THE shoemakers Holiday. OR The Gentle Craft.  
With the humorous life of Simon Eyre, shoemaker, and Lord Maior of London.  
As it was acted before the queen's most excellent Majesty on New years day at night last, by the right honourable the Earl of Nottingham, Lord high Admiral of England, his servants.  
 
Printed by Valentine Sims dwelling at the foot of Adling hill, near Bainard's Castle, at the sign of the White Swan, and are there to be sold. 1600.   

To all good Fellows, Professors of the Gentle Craft; of what degree soever.  
Kind Gentlemen, and honest boon Companions, I present you here with a merry conceited Comedy, called the shoemakers Holiday, acted by my Lord admirals Players this present Christmas, before the queen's most excellent Majesty. For the mirth and pleasant matter, by her Highness graciously accepted; being indeed no way offensive. The Argument of the play I will set down in this Epistle: Sir Hugh lacy Earl of Lincoln, had a young Gentleman of his own name, his near kinsman, that loved the Lord majors daughter of London; to prevent and cross which love, the Earl caused his kinsman to be sent colonel of a company into France: who resigned his place to another gentleman his friend, and came disguised like a Dutch Shoemaker, to the house of Simon Eyre in Tower street, who served the Maior and his household with shoes. The merriments that passed in Eyre's house, his coming to be Maior of London, Lacy's getting his love, and other accidents; with two merry Three-men's songs. Take all in good worth that is well intended, for nothing is purposed but mirth, mirth lengtheneth long life which, with all other blessings I heartily wish you.  
Farewell.   

The first threeman's Song.  

O the month of may, the merry month of may,  
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green:  
O and then did I, unto my true love say,  
Swate Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen.   

NOw the Nightingale, the pretty Nightingale,  
The sweetest singer in all the forests quire:  
entreats thee sweet peggy, to hear thy true loves tale,  
Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.   

But O I spy the Cuckoo, the Cuckoo, the Cuckoo,  
See where she sitteth, come away my joy:  
Come away I prithee, I do not like the Cuckoo  
Should sing where my peggy and I kiss and toy.   

O the month of may, the merry month of may,  
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green:  
And then did I, unto my true love say,  
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen.    

The Second threeman's Song.  This is to be sung at the latter end. 

COld's the wind, and wet's the rain,  
Saint Hugh be our good speed:  
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,  
Nor helps good hearts in need.   

troll the bowl, the jolly nutbrown bowl,  
And here kind mate to thee:  
Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,  
And down it merrily.   

Down a down, heigh down a down,  
heigh derie derie down a down,  
Close with the tenor boy:  
Ho well done, to me let come,  
King compass gentle joy.   

troll the bowl, the nutbrown bowl,  
And here kind etc. as often as there be men to drink.   

At last when all have drunk, this verse.  
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,  
Saint Hugh be our good speed:  
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,  
Nor helps good hearts in need.    

The Prologue as it was pronounced before the queen's Majesty.  
AS wretches in a storm (expecting day)  
With trembling hands and eyes cast up to heaven,  
Make Prayers the anchor of their conquered hopes,  
So we (dear Goddess) wonder of all eyes,  
Your meanest vassals (through mistrust and fear,  
To uncke into the bottom of disgrace,  
By our imperfect pastimes) prostrate thus  
On bended knees, our sails of hope do strike,  
Dreading the bitter storms of your dislike.  
Since then (unhappy men) our hap is such,  
That to ourselves ourselves no help can bring,  
But needs must perish, if your saintlike cares  
(Locking the temple where all mercy sits)  
Refuse the tribute of our begging tongues.  
Oh grant (bright mirror of true Chastity)  
From those life-breathing stars your sunlike eyes,  
One gracious smile: for your celestial breath  
Must send us life, or sentence us to death.   

