send unto you both a joyful day.  Hodg. 
Nay mistress Barnes, I wish her better, that those joyful days may be turned to joyful nights.  Coom 
Faith 'tis a pretty wench, and 'tis pity but she should have him.  Nich. 
And mistress Mary, when ye go to bed, God send you good rest, and a peck of Fleas in your nest, every one as big as Francis.  Phil. 
Well said wisdom, God send thee wise children,  Nich 
And you more money.  Phil. 
ay, so wish I,  Nich. 
'twill be a good while, ere you wish your skinful of Eyelet holes.  Phil. 
Frank, hark ye? brother, now your wooings done,  
The next thing now you do, is for a son:  
I prithee, for i'faith I should be glad,  
To have myself called Nuncle and thou Dad,  
Well sister, if that Francis play the man,  
My mother must be Grandam and you Mam,  
To if Francis, to it sister, God send ye joy,  
'tis fine to sing dansey my own sweet boy.  Fra. 
Well sir jest on  Phil. 
Nay fie, de you jest on.  M. Ba. 
Well may she prove a happy wife to him.  M. Gou. 
And may he prove as happy unto her.  Raph. 
Well Gentlemen, good hap betide them both,  
Since 'twas my hap thus hap thus happily to meet,  
To be a witness of this sweet contract,  
I do rejoice, wherefore to have this joy  
Longer present with me, I do request  
That all of you will be my promised guests,  
This long night's labour doth desire some rest,  
Besides this wished end, therefore I pray,  
Let me detain ye but a dinner time,  
Tell me I pray, shall I obtain so much.  M. Bar. 
Gentle sir Raphe, your courtesy is such,  
As may impose command unto us all,  
We will be thankful bold at your request,  Phil. 
I pray sir Raph, what cheer shall we have?  S. Raph. 
i'faith country fare, mutton and veal,  
Perchance a Duck or Goose.  Mal. 
Oh I am sick.  All. 
How now Mall, what's the matter?  Mal. 
Father and mother if you needs would know,  
He named a Goose, which is my stomachs foe.  Phi. 
Come, come, she is with child of some odiest,  
And now she's sick till that she bring it forth,  Mal. 
A jest quoth you? well brother if it be,  
I fear 'twill prove an earnest unto me,  
Goose said ye sir? oh that same very name,  
Hath in it much variety of shame,  
Of all the birds that ever yet was seen,  
I would not have them graze upon this green,  
I hope they will not, for this, crop is poor,  
And they may pasture upon greater store.  
But yet 'tis pity that they let them pass,  
And like a Common bite the muse's grass,  
Yet this I fear if Frank and I should kiss,  
Some creeking goose would chide us with a hiss,  
I mean not that goose sings it knows not what.  
'tis not that hiss when one says hist come hither,  
Nor that same hiss that setteth dogs together,  
Nor that same hiss that by a fire doth stand,  
And hisseth T. or F. upon the hand,  
But 'tis a hiss, and I'll unlace my coat,  
For I should sound sure if I heard that note,  
And then green Ginger for the green goose cries,  
Serves not the turn, I turned the white of eyes,  
The Rosa-solis yet that makes me live,  
Is favours that these Gentlemen may give,  
But if they be displeased, then pleased am I,  
To yield myself a hissing death to die,  
Yet I hope here's none consents to kill,  
But kindly take the favour of good will.  
If any thing be in the pen to blame,  
Then here stand I to blush the writer's shame.  
If this be bad, he promises a better.  
Trust him, and he will prove a right true debtor.  
FINIS.