A pleasant Comedy of the Gentle Craft.  Enter Lord Maior, Lincoln. Lincoln. 
MY Lord Maior, you have sundry times  
Feasted myself, and many Courtiers more,  
Seldom, or never can we be so kind,  
To make requital of your courtesy:  
But leaving this, I hear my cozen lacy  
Is much affected to your daughter Rose.  L. Maior. 
True my good Lord, and she loves him so well, That I mislike her boldness in the chase.  Lincol. 
Why my lord Maior, think you it then a shame, To join a lacy with an Oteley's name?  L. Maior. 
Too mean is my poor girl for his high birth,  
Poor Citizens must not with Courtiers wed,  
Who will in silks, and gay apparel spend  
More in one year, than I am worth by far,  
Therefore your honour need not doubt my girl.  Lincoln. 
Take heed my Lord, advise you what you do,  
A berier unthrift lives not in the world,  
Then is my cozen, for I'll tell you what,  
'tis now almost a year since he requested  
To travel countries for experience,  
I furnished him with coin, bills of exchange,  
Letters of credit, men to wait on him,  
Solicited my friends in italy  
Well to respect him: but to see the end:  
Scant had he journeyed through half germany,  
But all his coin was spent, his men cast off,  
His bills embezzled, and my jolly coz,  
Ashamed to show his bankrupt presence here,  
Became a Shoemaker in Wittenberg,  
A goodly science for a gentleman  
Of such descent: now judge the rest by this.  
Suppose your daughter have a thousand pound,  
He did consume me more in one half year,  
And make him heir to all the wealth you have,  
One twelvemonth's rioting will waste it all,  
Then seek (my Lord) some honest Citizen  
To wed your daughter to.  L. Maior. 
I thank your Lordship,  
Well fox, I understand your subtlety,  
As for your nephew, let your lordship's eye  
But watch his actions, and you need not fear,  
For I have my daughter far enough,  
And yet your cozen Rowland might do well  
Now he hath learned an occupation,  
And yet I scorn to call him son in law.  Lincoln. 
ay but I have a better trade for him,  
I thank his grace he hath appointed him,  
Chief colonel of all those companies  
Mustered in London, and the shires about,  
To serve his highness in those wars of France:  
See where he comes: Lovel what news with you?  Enter Lovell, lacy, and Askew. Louell. 
My Lord of Lincoln, 'tis his highness will,  
That presently your cozen ship for France  
With all his powers, he would not for a million,  
But they should land at Deep within four days.  Linc. 
Go certify his grace it shall be done: Exit Lovell.  
Now cozen lacy, in what forwardness  
Are all your companies?  lacy. 
All well prepared,  
The men of Hartfordshire lie at Mile end,  
Suffolk, and Essex, train in Tuttle fields,  
The Londoners, and those of Middlesex,  
All gallantly prepared in Finsbury,  
With frolic spirits, long for their parting hour.  L. Maior 
They have their impressed, coats, and furniture,  
And if it please your cozen lacy come  
To the Guild-Hall, he shall receive his pay,  
And twenty pounds besides my brethren  
Will freely give him, to approve our loves  
We bear unto my Lord your uncle here.  lacy. 
I thank your honour.  Lincoln. 
Thanks my good Lord Maior.  L. Ma. 
At the Guild Hal we will expect your coming, Exit.  Lincoln. 
To approve your loves to me? no subtlety  
Nephew: that twenty pound he doth bestow,  
For joy to rid you from his daughter Rose:  
But cousins both, now here are none but friends,  
I would not have you cast an amorous eye  
Upon so mean a project, as the love  
Of a gay wanton painted citizen,  
I know this churl, even in the height of scorn,  
Doth hate the mixture of his blood with thine,  
I pray thee do thou so, remember coz,  
What honourable fortunes wait on thee,  
Increase the king's love which so brightly shines,  
And gilds thy hopes, I have no heir but thee:  
And yet not thee, if with a wayward spirit,  
Thou start from the true bias of my love.  lacy. 
My Lord, I will (for honour (not desire  
Of land or livings) or to be your heir)  
So guide my actions in pursuit of France,  
As shall add glory to the Lacies name.  Lincoln. 
coz, for those words here's thirty Portuguese  
And Nephew Askew, there's a few for you,  
Fair Honour in her loftiest eminence  
Stays in France for you till you fetch her thence,  
Then Nephews, clap swift wings on your designs,  
Be gone, be gone, make haste to the Guild-Hall,  
There presently I'll meet you, do not stay,  
Where honour becomes, shame attends delay. Exit.  Askew. 
How gladly would your uncle have you gone?  lacy. 
True coz, but I'll o'erreach his policies,  
I have some serious business for three days,  
Which nothing but my presence can dispatch,  
You therefore cozen with the companies  
Shall haste to Dover, there I'll meet with you,  
Or if I stay past my prefixed time,  
Away for France, we'll meet in normandy,  
The twenty pounds my Lord Maior gives to me  
You shall receive, and these ten Portuguese,  
Part of mine uncles thirty, gentle coz,  
Have care to our great charge, I know your wisdom  
Hath tried itself in higher consequence.  Askew. 
coz, all myself am yours, yet have this care,  
To lodge in London with all secrecy,  
Our uncle Lincoln hath (besides his own)  
Many a jealous eye, that in your face  
stars only to watch means for your disgrace.  lacy. 
Stay cozen, who be these?  Enter Symon Eyre, his wife, Hodge, Firk, jane, & Rafe with a piece. Eyre. 
Leave whining, leave whining, away with this whimpering, this puling, these blubbering tears, and these wet eyes, I'll get thy husband discharged, I warrant thee sweet jane: go to.  Hodge. 
Master, here be the captains.  Eyre. 
Peace Hodge, hushed ye knave, hushed.  Firke 
Here be the cavaliers, and the coronels, master.  Eyre. 
Peace Firk, peace my fine Firk, stand by with your pishery-pashery, away, I am a man of the best presence, I'll speak to them and they were Popes, gentlemen, captains, colonels, commanders: brave men, brave leaders, may it please you to give me audience, I am Simon Eyre, the mad shoe-master of Towerstreet, this wench with the mealy mouth that will never tire, is my wife I can tell you, here's Hodge my man, and my foreman, here's Firk my fine firking journeyman, and this is blubbered jane, all we come to be suitors for this honest Rafe keep him at home, and as I am a true shoemaker, and a gentleman of the Gentle Craft, buy spurs yourself, and I'll find ye boots these seven years.  Wife. 
Seven years husband?  Eyre. 
Peace Midriff, peace, I know what I do, peace.  Firk. 
Truly master cormorant, you shall do God good service to let Rafe and his wife stay together, she's a young new married woman, if you take her husband away from her a night, you undo her, she may beg in the day time, for he's as good a workman at a prick & an awl, as any is in our trade.  jane. 
O let him stay, else I shall be undone.  Firke. 
I truly, she shall be laid at one side like a pair of old shoes else, and be occupied for no use.  lacy. 
Truly my friends, it lies not in my power,  
The Londoners are priest, paid, and set forth  
By the Lord Maior, I cannot change a man.  Hodge. 
Why then you were as good be a corporal, as a colonel, if you cannot discharge one good fellow, and I tell you true, I think you do more than you can answer, to presie a man within a year and a day of his marriage.  Eyre. 
Well said melancholy Hodge, gramercy my fine foreman.  Wife. 
Truly gentlemen, it were ill done, for such as you, to stand so stiffly against a poor young wife: considering her case, she is new married, but let that pass: I pray deal not roughly with her, her husband is a young man and but newly entered, but let that pass.  Eyre. 
Away with your pishery-pashery, your polls and your edipolls, peace Midaffe, silence Cisly Bumtrinket, let your head speak.  Firke. 
Yea and the horns too, master.  Eyre. 
Too soon, my fine Firk, too soon: peace scoundrels, see you this man? captains, you will not release him, well let him go, he's a proper shot, let him vanish, peace jane, dry up thy tears, they'll make his powder darkish, take him brave men, Hector of Troy was an hackney to him, Hercules and Termagant scoundrels, Prince Arthur's Round table, by the Lord of Ludgate, near fed such a tall, such a dapper swordman: by the life of Pharo, a brave resolute swordman, peace jane, I say no more, mad knaves.  Firk. 
See, see Hodge, how my master raves in commendation of Rafe.  Hodge. 
Raph, thart a gull by this hand, and thou goest.  Askew. 
I am glad (good master Air) it is my hap  
To meet so resolute a soldier.  
Trust me, for your report, and love to him,  
A common flight regard shall not respect him.  lacy. 
Is thy name Raph?  Raph. 
Yes sir.  lacy. 
Give me thy hand,  
Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman:  
Woman, be patient, God (no doubt) will send  
Thy husband safe again, but he must go,  
His country's quarrel says, it shall be so.  Hodge 
Thart a gull by my stirrup, if thou dost not go, I will not have thee strike thy gimlet into these weak vessels, prick thine enemies Rafe. Enter Dodger.  Dodger 
My lord, your uncle on the Tower hill,  
Stays with the lord Mayor, and the Aldermen,  
And doth request you with all speed you may  
To hasten thither. exit Dodger.  Askew 
cousin, let's go.  Lacy, 
Dodger run you before, tell them we come,  
This Dodger is mine uncles parasite,  
The arrantst varlet that e'er breathed on earth,  
He sets more discord in a noble house,  
By one days broaching of his pickthank falls,  
Then can be salved again in twenty years,  
And he (I fear) shall go with us to France,  
To pry into our actions.  Askew. 
Therefore coz,  
It shall behove you to be circumspect,  Lacy. 
Fear not good cozen: Raph, hie to your colours.  Raph. 
I must, because there's no remedy,  
But gentle master and my loving dame,  
As you have always been a friend to me,  
So in mine absence think upon my wife.  jane. 
Alas my Raph.  Wife. 
She cannot speak for weeping.  Eyre. 
Peace you cracked groats, you mustard tokens, disquiet not the brave soldier, go thy ways Raph.  jane. 
I ay, you bid him go, what shall I do when he is gone?  Firk. 
Why be doing with me, or my fellow Hodge, be not idle.  Eyre. 
Let me see thy hand jane, this fine hand, this white hand, these pretty fingers must spin, must card, must work, work you bombast cotton-candle-quean, work for your living with a pox to you: hold thee Raph, here's five sixpences for thee, fight for the honour of the Gentle Craft, for the gentlemen Shoemakers, the courageous Cordwainers, the flower of S. Martin's, the mad knaves of Bedlam, Fleetstreet, Towerstreet, and white Chapel, crack me the crowns of the French knaves, a poor on them, crack them, fight, by the lord of Ludgate, fight my fine boy.  Firke. 
Here Rafe, here's three two pences, two carry into France, the third shall wash our souls at parting (for sorrow is dry) for my sake, Firk the Basa mon cues.  Hodge. 
Raph, I am heavy at parting, but here's a shilling for thee, God send thee to cram thy slops with French crowns, and thy enemy's bellies with bullets.  Raph. 
I thank you master, and I thank you all:  
Now gentle wife, my loving lovely jane,  
Rich men at parting, give their wives rich gifts,  
Jewels and rings, to grace their lily hands,  
Thou know'st our trade makes rings for women's heels:  
Here take this pair of shoes cut out by Hodge,  
stitched by my fellow Firk, seamed by myself,  
Made up and pinked, with letters for thy name,  
Wear them my dear jane, for thy husband's sake,  
And every morning when thou pullest them on,  
Remember me, and pray for my return,  
Make much of them, for I have made them so,  
That I can know them from a thousand more.  Sound drum, enter Lord Maior, Lincoln, Lacy, Askew, Dodger, and soldiers, They pass over the stage, Rafe falls in amongst them, Firke and the rest cry farewell, etc. and so Exeunt. Enter Rose alone making a Garland. 
Here sit thou down upon this flowery bank,  
And make a garland for thy Lacy's head,  
These pinks, these roses, and these violets,  
These blushing gilly-flowers, these marigolds,  
The fair embroidery of his coronet,  
Carry not half such beauty in their cheeks,  
As the sweet countenance of my Lacy doth.  
O my most unkind father! O my stars!  
Why powered you so at my nativity,  
To make me love, yet live robbed of my love?  
Here as a thief am I imprisoned  
(For my dear Lacy's sake) within those walls,  
Which by my father's cost were builded up  
For better purposes: here must I languish  
For him that doth as much lament (I know) enter Sibil.  
Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.  Sibil 
Good morrow young Mistress, I am sure you make that garland for me, against I shall be Lady of the Harvest.  Rose 
Sibyl, what news at London?  Sibil 
None but good: my lord Mayor your father, and master Philpot your uncle, and master Scot your cousin, and mistress Frigbottom by Doctors Commons, do all (by my troth) send you most hearty commendations.  Rose 
Did Lacy send kind greetings to his love?  Sibil 
O yes, out of cry, by my troth, I scant knew him, here 'a wore scarf, and here a scarf, here a bunch of feathers, and here precious stones and jewels, and a pair of garters: O monstrous like one of our yellow silk curtains, at home here in Old-ford house, here in master Bellymount's chamber, I stood at our door in Cornhill, looked at him, he at me indeed, spoke to him, but he not to me, not a word, mary guy thought I with a wanion, he passed by me as proud, mary foh, are you grown humorous thought I? and so shut the door, and in I came.  Rose 
O Sibyl, how dost thou my Lacy wrong?  
My Rowland is as gentle as a lamb,  
No dove was ever half so mild as he.  Sibil 
Mild? yea, as a bushel of stamped crabs, he looked upon me as sour as verjuice: go thy ways thought I, thou mayst be much in my gaskins, but nothing in my netherstocks: this is your fault mistress, to love him that loves not you, he thinks scorn to do as he's done to, but if I were as you, I'd cry, go by jeronimo, go by, I'd set mine old debts against my new driblets, and the hare's foot against the goose giblets, for if ever I sigh when sleep I should take, pray God I may lose my maidenhead when I wake.  Rose 
Will my love leave me then and go to France?  Sibill 
I know not that, but I am sure I see him stalk before the soldiers, by my troth he is a proper man, but he is proper that proper doth, let him go snick-up young mistress.  Rose 
Get thee to London, and learn perfectly,  
Whether my Lacy go to France, or no:  
Do this, and I will give thee for thy pains,  
My cambric apron, and my romish gloves,  
My purple stockings, and a stomacher,  
Say, wilt thou do this Sibyl for my sake?  Sibil 
will I quoth 'a? at whose suit? by my troth yes, I'll go, a cambric apron, gloves, a pair of purple stockings, and a stomacher, I'll sweat in purple mistress for you, i'll take any thing that comes a God's name, O rich, a cambric apron; faith then have at up tails all, I'll go, jiggy, jeggy to London, and be here in a trice young mistress. Exit.  Rose. 
Do so good Sibyl, mean time wretched I  
Will sit and sigh for his lost company. Exit.  Enter Rowland Lacy like a Dutch Shoemaker. Lacy. 
How many shapes have gods and kings devised,  
Thereby to compass their desired loves?  
It is no shame for Rowland Lacy then,  
To clothe his cunning with the Gentle Craft,  
That thus disguised, I may unknown possess,  
The only happy presence of my Rose:  
For her have I forsook my charge in France,  
incurred the king's displeasure, and stirred up  
Rough hatred in mine uncle Lincoln's breast:  
O love, how powerful art thou, that canst change  
High birth to bareness, and a noble mind,  
To the mean semblance of a shoemaker?  
But thus it must be: for her cruel father,  
Hating the single union of our souls,  
Hath secretly conveyed my Rose from London,  
To bar me of her presence, but I trust  
Fortune and this disguise will further me  
Once more to view her beauty, gain her sight.  
Here in Towerstreet, with Air the shoemaker,  
Mean I a while to work, I know the trade,  
I learned it when I was in Wittenberg:  
Then cheer thy hoping sprites, be not dismayed,  
Thou canst not want, do fortune what she can,  
The Gentle Craft is living for a man. exit.  Enter Eyre making himself ready. Eyre. 
Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels, they wallow in the fat brewis of my bounty, and I lock up the crumbs of my table, yet will not rise to see my walks cleansed: come out you powder-beef-queens, what Nan, what Madge-mumble-crust, come out you fat Midriff-swag, belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels, that the noisome stench offend not the nose of my neighbours: what Firk I say, what Hodge? open my shop windows, what Firk I say. Enter Firke.  Firke. 
O master, be't you that speak bandog and bedlam this morning, I was in a dream, and mused what mad man was got into the street so early, have you drunk this morning that your throat is so clear?  Eyre. 
Ah well said Firk, well said Firk, to work my fine knave, to work, wash thy face, and thou t be more blessed.  Firke. 
Let them wash my face that will eat it, good master send for a souse wife, if you'll have my face cleaner.  enter Hodge. Eyre. 
Away sloven, avaunt scoundrel, good morrow Hodge, good morrow my fine foreman.  Hodge. 
O master, good morrow, you're an early stirrer, here's a fair morning, good morrow Firk, I could have slept this hour, here's a brave day towards.  Eyre. 
O haste to work my fine foreman, haste to work.  Firke. 
Master I am dry as dust, to hear my fellow Roger talk of fair weather, let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and plowboys, and those that work in the fields, pray for brave days, we work in a dry shop, what care I if it rain? enter Eyre's wife.  Eyre. 
How now dame Margery, can you see to rise? trip and go, call up the drabs your maids.  Wife. 
See to rise? I hope 'tis time enough, 'tis early enough for any woman to be seen abroad, I marvel how many wives in Towerstreet are up so soon? God's me, 'tis not noon, here's a yawling.  Eyre. 
Peace margery, peace, where's Cisty Bumtrinket your maid? she has a privy fault, she farts in her sleep, call the quean up, if my men want shooethréed, i'll swinge her in a stirrup.  Firke. 
Yet that's but a dry beating, here's still a sign of drought. enter Lacy singing.  Lacy. 
Der was e'en boar van Gelderland, Frolic ū byen,  
He was als drunk he cold nyet stand, upsolce se byen,  
Tap eens de canneken drink scheve mannekin.  Firke. 
Master, for my life yonder's a brother of the Gentle Craft, if he bear not saint Hugh's bones, I'll forfeit my bones, he's some uplandish workman, hire him good master, that I may learn some gibble-gabble, 'twill make us work the faster.  Eyre. 
Peace Firk, a hard world, let him pass, let him vanish, we have journeymen enough, peace my fine Firk.  Wife. 
Nay, nay, you're best follow your man's council, you shall see what will come on t: we have not men enough, but we must entertain every butterbox: but let that pass.  Hodge. 
Dame, fore God if my master follow your counsel, he'll consume little beef, he shall be glad of men and he can catch them.  Firke. 
I that he shall.  Hodge. 
Fore God a proper man, and I warrant a fine workman: master farewell, dame adieu, if such a man as he cannot find work, Hodge is not for you. offer to go.  Eyre. 
Stay my fine Hodge.  Firke. 
Faith, and your foreman go, dame you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman, if Roger remove, Firk follows, if S. Hugh's bones shall not be set a work, I may prick mine awl in the walls, and go play: fare ye well master, God buy dame.  Eyre. 
Carry my fine Hodge, my brisk foreman, stay Firk, peace pudding broth, by the lord of Ludgate I love my men as my life, peace you gallimaufry, Hodge if he want work I'll hire him, one of you to him, stay, he comes to us.  lacy. 
Eoeden dach meester, end v vro oak.  Firke. 
Nay is if I should speak after him without drinking, I should choke, and you friend Oak are you of the Gentle Craft?  lacy. 
Yaw yaw, Ik been den skomawker.  Firke. 
Den skomaker quoth 'a, and hark you skomaker, have you all your tools, a good rubbing pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your four sorts of awls and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand and thumb-leathers, and good S. Hugh's bones to smooth up your work.  lacy. 
Yaw yaw be niet vor veard, Ik hab all de dingen, voour mack shoes groot and clean.  Firke. 
Ha ha good master hire him, he'll make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth, than I can in earnest.  Eyre. 
I care ye friend, have ye any skill in the mystery of Cordwainers?  lacy. 
Ik wéet niet wat yow seg ich vestaw you niet.  Firke. 
Why thus man, Ich verste v niet quoth a.  lacy. 
Yaw, yaw, yaw, ick can dat well doen.  Firke. 
Yaw, yaw, he speaks yawing like a Jack daw, that gapes to be fed with cheese curds, O he'll give a villainous pull at a Can of double Beer, but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeyman.  Eyre. 
What is thy name?  Lacy. 
Hans, Hans, Meulter.  Eyre. 
Give me thy hand, th' art welcome, Hodge entertain him, Fyrk bid him welcome, come Hans, run wife, bid your maids, your Crullibubs, make ready my fine men's breakfasts: to him Hodge.  Hodge. 
Hans, thouart welcome, use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows, if not thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a Giant.  Fyrk. 
Yea and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua, my master keeps no cowards, I tell thee: he, boy, bring him an heel-block, here's a new journeyman.  Enter boy. Lacy. 
Oich wersto, you Ich moet een halve dozen Cans betaelen: here boy nempt dis skilling, tap eens fréelicke.  Exit boy. Eyre. 
Quick snipper-snapper, away Fyrk, scour thy throat, thou shalt wash it with Casulian liquor, come my last of the fives, give me a Can, have to Enter boy .thee Hans, here Hodge, here Fyrk, drink you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre the Shoemaker: here Hans, and thouart welcome.  Fyrk. 
Lo dame you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh, this beer came hopping in well.  Wife. 
Simon it is almost seven.  Eyre. 
Is't so dame clapper dudgeon, is't seven o'clock, and my men's breakfast not ready? trip and go yow soused cunger, away, come you mad Hyperboreans, follow me Hodge, follow me Hans, come after my fine Fyrk, to work, to work a while and then to breakfast. Exit.  Fyrk. 
Soft, yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have no more wit, but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman. exeunt.  Hollowing within. Enter Warner, and Hammon, like hunters. Hammon. 
cozen, beat every brake, the game's not far,  
This may with winged feet he fled from death,  
Whilst the pursuing hounds scenting his steps:  
Find out his high way to destruction,  
Besides, the miller's boy told me even now,  
He saw him take sail, and he hallowed him,  
Affirming him so embossed,  
That long he could not hold.  Warner. 
If it be so,  
'tis best we trace these meadows by old Ford.  A noise of hunters within, enter a boy. Hammon. 
How now boy, where's the dear? speak, sawst thou him?  Boy. 
O, yea I saw him scape through a hedge, and then over a ditch, then at my Lord Majors pale, over he skipped me and in he went me, and holla the hunters cried, and there boy there boy, but there he is a mine honesty.  Ham. 
Boy God a-mercy, cozen let's away,  
I hope we shall find better sport today. exeunt.  Hunting within, enter Rose, and Sibill. Rose. 
Why Sibyl wilt thou prove a forester?  Sibill. 
Upon some no, forester, go by: no faith mistress, the dear came running into the barn through the orchard, and over the pale, I wot well, I looked as pale as a new cheese to see him, but whip says goodman pin-close, up with his flail, and our nick with a prong, and down he fell, and they upon him, and I upon them, by my troth we had such sport, and in the end we ended him, his throat we cut, flayed him, unhorned him, and my lord Maior shall eat of him anon when he comes.  horns sound within. Rose. 
Hark hark, the hunters come, you're best take heed  
They'll have a saying to you for this deed.  Enter Hammon, Warner, huntsmen, and boy. Ham. 
God save you fair ladies.  Sibil. 
Ladies, O gross!  War. 
Came not a buck this way?  Rose. 
No, but two Does.  Ham. 
And which way went they? faith we'll hunt at those  Sibill. 
At those? upon some no: when, can you tell?  War. 
Upon some, I.  Sibill. 
Good Lord!  War. 
Wounds then farewell.  Ham. 
Boy, which way went he?  Boy. 
This way sir he ran.  Ham. 
This way he ran indeed, fair mistress Rose,  
Our game was lately in your orchard seen.  War. 
Can you advise which way he took his flight?  Sibil. 
Follow your nose, his horns will guide you right.  War. 
Thart a mad wench.  Sibill. 
O rich!  Rose. 
Trust me, not I,  
It is not like the wild forest dear,  
Would come so near to places of resort,  
You are deceived, he fled some other way.  War. 
Which way my sugar-candy, can you show?  Sibill. 
Come up good honeysops, upon some, no.  Rose. 
Why do you stay, and not pursue your game?  Sibill. 
I'll hold my life their hunting nags be lame.  Ham. 
A dear, more dear is found within this place.  Rose. 
But not the deer (sir) which you had in chase.  Ham. 
I chased the dear, but this deer chaseth me.  Rose. 
The strangest hunting that ever I see,  
But where's your park?  She offers to go away. Ham. 
'tis here: O stay.  Rose. 
empale me, and then I will not stray.  War 
They wrangle wench, we are more kind than they  Sibill. 
What kind of heart is that (dear heart) you seek?  War. 
A heart, dear heart.  Sibil. 
whoever saw the like?  Rose. 
To lose your heart, is't possible you can?  Ham. 
My heart is lost.  Rose. 
Alack good gentleman.  Ham. 
This poor lost heart would I with you might find.  Rose. 
You by such luck might prove your heart a hind.  Ham. 
Why Luck had horns, so have I heard some say.  Rose. 
Now God and't be his will send Luck into your way.  Enter L. Maior, and servants. L. Mai. 
What M. Hammon, welcome to old Ford.  Sibill. 
God's pittikins, hands off sir, here's my Lord.  L. Maior. 
I hear you had ill luck, and lost your game.  Hammon. 
'tis true my Lord.  L. Maior. 
I am sorry for the same.  
What gentleman is this?  Hammon. 
My brother in law.  L. Maior. 
youare welcome both, sith Fortune offers you  
Into my hands, you shall not part from hence,  
Until you have refreshed your wearied limbs:  
Go Sibyl cover the board, you shall be guest  
To no good cheer, but even a hunter's feast.  Hammon. 
I thank your Lordship: cozen, on my life  
For our lost venison, I shall find a wife. exeunt.  L. Maior. 
In gentlemen, I'll not be absent long.  
This Hammon is a proper gentleman,  
A citizen by birth, fairly allied,  
How fit an husband were he for my girl?  
Well, I will in, and do the best I can,  
To match my daughter to this gentléman. exit.  Enter lacy, Skipper, Hodge, and Firke. Skip. 
Ick shall yow what seggen Hans, dis skip dat comen from Candy is all will, by gets sacrament, van sugar, civet, almonds, cambric, end all dingen thousand thousand ding, nempt it Hans, nempt it voz v meester, daer be de bills van laden, your meester Simon Eyre shall hae good copen, wat seggen yow Hans?  Firk. 
Wat seggen de reggen de copen, slopen, laugh Hodge laugh.  lacy. 
Mine liever brother Firk, bringt meester Eyre lot den sign vn swannekin, daer shall yow find dis skipper end me, wat seggen yow brother Firk? do't it Hodge, come skipper. exeunt.  Firke. 
Bring him qd. you, here's no knavery, to bring me master to buy a ship, worth the lading of 2 or 3 hundred thousand pounds, alas that's nothing, a trifle, a babble Hodge.  Hod 
The truth is Firk, that the merchant owner of the ship dares not show his head, and therefore this skipper that deals for him, for the love he bears to Hans, offers my master Eyre a bargain in the commodities, he shall have a reasonable day of payment, he may sell the wares by that time, and be an huge gainer himself.  Firk. 
Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twenty porpentines as an earnest penny.  Hodge. 
portagues thou wouldst say, here they be Firke, hark, they jingle in my pocket like S. Mary Queries bells.  enter Eyre and his wife. Firke. 
Mum, here comes my dame and my master, she'll scold on my life, for loitering this Monday, but als one, let them all say what they can, Monday's our holiday.  Wife. 
You sing sir sauce, but I beshrew your heart,  
I fear for this your singing we shall smart.  Firke. 
Smart for me dame, why dame, why?  Hodg. 
Master I hope you'll not suffer my dame to take down your journeymen.  Firk. 
If she take me down, I'll take her up, yea and take her down too, a button, hole lower.  Eyre. 
Peace Firk, not I Hodge, by the life of Pharaoh, by the Lord of Ludgate, by this beard, every hair whereof I value at a king's ransom, she shall not meddle with you, peace you bombast-cotton-candle Quean, away queen of Clubs, quarrel not with me and my men, with me and my fine Firk, I'll firk you if you do.  Wife. 
Yea, yea man, you may use me as you please: but let that pass.  Eyre. 
Let it pass, let it vanish away: peace, am I not Simon Eyre? are not these my brave men? brave shoemakers, all gentlemen of the gentle craft? prince am I none, yet am I nobly borne, as being the sole son of a Shoemaker, away rubbish, vanish, melt, melt like kitchen stuff.  Wife. 
Yea, yea, 'tis well, I must be called rubbish, kitchen stuff, for a sort of knaves.  Firke. 
Nay dame, you shall not weep and wail in woe for me: master I'll stay no longer, here's a inventory of my shop tools: adieu master, Hodge farewell.  Hodge. 
Nay stay Firk, thou shalt not go alone.  Wife. 
I pray let them go, there be more maids than malkin, more men than Hodge, and more fools than Firk.  Firke. 
fools? nails if I tarry now, I would my guts might be turned to shoe-thread.  Hodge. 
And if I stay, I pray God I may be turned to a Turk, and set in Finsbury for boys to shoot at: come Firk.  Eyre. 
Stay my fine knaves, you arms of my trade, you pillars of my profession. What, shall a tittle tattles words make you forsake Simon Eyre? avaunt kitchenstuff, rip you brown bread tannakin, out of my sight, move me not, have not I ta'en you from selling tripes in Eastcheap, and set you in my shop, and made you hail fellow with Simon Eyre the shoemaker? and now do you deal thus with my journeymen? Look you powder beef quean on the face of Hodge, here's a face for a Lord.  Firke. 
And here's a face for any Lady in Christendom.  Eyre. 
Rip you chitterling, avaunt boy, bid the tapster of the boar's head fill me a dozen cans of beer for my journeymen.  Firke. 
A dozen Cans? O brave, Hodge now I'll stay.  Eyre. 
And the knave fills any more than two, he pays for them: a dozen Cans of beer for my journeymen, hear you mad Mesopotamians, wash your livers with this liquor, where be the odd ten? no more Madge, no more, well said, drink & to work: what work dost thou Hodge? what work?  Hodge. 
I am a making a pair of shoes for my Lord majors daughter, mistress Rose.  Firke. 
And I a pair of shoes for Sibyl my Lord's maid, I deal with her.  Eyre. 
Sibyl? fie, defile not thy fine workmanly fingers with the feet of kitchenstuff, and basting ladies, Ladies of the Court, fine Ladies, my lads, commit their feet to our appareling, put gross work to Hans; yerk and seam, yerk and seam.  Fyrk. 
For yarking & seeming let me alone, & I come to't.  Hodge. 
Well master, all this is from the bias, do you remember the ship my fellow Hans told you of, the Skipper and he are both drinking at the swan? here be the Portuguese to give earnest, if you go through with it, you can not choose but be a Lord at least.  Firke. 
Nay dame, if my master prove not a Lord, and you a Lady, hang me.  Wife. 
Yea like enough, if you may loiter and tipple thus.  Firke. 
Tipple dame? no, we have been bargaining with Skellum Skanderbag: can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of silk Cypress, laden with sugar candy.  Enter the boy with a velvet coat, and an Alderman's gown. Air puts it on. Eire. 
Peace Firk, silence tittle tattle: Hodge, I'll go through with it, here's a seal ring, and I have sent for a guarded gown, and a damask cassock, see where it comes, look here Maggy, help me Firk, apparreline Hodge, silk and satin you mad Philistines, silk and satin.  Firk. 
Ha, ha, my master will be as proud as a dog in a doublet, all in beaten damask and velvet.  Eyre. 
Softly Firk, for rearing of the nap, and wearing threadbare my garments: how dost thou like me Firk? how do I look, my fine Hodge?  Hodge. 
Why now you look like your selfmaster, I warrant you, there's few in the city, but will give you the wall, and come upon you with the right worshipful.  Firke. 
Nails my master looks like a threadbare cloak new turned, and dressed: Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment both? dame, dame, are you not enamoured?  Eyre. 
How sayst thou Maggy, am I not brisk? am I not fine?  Wife. 
Fine? by my troth sweet heart very fine: by my troth I never liked thee so well in my life sweet heart. But let that pass, I warrant there be many women in the city have not such handsome husbands, but only for their apparel, but let that pass too. Enter Hans and Skipper.  Hans. 
God-den day mester, dis be de skipper dat heb de skip van ambergris de commodity been good, nempt it master, nempt it.  air. 
Godamercy Hans, welcome skipper, where lies this ship of ambergris?  Skip. 
De skip been in rovere: dor be van Sugar, Civet, Almonds, cambric, and a thousand thousand tings, God's sacrament, nempt it mester, yo shall heb good copen.  Firk. 
To him master, O sweet master, O sweet wares, prunes, almons, sugar-candy, carrat roots, turnips, O brave fatting meat, let not a man buy a nutmeg but yourself.  Eyre. 
Peace Firk, come Skipper, I'll go abroad with you, Hans have you made him drink?  Skip. 
Yaw, yaw, it heb veal ge drunk.  Eyre. 
Come Hans follow me: Skipper, thou shalt have my countenance in the City. Exeunt.  Firke. 
Yaw heb veal ge drunk, quoth 'a: they may well be called butter-boxes, when they drink fat veal, and thick bear too: but come dame, I hope you'll chide us no more.  Wife. 
No faith Firk, no pardie Hodge, I do feel honour creep upon me, and which is more, a certain rising in my flesh, but let that pass.  Firke. 
Rising in your flesh do you feel say you? I you may be with child, but why should not my master feel a rising in his flesh, having a gown and a gold ring on, but you are such a shrew, you'll soon pull him down.  Wi. 
Ha, ha, prithee peace, thou mak'st my worship laugh, but let that pass: come I'll go in Hodge, prithee go before me, Firk follow me.  Fi. 
Firk doth follow, Hodge pass out in state. Exeunt.  Enter Lincoln and Dodger. Li. 
How now good Dodger, what's the news in France?  Dodger. 
My Lord, upon the eighteen day of May,  
The French and English were prepared to fight,  
Each side with eager fury gave the sign  
Of a most hot encounter, five long hours  
Both armies fought together: at the length,  
The lot of victory fell on our sides,  
twelve thousand of the Frenchmen that day died,  
four thousand English, and no man of name,  
But Captain Hyam, and young Ardington,  
Two gallant Gentlemen, I knew them well.  Lin. 
But Dodger, prithee tell me in this fight,  
How did my cousin lacy bear himself?  Dodger. 
My Lord, your cozen lacy was not there.  Linc. 
Not there? Dog. No, my good Lord.  Lin. 
Sure thou mistakest,  
I saw him shipped, and a thousand eyes beside  
Were witnesses of the farewells which he gave,  
When I with weeping eyes bid him adieu:  
Dodger take heed.  Dodger. 
My Lord I am advised,  
That what I spoke is true: to prove it so,  
His cozen Askew that supplied his place,  
Sent me for him from France, that secretly  
He might convey himself hither.  Lin. 
be't even so.  
Dares he so carelessly venture his life,  
Upon the indignation of a King?  
Hath he despised my love, and spurned those favours,  
Which I with prodigal hand poured on his head?  
He shall repent his rashness with his soul,  
Since of my love he makes no estimate,  
I'll make him wish he had not known my hate,  
Thou hast no other news?  Dodger. 
None else, my Lord.  Lin. 
None worse I know thou hast: procure the king  
To crown his giddy brows with ample honours,  
Send him chief Colonel, and all my hope  
Thus to be dashed? but 'tis in vain to grieve,  
One evil cannot a worse relieve:  
Upon my life I have found out his plot,  
That old dog Love that fawned upon him so,  
Love to that puling girl, his fair cheeked Rose,  
The Lord majors daughter hath distracted him,  
And in the fire of that loves lunacy,  
Hath he burnt up himself, consumed his credit,  
Lost the king's love, yea and I fear, his life,  
Only to get a wanton to his wife:  
Dodger, it is so.  Dodger. 
I fear so, my good Lord.  Lincoln. 
It is so, nay sure it cannot be,  
I am at my wit's end Dodger.  Dodger. 
Yea my Lord.  Lin. 
Thou art acquainted with my nephews haunts,  
Spend this gold for thy pains, go seek him out,  
Watch at my Lord Majors (there if he live)  
Dodger, thou shalt be sure to meet with him:  
Prithee be diligent. lacy thy name  
Lived once in honour, now dead in shame:  
Be circumspect. exit.  Dodger. 
I warrant you my Lord. exit.  Enter Lord Maior, and master Scotte. L. Ma. 
Good master Scot, I have been bold with you,  
To be a witness to a wedding knot,  
Betwixt young master Hammon and my daughter,  
O stand aside, see where the lovers come.  Enter Hammon, and Rose. Rose 
Can it be possible you love me so?  
No, no, within those eyeballs I espy,  
Apparent likelihoods of flattery,  
Pray now let go my hand.  Hammon. 
Sweet mistress Rose,  
Misconstrue not my words, nor misconceive  
Of my affection, whose devoted soul  
Swears that I love thee dearer than my heart.  Rose. 
As dear as your own heart? I judge it right.  
Men love their hearts best when theyare out of sight.  Hamond. 
I love you, by this hand.  Rose. 
Yet hands off now:  
If flesh be frail, how weak and frail's your vow?  Hamond. 
Then by my life I swear.  Rose. 
Then do not brawl,  
One quarrel loseth wife and life and all,  
Is not your meaning thus?  Hamond. 
In faith you jest.  Rose. 
Love loves to sport, therefore leave love you're best.  L. Mai. 
What? square they master Scot?  Scot. 
Sir, never doubt,  
Lovers are quickly in, and quickly out.  Ham. 
Sweet Rose, be not so strange in fancying me,  
Nay never turn aside, shun not my sight,  
I am not grown so fond, to fond my love  
On any that shall quit it with disdain,  
If you will love me, so, if not, farewell.  L. Ma. 
Why how now lovers, are you both agreed?  Ham. 
Yes faith my Lord.  L. Maior. 
'tis well, give me your hand, give me yours daughter.  
How now, both pull back, what means this, girl?  Rose. 
I mean to live a maid.  Ham. 
But not to die one, pause ere that be said. aside.  L. Mai. 
will you still cross me? still be obstinate?  Hamond. 
Nay chide her not my Lord for doing well,  
If she can live an happy virgin's life,  
'tis far more blessed than to be a wife.  Rose. 
Say sir I cannot, I have made a vow,  
whoever be my husband, 'tis not you.  L. Mai. 
Your tongue is quick, but M. Hamond know,  
I bade you welcome to another end.  Ham. 
What, would you have me pule, & pine, and pray,  
With lovely lady mistress of my heart,  
Pardon your servant, and the rhymer play,  
Railing on Cupid, and his tyrant's dart,  
Or that I undertake some martial spoil,  
Wearing your glove at tourney, and at tilt,  
And tell how many gallants I unhorsed,  
Sweet, will this pleasure you?  Rose. 
Yea, when wilt begin?  
What love-rhymes man? fie on that deadly sin.  L. Maior. 
If you will have her, I'll make her agree.  Ham. 
Enforced love is worse than hate to me,  
There is a wench keeps shop in the old change,  
To her will I, it is not wealth I seek,  
I have enough, and will prefer her love  
Before the world: my good lord Maior adieu,  
Old love for me, I have no luck with new.  Exit. L. Ma. 
Now mammet you have well behaved yourself,  
But you shall curse your coins if I live,  
whose's within there? see you convey your mistress  
Straight to th'old ford, I'll keep you straight enough,  
'fore God I would have sworn the puling girl,  
Would willingly accepted Hamon's love,  
But banish him my thoughts, go minion in, exit Rose.  
Now tell me master Scot would you have thought,  
That master Simon Eyre the shoemaker,  
Had been of wealth to buy such merchandise?  Scot. 
'twas well my Lord, your honour, and myself,  
Grew partners with him for your bills of lading,  
Show that Eyre's gains in one commodity,  
Rise at the least to full three thousand pound,  
Besides like gain in other merchandise.  L. Maior. 
Well he shall spend some of his thousands now  
For I have sent for him to the Guild Hal, enter Eyre.  
See where he comes: good morrow master Eyre.  Eyre. 
Poor Simon Eyre, my Lord, your shoemaker.  L. Maior. 
Well well, it likes yourself to term you so,  
Now M. Dodger, what's the news with you?  Enter Dodger. Dodger. 
I'd gladly speak in private to your honour.  L. Maior. 
You shall, you shall: master Eyre, and M. Scot,  
I have some business with this gentleman,  
I pray let me entreat you to walk before  
To the Guild Hal, I'll follow presently,  
Master Eyre, I hope ere noon to call you Sheriff.  Eyre 
I would not care (my Lord) if you might call me king of Spain, come master Scot.  L. Maior. 
Now master Dodger, what's the news you bring?  Dod. 
The Earl of Lincoln by me greets your lordship  
And earnestly requests you (if you can)  
Inform him where his Nephew lacy keeps.  L. Maior. 
Is not his Nephew lacy now in France?  Dodger. 
No I assure your lordship, but disguised Lurks here in London.  L. Maior. 
London? be't even so?  
It may be, but upon my faith and soul,  
I know not where he lives, or whether he lives,  
So tell my Lord of Lincoln, lurch in London?  
Well master Dodger, you perhaps may start him,  
Be but the means to ris him into France,  
I'll give you a dozen angels for your pains,  
So much I love his honour, hate his Nephew,  
And prithee so inform thy lord from me.  Dodger. 
I take my leave. exit. Dodger.  L. Maior. 
Farewell good master Dodger.  
lacy in London? I dare pawn my life,  
My daughter knows thereof, and for that cause,  
Denied young M. Hammon in his love,  
Well I am glad I sent her to old ford,  
God's lord 'tis late, to Guild-Hall I must hie,  
I know my brethren stay my company. exit.  Enter Firke, Eyre's wife, Hans, and Roger. Wife. 
Thou goest too fast for me Roger.  Firke. 
I forsooth.  Wife. 
I pray thee run (do you hear) run to Guild-Hall, and learn if my husband master Eyre will take that worshipful vocation of M. Sheriff upon him, hie thee good Firke.  Firke. 
Take it? well I go, and he should not take it, Firk swears to forswear him, yes forsooth I go to Guild-Hall.  Wife. 
Nay when? thou art too compendious, and tedious.  Firke. 
O rare, your excellence is full of eloquence, how like a new cart wheel my dame speaks, and she looks like an old musty ale-bottle going to scalding.  Wife. 
Nay when? thou wilt make me melancholy.  Firke. 
God forbid your worship should fall into that humour, I run. exit.  Wife. 
Let me see now Roger and Hans.  H. 
I forsooth dame (mistress I should say) but the old term so sticks to the roof of my mouth, I can hardly lick it off.  Wife. 
even what thou wilt good Roger, dame is a fair name for any honest christian, but let that pass, how dost thou Hans?  Hans. 
Me tanck you uro.  Wife. 
Well Hans and Roger you see God hath blessed your master, and perdie if ever he comes to be M. Sheriff of London (as we are all mortal) you shall see I will have some odd thing or other in a corner for you: I will not be your back friend, but let that pass, Hans pray thee tie my shoe.  Hans. 
Yaw it shall vro.  Wife 
Roger, thou know'st the length of my foot, as it is none of the biggest, so I thank God it is handsome enough, prithee let me have a pair of shoes made, cork good Roger, wooden heel too.  Hodge. 
You shall.  Wife. 
Art thou acquainted with never a farthingale-maker, nor a French-hood maker, I must enlarge my bumine, ha ha, how shall I look in a hood I wonder? perdie oddly I think.  Roger. 
As a cat out of a pillory, very well I warrant you mistress.  Wife. 
Indeed all flesh is grass, and Roger, canst thou tell where I may buy a good hair?  Roger. 
Yes forsooth, at the poulterers in Gracious street.  Wi. 
Thou art an ungracious wag, pardie, I mean a false hair for my periwig.  Roger. 
Why mistress, the next time I cut my beard, you shall have the shavings of it, but they are all true hairs.  Wi. 
It is very hot, I must get me a fan or else a mask.  Rog. 
So you had need, to hide your wicked face.  Wi. 
Fie upon it, how costly this world's calling is, pardie, but that it is one of the wonderful works of God, I would not deal with it: is not Firk come yet? Hans be not so sad, let it pass and vanish, as my husband's worship says.  Hans. 
Ick been vrolicke, lot see yow so.  Roger. 
Mistress, will you drink a pipe of Tobacco?  Wife. 
O fie upon it Roger, pardie, these filthy Tobacco pipes are the most idle slavering babbles that ever I felt: out upon it, God bless us, men look not like men that use them.  Enter Rafe being lame. Roger. 
What fellow Rafe? Mistress look here, jane's husband, why how, lame? Hans make much of him, he's a brother of our trade, a good workman, and a tall soldier.  Hans. 
You be welcome brother.  Wife. 
perdie I knew him not, how dost thou good Rafe? I am glad to see thee well.  Rafe. 
I would God you saw me dame as well,  
As when I went from London into France.  Wife. 
Trust me I am sorry Rafe to see thee impotent, Lord how the wars have made him Sunburnt: the left leg is net well it was a fair gift of God the infirmity took not hold a little higher, considering thou camest from France: but let that pass.  Rafe. 
I am glad to see you well, and I rejoice  
To hear that God hath blessed my master so  
Since my departure.  Wife. 
Yea truly Rafe, I thank my maker: but let that pass.  Rog. 
And sirrah Rafe, what news, what news in France?  Rafe. 
Tell me good Roger first, what news in England?  
Haw does my jane? when didst thou see my wife?  
Where lives my poor heart? she'll be poor indeed  
Now I want limbs to get whereon to feed.  Roger. 
Limbs? hast thou not hands man? thou shalt never see a shoemaker want bread, though he have but three fingers on a hand.  Rafe. 
Yet all this while I hear not of my jane.  Wife. 
O Rafe your wife, perdie we know not what's become of her: she was here a while, and because she was married grew more stately than became her, I checked her, and so forth, away she flung, never returned, nor said bih nor bah: and Rafe you know ka me, ka thee. And so as I tell ye. Roger is not Firk come yet?  Roger. 
No forsooth.  Wife. 
And so indeed we heard not of her, but I hear she lives in London: but let that pass. If she had wanted, she might have opened her case to me or my husband, or to any of my men, I am sure there's not any of them perdie, but would have done her good to his power. Hans look if Firk be come.  Exit Hans. Hans. 
Yaw it shall vro.  Wife. 
And so as I said: but Rafe, why dost thou weep? thou knowest that naked we came out of our mother's womb, and naked we must return, and therefore thank God for all things.  Roger. 
No faith jane is a stranger here, but Rafe pull up a good heart, I know thou hast one, thy wife man, is in London, one told me he saw her a while ago very brave and neat, we'll ferret her out, and London hold her.  Wife. 
Alas, poor soul, he's overcome with sorrow, he does but as I do, weep for the loss of any good thing: but Rafe, get thee in, call for some meat and drink, thou shalt find me worshipful towards thee.  Rafe. 
I thank you dame, since I want limbs and lands,  
I'll to God, my good friends, and to these my hands.  exit. Enter Hans, and Firke running. Fyrke. 
Run good Hans, O Hodge, O mistress, Hodge. heave up thine ears, mistress smug up your looks, on with your best apparel, my master is chosen, my master is called nay condemned by the cry of the country to be sheriff of the City, for this famous year now to come: and time now being, a great many men in black gowns were asked for their voices, and their hands, and my master had all their fists about his ears presently, and they cried I, ay, ay, ay, and so I came away, wherefore without all other grieve, I do salute you mistress shrieve.  Hans. 
Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieve.  Roger. 
Did not I tell you mistress? now I may boldly say, good morrow to your worship.  Wife. 
Good morrow good Roger, I thank you my good people all. Firk, hold up thy hand, here's a threepenny piece for thy tidings.  Fyrk. 
'tis but three half pence, I think: yes, 'tis three pence, I smell the Rose.  Roger. 
But mistress, be ruled by me, and do not speak so pulingly.  Firke. 
'tis her worship speaks so, and not she, no faith mistress, speak me in the old key, too it Firk, there good Firke, ply your business Hodge, Hodge, with a full mouth: I'll fill your bellies with good cheer till they cry twang.  Enter Simon Eire wearing a gold chain. Hans. 
See mine liever brother, here count my meester.  Wife. 
Welcome home master shrieve, I pray God continue you in health and wealth.  Eyre. 
See here my Maggy, a chain, a gold chain for Simon Eyre, I shall make thee a Lady, here's a French hood for thee, on with it, on with it, dress thy brows with this flap of a shoulder of mutton, to make thee look lovely: where be my fine men? Roger, I'll make over my shop and tools to thee: Firk, thou shalt be the foreman: Hans, thou shalt have an hundred for twenty, be as mad knaves as your master Sim Eyre hath been, & you shall live to be Sheriffs of London: how dost thou like me margery? Prince am I none, yet am I princely borne, Firk, Hodge, and Hans.  all 3. 
I forsooth, what says your worship mistress Sheriff?  Eyre. 
Worship and honour you babylonian knaves, for the Gentle Craft: but I forgot myself, I am bidden by my Lord Maior to dinner to old Foord, he's gone before, I must after: come Hodge, on with your trinkets: now my true Troians, my fine Firk, my dapper Hodge, my honest Hans, some device, some odd crotchets, some morris, or such like, for the honour of the gentle shoemakers, meet me at old Foord, you know my mind: come Madge, away shut up the shop knaves, and make holiday. exeunt.  Firke. 
O rare, O brave, come Hodge, follow me Hans,  
we'll be with them for a morris dance. exeunt.  Enter Lord Maior, Eyre, his wife, Sibill in a French hood, and other servants. L. Maior. 
Trust me you are as welcome to old Foord, as I myself.  Wife. 
Truly I thank your Lordship.  L. Ma. 
Would our bad cheer were worth the thanks you give.  Eyre. 
Good cheer my Lord Maior, fine cheer, a fine house, fine walls, all fine and neat.  L. Maior. 
Now by my troth I'll tell thee master Eyre,  
It does me good and all my brethren,  
That such a madcap fellow as thyself  
Is entered into our society.  Wife. 
ay but my Lord, he must learn now to put on gravity.  Eyre. 
Peace Maggy, a fig for gravity, when I go to Guildhall in my scarlet gown, I'll look as demurely as a saint, and speak as gravely as a Justice of peace, but now I am here at old Foord, at my good Lord majors house, let it go by, vanish Maggy, I'll be merry, away with flip flap, these fooleries, these gulleries: what honey? prince am I none, yet am I princely borne: what says my Lord Maior?  L. Maior. 
Ha, ha, ha, I had rather than a thousand pound,  
I had an heart but half so light as yours.  Eyre. 
Why what should I do my Lord? a pound of care pays not a dram of debt: hum, let's be merry whiles we are young, old age, sack and sugar will steal upon us ere we be aware.  L. Ma. 
It's well done mistress Eyre, pray give good counsel to my daughter.  Wife. 
I hope mistress Rose will have the grace to take nothing that's bad.  L. Ma. 
Pray God she do, for i'faith mistress Eyre,  
I would bestow upon that peevish girl  
A thousand Marks more than I mean to give her,  
Upon condition she'd be ruled by me,  
The Ape still crosseth me: there came of late,  
A proper Gentleman of fair revenues,  
Whom gladly I would call son in law:  
But my fine cockney would have none of him.  
You'll prove a coxcomb for it ere you die,  
A courtier, or no man must please your eye.  Eyre. 
Be ruled sweet Rose, thouart ripe for a man: marry not with a boy, that has no more hair on his face than thou hast on thy cheeks: a courtier, wash, go by, stand not upon pishery-pashery: those silken fellows are but painted Images, outsides, outsides Rose, their inner linings are torn: no my fine mouse, marry me with a Gentleman Grocer like my Lord Maior your Father, a Grocer is a sweet trade, Plums, Plums: had I a son or Daughter should marry out of the generation and blood of the shoemakers, he should pack: what, the Gentle trade is a living for a man through Europe, through the world.  Anoyse within of a Taber and a Pipe. Maior. 
What noise is this?  Eyre. 
O my Lord Maior, a true of good fellows that for love to your honour, are come hither with a Morris-dance, come in my Mesopotamians cheerly.  Enter Hodge, Hans, Raph, Firke, and other shoemakers in a morris: after a little dancing the Lord Maior Speaks. Maior. 
Master Eyre, are all these shoemakers?  Eyre. 
All Cordwainers my good Lord Maior.  Rose. 
How like my lacy looks yond shoemaker.  Haunce. 
O that I durst but speak unto my love!  Maior. 
Sibyl, go fetch some wine to make these drink,  
You are all welcome.  Alderman. 
We thank your Lordship.  Rose takes a cup of wine and goes to Haunce. Rose. 
For his sake whose fair shape thou represent'st, Good friend I drink to thee.  Hans. 
It be dank good frister.  Eyre's Wife. 
I see mistress Rose you do not want judgement, you have drunk to the properest man I keep.  Firke. 
Here be some have done their parts to be as proper as he.  Maior. 
Well, urgent business calls me back to London:  
Good fellows, first go in and taste our cheer,  
And to make merry as you homeward go,  
Spend these two angels in beer at Stratford Boe.  Eyre. 
To these two (my mad lads) Sim Eyre adds another, then cheerly Firk, tickle it Haunce, and all for the honour of shoemakers.  All go dancing out. M. 
Come master Eyre, let's have your company. exeunt.  Rose. 
Sibyl What shall I do?  Sibill. 
Why what's the matter?  Rose. 
That Haunce the shoemaker is my love lacy,  
Disguised in that attire to find me out,  
How should I find the means to speak with him?  Sibill. 
What mistress, never fear, I dare venture my maidenhead to nothing, and that's great odds, that Haunce the Dutchman when we come to London, shall not only see and speak with you, but in spite of all your Father's policies, steal you away and marry you, will not this please you?  Rose. 
Do this, and ever be assured of my love.  Sibil. 
Away then and follow your father to London, left  
your absence cause him to suspect something:  
Tomorrow if my counsel be obeyed,  
I'll bind you prentice to the gentle trade.  Enter jane in a sempster's shop working, and Hamond muffled at another door, he stands aloof. Hamond. 
Yonder's the shop, and there my fair love sits,  
she's fair and lovely, but she is not mine,  
O would she were, thrice have I courted her,  
Thrice hath my hand been moistened with her hand,  
Whilst my poor famished eyes do feed on that  
Which made them famish: I am infortunate,  
I still love one, yet nobody loves me,  
I muse in other men what women see,  
That I so want? fine mistress Rose was coy,  
And this too curious, oh no, she is chaste,  
And for the thinks me wanton, she denies  
To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes:  
How prettily she works, oh pretty hand!  
Oh happy work, it doth me good to stand  
unseen to see her, thus I oft have stood,  
In frosty evenings, a light burning by her,  
Enduring biting cold, only to eye her,  
One only look hath seemed as rich to me  
As a king's crown, such is loves lunacy:  
Muffled I'll pass along, and by that try  
Whether she know me.  jane. 
Sir, what be't you buy?  
What be't you lack sir? calico, or lawn,  
Fine cambric shirts, or bands, what will you buy?  Ham. 
That which thou wilt not sell, faith yet I'll try:  
How do you sell this handkercher?  jane. 
Good cheap.  Ham. 
And how these ruffs?  jane. 
Cheap too.  Ham. 
And how this band?  jane. 
Cheap too.  Ham. 
All cheap, how sell you then this hand?  jane. 
My hands are not to be sold.  Ham. 
To be given then: nay faith I come to buy.  jane. 
But none knows when.  Ham. 
Good sweet, leave work a little while, let's play.  jane. 
I cannot live by keeping holiday.  Ham. 
I'll pay you for the time which shall be lost.  jane. 
With me you shall not be at so much cost.  Ham. 
Look how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.  jane. 
It may be so.  Ham. 
'tis so.  jane. 
What remedy?  Ham. 
Nay faith you are too coy.  jane. 
Let go my hand.  Ham. 
I will do any task of your command,  
I would let go this beauty, were I not  
In mind to disobey you by a power  
That controls kings: I love you.  jane. 
So, now part.  Ham. 
With hands I may, but never with my heart,  
In faith I love you.  jane. 
I believe you do.  Ham. 
Shall a true love in me breed hate in you?  jane. 
I hate you not.  Ham. 
Then you must love.  jane. 
I do, what are you better now? I love not you,  Ham. 
All this I hope is but a woman's fray,  
That means, come to me, when she cries, away:  
In earnest mistress I do not jest,  
A true chaste love hath entered in my breast,  
In love you dearly as I love my life,  
I love you as a husband loves a wife.  
That, and no other love my love requires,  
Thy wealth I know is little, my desires  
Thirst not for gold, sweet beauteous jane what's mine,  
Shall (if thou make myself thine) all be thine,  
Say, judge, what is thy sentence, life or death?  
Mercy or cruelty lies in thy breath.  jane. 
Good sir, I do believe you love me well:  
For 'tis a seely conquest, seely pride,  
For one like you (I mean a gentleman)  
To boast, that by his love tricks he hath brought,  
Such and such women to his amorous lure:  
I think you do not so, yet many do,  
And make it even a very trade to woo,  
I could be coy, as many women be,  
Feed you with sunshine smiles, and wanton looks,  
But I detest witchcraft, say that I  
Do constantly believe you, constant have.  Ham. 
Why dost thou not believe me?  jane. 
I believe you,  
But yet good sir, because I will not grieve you,  
With hopes to taste fruit, which will never fall,  
In simple truth this is the sum of all  
My husband lives, at least I hope he lives,  
priest was he to these bitter wars in France,  
Bitter they are to me by wanting him,  
I have but one heart, and that hearts his due,  
How can I then bestow the same on you?  
Whilst he lives, his I live, be it near so poor,  
And rather be his wife, than a king's whore.  Ham. 
Chaste and dear woman, I will not abuse thee,  
Although it cost my life, if thou refuse me,  
Thy husband priest for France, what was his name?  jane. 
Rafe Damport.  Ham. 
Damport, here's a letter sent  
From France to me, from a dear friend of mine,  
A gentleman of place, here he doth write,  
Their names that have been slain in every fight.  jane. 
I hope death's scroll contains not my loves name  Ham. 
Cannot you read?  jane. 
I can.  Ham. 
Beruse the same,  
To my remembrance such a name I read  
Amongst the rest: see here.  jane. 
ay me, he's dead:  
he's dead, if this be true my dear hearts slain.  Ham. 
Have patience, dear love.  jane. 
Hence, hence.  Ham. 
Nay sweet jane,  
Make not poor sorrow proud with these rich tears,  
I mourn thy husband's death because thou mournest.  jane. 
That bill is forged; 'tis signed by forgery.  Ham. 
I'll bring thee letters sent beside to many  
Carrying the like report: jane 'tis too true,  
Come, weep not: mourning though it rise from love  
Helps not the mourned, yet hurts them that mourn.  jane. 
For God's sake leave me.  Ham. 
Whither dost thou turn?  
Forget the deed, love them that are alive,  
His love is faded, try how mine will thrive.  jane. 
'tis now no time for me to think on love,  Ham. 
'tis now best time for you to think on love, because your love lives not.  jane. 
Though he be dead, my love to him shall not be buried:  
For God's sake leave me to myself alone.  Ham. 
I would kill my soul to leave thee drowned in moan:  
Answer me to my suit, and I am gone,  
Say to me, yea, or no.  jane. 
No.  Ham. 
Then farewell, one farewell will not serve, I come again, come dry these wet cheeks, tell me faith sweet jane, yea, or no, once more.  jane. 
Once more I say no, once more be gone I pray, else will I go.  Ham. 
Nay then I will grow rude by this white hand,  
Until you change that cold no, here i'll stand,  
Till by your hard heart  jane. 
Nay, for God's love peace,  
My sorrows by your presence more increase,  
Not that you thus are present, but all grief  
Desires to be alone, therefore in brief  
Thus much I say, and saying bid adieu,  
If ever I wed man it shall be you.  Ham. 
Oh blessed voice, dear jane I'll urge no more,  
Thy breath hath made me rich.  jane. 
Death makes me poor. exeunt.  Enter Hodge at his shop board, Rafe, Firk, Hans, and a boy at work. Alderman. 
hay down, a down, down derie.  Hodge. 
Well said my hearts, ply your work today, we loitered yesterday, to it pell-mell, that we may live to be Lord Majors, or Aldermen at least.  Firke. 
hay down a down derie.  Hodge. 
Well said i'faith, how sayst thou Hauns, doth not Firk tickle it?  Hauns. 
Yaw mester.  Firke. 
Not so neither, my organ pipe squeaks this morning for want of liquoring: heigh down a down derie.  Hans. 
Forward Firk, tow best unjolly youngster hort I mester it bid you cut me vn pair vāpres vor mester Jeffer's boots.  Hodge. 
Thou shalt Haims.  Firke. 
Master.  Hodge 
How now, boy?  Firke 
Pray, now you are in the cutting vain, cut me out a pair of counterfeits, or else my work will not pass currant, heigh down a down.  Hodge 
Tell me sirs, are my cousin M. Priscilla's shoes done?  Firke 
Your cousin? no master, one of your aunts, hang her, let them alone.  Rafe 
I am in hand with them, she gave charge that none but I should do them for her.  Firke 
Thou do for her? than 'twill be a lame doing, and that she loves not: Rafe, thou might have sent her to me, in faith I would have yerked and 〈…〉 down a down derry, this gear will hold.  Hodge 
How sayst thou Firk? were 〈…〉 Ford?  Firke 
How merry? why our buttocks went jiggy ioggy like a quagmire: well sir Roger Oatemeale, if I thought all meal of that nature, I would eat nothing but bag puddings.  Rafe 
Of all good fortunes, my fellow Hance had the best.  Firke 
'tis true, because mistress Rose drank to him.  Hodge 
Well, well, work apace, they say seven of the Aldermen be dead, or very sick.  Firke 
I care not, I'll be none.  Rafe 
No nor I, but then my M. Eyre will come quickly to be L. Mayor. Enter Sibil.  Firke 
Whoop, yonder comes Sibyl.  Hodge 
Sibyl, welcome i'faith, and how dost thou mad wench?  Firke 
Sib whore, welcome to London.  Sibil 
Godamercy sweet Firke: good Lord Hodge, what a delicious shop you have got, you tickle it i'faith.  Rafe 
God a mercy Sibyl for our good cheer at old Ford.  Sibil 
That you shall have Rafe.  Firke 
Nay by the mass, we had tickling cheer Sibyl, and how the plague dost thou and mistress Rose, and my L. Mayor? I put the women in first.  Sibil 
Well Godamercy: but Gods me, I forget myself, where's Haunce the Fleming?  Firke 
Hark butterbox, vow you must yely out some spreken.  
〈…〉 vod gone Frister.  
〈…〉 come to my young mistress, to pull  〈…〉 
〈…〉 egle fro, vare been your mistress?  
〈…〉 our London house in Cornwall  
〈…〉 serve her turn but Hans?  
〈…〉 come Hans, I stand upon needles.  Hodg. 
Why then Sibyl, take heed of pricking.  Sibill. 
For that let me alone, I have a trick in my budget, come Hans.  Hans. 
Yaw, yaw, ic sall meet yo gane.  Exit Hans and Sibill. Hodge. 
Go Hans, make haste again: come, who lacks work?  Firke. 
I master, for I lack my breakfast, 'tis munching time, and past  Hodge 
be't so? why then leave work Raph, to breakfast, boy look to the tools, come Raph, come Firk. Exeunt.  Enter a Serningman. Ser. 
Let me see now, the sign of the last in Towerstreet, mass yonder's the house: what haw, who's within?  Enter Raph. Raph. 
Who calls there, what want you sir?  Seru. 
Marry I would have a pair of shoes made for a Gentlewoman against tomorrow morning, what can you do them?  Raph. 
Yes sir, you shall have them, but what lengths her foot?  Seru. 
Why you must make them in all parts like this shoe, but at any hand fail not to do them, for the Gentlewoman is to be married very early in the morning.  Raph 
How? by this shoe must it be made? by this, are you sure sir by this?  Seru. 
How, by this am I sure, by this? art thou in thy wits? I tell thee I must have a pair of shoes, dost thou mark me? a pair of shoes, two shoes, made by this very shoe, this same shoe, against tomorrow morning by four o'clock, dost understand me, canst thou do't?  Raph. 
Yes sir, yes, ay, ay, I can do't, by this shoe you say: I should know this shoe, yes sir, yes, by this shoe, I can do t, four o'clock, well, whither shall I bring them?  Seru. 
To the sign of the golden ball in Watlingstreet, inquire for one master Hamon a gentleman, my master.  Raph. 
Yea sir, by this shoe you say.  Seru. 
I say master Hammon at the golden ball, he's the Bridegroom, and those shoes are for his bride.  Raph. 
They shall be done by this shoe: well, well, Master Hammon at the golden shoe, I would say the golden Ball, very well, very well, but I pray you sir where must master Hammon be married?  Seru. 
At Saint faith's Church under Paul's: but what's that to thee? prithee dispatch those shoes, and so farewell.  exit. Raph. 
By this shoe said he, how am I amazed  
At this strange accident? upon my life,  
This was the very shoe I gave my wife  
When I was priest for France, since when alas,  
I never could hear of her: it is the same,  
And Hamon's Bride no other but my jane.  Enter Firke. Firke. 
Snails Raph thou hast lost thy part of three pots, a countryman of mine gave me to breakfast.  Rafe 
I care not, I have found a better thing.  Firke 
A thing? away, is it a man's thing, or a woman's thing?  Rafe 
Firk, dost thou know this shoe?  Firke 
No by my troth, neither doth that know me? I have no acquaintance with it, 'tis a mere stranger to me.  Rafe 
Why then I do, this shoe I durst be sworn  
Once covered the instep of my jane:  
This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love,  
These true love knots I pricked, I hold my life,  
By this old shoe I shall find out my wife.  Firke 
Ha ha old shoe, that wert new, how a murrain came this ague fit of foolishness upon thee?  Rafe 
Thus Firk, even now here came a servingman,  
By this shoe would he have a new pair made  
Against tomorrow morning for his mistress,  
That's to be married to a Gentleman,  
And why may not this be my sweet jane?  Firke 
And why mayst not thou be my sweet Ass? ha, ha.  Rafe 
Well, laugh, and spare not: but the truth is this.  
Against tomorrow morning I'll provide,  
A lusty crew of honest shoemakers,  
To watch the going of the bride to church,  
If she prove jane, I'll take her in despite,  
From Hammon and the devil, were he by,  
If it be not my jane, what remedy?  
Hereof am I sure, I shall live till I die,  
Although I never with a woman lie. exit.  Fir. 
Thou he with a woman to build nothing but Cripplegates! Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be he may light upon his matrimony by such a device, for wedding and hanging goes by destiny.  exit. Enter Hauns, and Rose arm in arm. Hans. 
How happy am I by embracing thee,  
Oh I did fear such cross mishaps did reign,  
That I should never see my Rose again.  Rose. 
Sweet lacy, since fair Opportunity  
Offers herself to further our escape,  
Let not too overfond esteem of me  
Hinder that happy hour, invent the means,  
And Rose will follow thee through all the world.  Hans. 
Oh how I surfeit with excess of joy,  
Made happy by thy rich perfection,  
But since thou payest sweet interest to my hopes,  
Redoubling love on love, let me once more,  
Like to a bold faced debtor crave of thee,  
This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre's house,  
Who now by death of certain Aldermen,  
Is Maior of London, and my master once,  
Meet thou thy lacy where in spite of change,  
Your father's anger, and mine uncles hate,  
Our happy nuptials will me consummate.  Enter Sibill. Sib 
Oh God, what will you do mistress? shift for yourself, your father is at hand, he's coming, he's coming, master lacy hide yourself in my mistress, for God's sake shift for yourselves.  Hans 
Your father come, sweet Rose, what shall I do?  
Where shall I hide me? how shall I escape?  Rose. 
A man and want wit in extremity,  
Come, come, be Hauns still, play the shoemaker,  
Pull on my shoe.  Enter Lord Maior. Hans 
Mas, and that's well remembered.  Sib 
Here comes your father.  Hans. 
forward metresse, 'tis vn good skow, it shall vel dute, or ye shall neit betallen.  Rose. 
Oh God it pincheth me, what will you do?  Hans. 
Your father's presence pincheth, not the shoe.  L. Mai. 
Well done, fit my daughter well, and she shall please thee well.  Hans. 
Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well, for ware 'tis un good shoe, 'tis gi mait van neits leither, see enter mine here.  Enter a prentice. L. Mai. 
I do believe it, what's the news with you?  Prent. 
Please you, the Earl of Lincoln at the gate is newly lighted, and would speak with you.  L. Mai. 
The Earl of Lincoln come speak with me?  
Well, well, I know his errand: daughter Rose,  
Send hence your shoemaker, dispatch, have done:  
Sib, make things handsome: sir boy follow me.  Exit. Hans. 
Mine uncle come, oh what may this portend?  
Sweet Rose, this of our love threatens an end.  Rose. 
Be not dismayed at this whate'er befall,  
Rose is thine own, to witness I speak truth,  
Where thou appoints the place I'll meet with thee,  
I will not fix a day to follow thee,  
But presently steal hence, do not reply.  
Love which gave strength to bear my father's hate,  
Shall now add wings to further our escape.  exeunt. Enter L. Maior, and Lincoln. L. Mai. 
Believe me, on my credit I speak truth,  
Since first your nephew lacy went to France,  
I have not seen him. It seemed strange to me,  
When Dodger told me that he staid behind,  
Neglecting the high charge the King imposed.  Linc. 
Trust me (sir Roger Otly) I did think  
Your counsel had given head to this attempt,  
Drawn to it by the love he bears your child.  
Here I did hope to find him in your house,  
But now I see mine error, and confess  
My judgement wronged you by conceiving so.  L. Maior 
Lodge in my house, say you? trust me my Lord,  
I love your Nephew lacy too too dearly  
So much to wrong his honour, and he hath done so,  
That first gave him advise to stay from France.  
To witness I speak truth, I let you know  
How careful I have been to keep my daughter  
Free from all conference, or speech of him,  
Not that I scorn your Nephew, but in love  
I bear your honour, lest your noble blood,  
Should by my mean worth be dishonoured.  Lin. 
How far the churls tongue wanders from his heart,  
Well, well sir Roger Otley I believe you,  
With more than many thanks for the kind love,  
So much you seem to bear me: but my Lord,  
Let me request your help to seek my Nephew,  
Whom if I find, I'll straight embark for France,  
So shall my Rose be free, your thoughts at rest,  
And much care die which now dies in my breast.  Enter Sibill. Sibill. 
Oh Lord, help for God's sake, my mistress, oh my young mistress.  L. Ma. 
Where is thy mistress? what's become of her?  Sibill. 
she's gone, she's fled.  L. Maior 
Gone? whither is she fled?  Sibill. 
I know not forsooth, she's fled out of doors with Hauns the Shoemaker, I saw them scud, scud, scud, apace, apace.  L. Maior 
Which way? what john, where be my men? which way?  Sibil 
I know not, and it please your worship.  L. maior 
Fled with a shoemaker, can this be true?  Sibil 
Oh Lord sir, as true as Gods in heaven.  Linc. 
Her love turned shoemaker? I am glad of this.  L. ma. 
A fleming butter bore, a shoemaker,  
Will she forget her birth? requite my care  
With such ingratitude? scorned she young Hammon,  
To love a honnikin, a needy knave?  
Well let her fly, I'll not fly after her,  
Let her starve if she will, she's none of mine.  Linc. 
Be not so cruel sir.  Enter Firke with shoes. Sibil 
I am glad she's scaped.  L. Ma. 
I'll not account of her as of my child:  
Was there no better object for her eyes,  
But a foul drunken lubber, swill belly,  
A shoemaker, that's brave.  Firke. 
Yea forsooth, 'tis a very brave shoe, and as fit as a padding.  L. Ma 
How now, what knave is this, from whence comest thou?  Firke 
No knave sir, I am Firke the shoemaker, lusty Roger's chief lusty journeyman, and I come hither to take up the pretty leg of sweet mistress Rose, and thus hoping your worship is in as good health as I was at the making hereof, I bid you farewell, yours Firk.  L. Ma. 
Stay stay sir knave.  Linc. 
Come hither shoemaker.  Firke 
'tis happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or else I would not have vouchsafed to come back to you, I am moved, for I stir.  L. Ma. 
My Lord, this villain calls us knaves by craft.  Firk. 
Then 'tis by the Gentle Craft, and to call one knave gently, is no harm: sit your worship merry: Sib your young mistress I'll so bob then, now my master M. Eyre is Lord Maior of London.  L. Ma. 
Tell me sirrah, who's man are you?  Firke 
I am glad to see your worship so merry, I have no maw to this gear, no stomach as yet to a red petticoat.  Pointing to Sibil. Lin 
He means not sir to woo you to his maid,  
But only doth demand whose man you are.  Firke 
I sing now to the tune of Rogero, Roger my fellow is now my master.  Lin 
Sirrah, know'st thou one Hauns a shoemaker?  Firk 
Hauns shoemaker, oh yes, stay, yes I have him, I tell you what, I speak it in secret, mistress Rose, and he are by this time: no not so, but shortly are to come over one another with, Can you dance the shaking of the sheeets? it is that Hauns, I'll so gull these diggers.  L. Ma 
know'st thou then where he is?  Firke 
Yes forsooth, yea marry.  Lin 
Canst thou in sadness?  Firke 
No forsooth, no marry.  L. Ma 
Tell me good honest fellow where he is,  
And thou shalt see what I'll bestow of thee.  Firke 
Honest fellow, no sir, not so sir, my profession is the Gentle Craft, I care not for seeing, I love feeling, let me feel it here, aurium tenus, ten pieces of gold, genuum tenus, ten pieces of silver, and then Firk is your man in a new pair of stretchers.  L. Ma. 
Here is an Angel, part of thy reward,  
Which I will give thee, tell me where he is.  Firke. 
No point: shall I betray my brother? no, shall I prove judas to Hans? no, shall I cry treason to my corporation? no, I shall be firked and yerked then, but give me your angel, your angel shall tell you.  Lin 
Do so good fellow, 'tis no hurt to thee.  Firke 
Send simpering Sib away.  L. Ma 
housewife, get you in.  exit Sib. Firke. 
Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths: but for Hauns prawn's, upon my word tomorrow morning, he and young mistress Rose go to this gear, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else turn Firk to a firkin of butter to tan leather withal.  L. Ma. 
But art thou sure of this?  Firke 
Am I sure that Paul's steeple is a handful higher than London stone? or that the pissing conduit leaks nothing but pure mother Bunch? am I sure I am lusty Firke, God's nails do you think I am so base to gull you?  Linc. 
Where are they married? dost thou know the church?  Firke 
I never go to church, but I know the name of it, it is a swearing church, stay a while, 'tis: I by the mass, no, no, 'tis I by my troth, no nor that, 'tis I by my faith, that that, 'tis I by my faiths church under Paul's cross, there they shall be knit like a pair of stockings in matrimony, there they'll be in coney.  Lin. 
Upon my life, my Nephew lacy walks  
In the disguise of this Dutch shoemaker.  Firke 
Yes forsooth.  Linc. 
Doth he not honest fellow?  Firke 
No forsooth, I think Hauns is nobody, but Hans no spirit.  L. Ma. 
My mind misgives me now 'tis so indeed.  Lin. 
My cozen speaks the language, knows the trade.  L. Ma. 
Let me request your company my Lord,  
Your honourable presence may, no doubt,  
Refrain their headstrong rashness, when myself  
Going alone perchance may be o'erborne,  
Shall I request this favour?  Linc. 
This, or what else.  Firke 
Then you must rise betimes, for they mean to fall to their hay pass, and repass, pindy-pandy, which hand will you have, very early.  L. Ma. 
My care shall every way equal their haste,  
This night accept your lodging in my house,  
The earlier shall we stir, and at Saint faiths  
Prevent this giddy harebrained nuptial,  
This traffic of hot love shall yield cold gains,  
They ban our loves, and we'll forbid their banns.  exeunt. Linc. 
At Saint faiths church thou sayst.  Firke 
Yes, by their troth.  Linc. 
Be secret on thy life.  Firke 
Yes, when I kiss your wife, ha, ha, here's no craft in the Gentle Craft, I came hither of purpose with shoes to sir Roger's worship, whilst Rose his daughter be coney-catched by Hauns: soft now, these two gulls will be at Saint faiths church tomorrow morning, to take master Bridegroom, and mistress Bride napping, and they in the mean time shall chop up the matter at the Savoy: but the best sport is, sir Roger Otly will find my fellow lame, Rafe's wife going to marry a gentleman, and then he'll stop her in steed of his daughter; oh brave, there will be fine tickling sport: soft now, what have I to do? oh I know now a mess of shoemakers meat at the wool sack in I vie lane, to cozen my gentleman of lame Rafe's wife, that's true, alack, alack girls, hold out tack, for now smocks for this tumbling shall go to wrack. exit  Enter Air, his Wife, hauns, and Rose. Eyre 
This is the morning then, stay my bully my honest Hauns, is it not?  Hans 
This is the morning that must make us two happy, or miserable, therefore if you  Eyre 
Away with these iffes and ands Hauns, and these et caeteraes, by mine honour Rowland lacy none but the king shall wrong thee: come, fear nothing, am not I Sim Eyre? Is not Sim Eyre Lord mayor of London? fear nothing Rose, let them all say what they can, dainty come thou to me: laughest thou?  Wife 
Good my lord, stand her friend in what thing you may.  Eyre 
Why my sweet lady Madgy, think you Simon Eyre can forget his fine dutch journeyman? No vah. Fie I scorn it, it shall never be cast in my teeth, that I was unthankful. Lady Madgy, thou hadst never covered thy Saracens head with this french flap, nor loaden thy bum with this farthingale, 'tis trash, trumpery, vanity, Simon Eyre had never walked in a red petticoat, nor wore a chain of gold, but for my fine Journeyman's portigues, and shall I leave him? No: Prince am I none, yet bear a princely mind.  Hans 
My Lord, 'tis time for us to part from hence.  Eyre 
Lady Madgy, lady Madgy, take two or three of my piecrust eaters, my buff-jerkin varlets, that do walk in black gowns at Simon Eyre's heels, take them good lady Madgy, trip and go, my brown Queen of Periwigs, with my delicate Rose, and my jolly Rowland to the Savoy, see them linked, countenance the marriage, and when it is done, cling, cling together, you Bamborow Turtle Doves, I'll bear you out, come to Simon Eyre, come dwell with me Hauns, thou shalt eat minced pies, and marchpane. Rose, away cricket, trip and go, my Lady Madgy to the Savoy, Hauns, wed, and to bed, kiss and away, go, vanish.  Wife 
Farewell my lord.  Rose 
Make haste sweet love.  Wife 
she'd fain the deed were done.  Hauns 
Come my sweet Rose, faster than Dear we'll run.  They go out. Eyre 
Go, vanish, vanish, avaunt I say: by the lord of Ludgate, it's a mad life to be a lord Mayor, it's a stirring life, a fine life, a velvet life, a careful life. Well Simon Eyre, yet set a good face on it, in the honour of saint Hugh. Soft, the king this day comes to dine with me, to see my new buildings, his majesty is welcome, he shall have good cheer, delicate cheer, princely cheer. This day my fellow prentices of London come to dine with me too, they shall have fine cheer, gentlemanlike cheer. I promised the mad Cappadodians, when we all served at the Conduit together, that if ever I came to be Mayor of London, I would feast them all, and I'll do't, I'll do't by the life of Pharaoh, by this beard Sim Eire will be no flincher. Besides, I have procured, that upon every Shrove-Tuesday, at the sound of the pancake bell: my fine dapper Allyrian lads, shall clap up their shop windows, and away, this is the day, and this day they shall do't, they shall do't: boys, that day are you free, let master's care, and prentices shall pray for Simon Eyre. exit.  Enter Hodge, Firke, Rafe, and five or six shoemakers, all with cudgels, or such weapons. Hodge 
Come Rafe, stand to it Firk: my masters, as we are the brave bloods of the shoemakers, heirs apparent to saint Hugh, and perpetual benefactors to all good fellows: thou shalt have no wrong, were Hammon a king of spades, he should not delve in thy close without thy sufferance: but tell me Rafe, art thou sure 'tis thy wife?  Rafe 
Am I sure this is Firke? This morning when I stroked on her shoes, I looked upon her, and she upon me, and sighed, asked me if ever I knew one Rafe. Yes said I: for his sake said she (tears standing in her eyes) and for thou art somewhat like him, spend this piece of gold: I took it: my lame leg, and my travel beyond sea made me unknown, all is one for that, I know she's mine.  Firke 
Did she give thee this gold? O glorious glittering gold; she's thine own, 'tis thy wife, and she loves thee, for I'll stand to't, there's no woman will give gold to any man, but she thinks better of him than she thinks of them she gives silver to: and for Hamon, neither Hamon nor Hangman shall wrong thee in London: Is not òur old master Eire lord Mayor? Speak my hearts.  All. 
Yes, and Hamon shall know it to his cost.  Enter hamon, his man, jane, and other. Hodge 
Peace my bullies, yonder they come.  Rafe, 
Stand to't my hearts, Firk, let me speak first.  Hodge 
No Rafe, let me: Hammon, whither away so early?  Hamon 
Unmannerly rude slave, what's that to thee?  Firke 
To him sir? yes sir, and to me, and others: good morrow jane, how dost thou? good Lord, how the world is changed with you, God be thanked.  Hamon 
villains, hands off, how dare you touch my love?  All. 
villains? down with them, cry clubs for prentices.  Hod. 
How, my hearts touch her Hamon? yea and more than that, we'll carry her away with us. My masters and gentlemen, never draw your bird spits, shoemakers are steel to the back, men every inch of them, all spirit.  All. of Hamon's side 
Well, and what of all this?  Hodge 
I'll show you: jane, dost thou know this man? 'tis Rafe I can tell thee: nay, 'tis he in faith, though he be lamed by the wars, yet look not strange, but run to him, fold him about the neck and kiss him.  jane 
Lives then my husband? oh God let me go,  
Let me embrace my Rafe.  Hamon 
What means my jane?  jane 
Nay, what meant yond to tell me he was slain?  Ham. 
Pardon me dear love for being misled,  
'twas rumoured here in London thou wert dead.  Firke 
Thou seest he lives: Lass, go pack home with him: now M. Hamon, where's your mistress your wife?  Seru. 
'swounds M. fight for her, will you thus lose her?  All. 
Down with that creature, clubs, down with him.  Hodge 
Hold, hold.  Ham. 
Hold fool, sirs he shall do no wrong,  
Will my jane leave me thus, and break her faith?  Firke 
Yea sir, she must sir, she shall sir, what then? mend it.  Hodge 
Hark fellow Rafe, follow my counsel, set the wench in the midst, and let her choose her man, and let her be his woman.  jane 
Whom should I choose? whom should my thoughts affect?  
But him whom heaven hath made to be my love,  
Thou art my husband and these humble weeds,  
Makes thee more beautiful than all his wealth,  
Therefore I will but put off his attire,  
Returning it into the owner's hand,  
And after ever be thy constant wife.  Hodge. 
Not a rag jane, the law's on our side, he that sows in another man's ground forfeits his harvest, get thee home Rafe, follow him jane, he shall not have so much as a busk point from thee.  Firke 
Stand to that Rafe, the appurtenances are thine own, Hammon, look not at her.  Seru. 
O 'swounds no.  Firke 
Blue coat be quiet, we'll give you a new livery else, we'll make shrove Tuesday Saint George's day for you: look not Hammon, leer not, I'll Firk you, for thy head now, one glance, one sheeps eye, any thing at her, touch not a rag, lest I and my brethren beat you to clouts.  S. 
Come master Hammon, there's no striving here.  Ham. 
Good fellows, hear me speak: and honest Rafe,  
Whom I have injured most by loving jane,  
Mark what I offer thee: here in fair gold  
Is twenty pound, I'll give it for thy jane,  
If this content thee not, thou shalt have more.  Hodge. 
Saddle not thy wife Rafe, make her not a whore.  Ham. 
Say, wilt thou freely cease thy claim in her,  
And let her be my wife?  All. 
No, do not Rafe.  Rafe 
Sirrah Hammon Hammon, dost thou think a Shoemaker is so base, to be a bawd to his own wife for commodity, take thy gold, choke with it, were I not lame, I would make thee eat thy words.  Firke 
A shoemaker sell his flesh and blood, oh indignity!  Hod. 
Sirrah, take up your pelf, and be packing.  Ham 
I will not touch one penny, but in lieu  
Of that great wrong I offered thy jane,  
To jane and thee I give that twenty pound,  
Since I have failed of her, during my life  
I vow no woman else shall be my wife:  
Farewell good fellows of the Gentle trade,  
Your morning's mirth my mourning day hath made. exeunt  Firke 
Touch the gold creature if you dare, you're best be trudging: here jane take thou it, now lets home my hearts.  Hod. 
Stay, who comes here? jane, on again with thy mask.  Enter Lincoln, L. Maior, and servants. Linc. 
Yonder's the lying varlet mocked us so.  L. Ma. 
Come hither sirrah.  Firke. 
ay sir, I am sirrah, you mean me, do you not?  Linc. 
Where is my Nephew married?  Firke 
Is he married? God give him joy, I am glad of it: they have a fair day, and the sign is in a good planet, Mars in Venus.  L. Ma 
Villain, thou toldst, me that my daughter Rose,  
This morning should be married at Saint faiths,  
We have watched there these three hours at the least,  
Yet see we no such thing.  Firke 
Truly I am sorry for't, a Bride's a pretty thing.  Hodge 
Come to the purpose, yonder's the Bride and Bridegroom you look for I hope: though you be Lords, you are not to bar, by your authority, men from women, are you?  L. Ma 
See see my daughters masked.  Linc. 
True, and my Nephew.  
To hide his guilt, counterfeits him lame.  Firke 
Yea truly god help the poor couple, they are lame and blind.  L. Maior 
I'll ease her blindness.  Lin. 
I'll his lameness cure.  Firke 
Lie down sirs, and laugh, my fellow Rafe is taken for Rowland Lacy, and jane for mistress damask rose, this is all my knavery.  L. Maior 
What, have I found you minion?  Linc. 
O base wretch,  
Nay hide thy face, the horror of thy guilt,  
Can hardly be washed off: where are thy powers?  
What vattels have you made? O yes I see  
Thou foughtst with Shame, and shame hath conquered thee.  
This lameness will not serve.  L. Ma. 
Unmask yourself.  Lin. 
Lead home your daughter.  L. Ma. 
Take your Nephew hence.  Rafe. 
Hence, 'swounds, what mean you? are you mad? I hope you cannot enforce my wife from me, where's Hamon?  L. Ma. 
Your wife.  Lin. 
What Hammon?  Rafe 
Yea my wife, and therefore the proudest of you that lays hands on her first, I'll lay my crutch cross his pate.  Firke 
To him lame Rafe, here's brave sport.  Rafe 
Rose call you her? why her name is jane, look here else, do you know her now?  Lin. 
Is this your daughter?  L. Ma. 
No, nor this your nephew:  
My Lord of Lincoln, we are both abused  
By this base crafty varlet.  Firk 
Yea forsooth no varlet, forsooth no base, forsooth I am but mean, no crattie neither, but of the Gentle Craft.  L. Ma. 
Where is my daughter Rose? where is my child?  Lin. 
Where is my nephew lacy married?  Firke 
Why here is good laid mutton as I promised you.  Lin. 
Villain, I'll have thee punished for this wrong.  Firke 
Punish the journeyman villain, but not the journeyman shoemaker. Enter Dodger.  Dodger. 
My Lord I come to bring unwelcome news,  
Your Nephew lacy, and your daughter Rose,  
Early this morning wedded at the Savoy,  
None being present but the Lady Mairesse:  
Besides I learned among the officers,  
The Lord Maior vows to stand in their defence,  
'gainst any that shall seek to cross the match.  Lin. 
Dares Eyre the shoemaker uphold the deed?  Firk 
Yes sir, shoemakers dare stand in a woman's quarrel I warrant you, as deep as another, and deeper too.  Dod. 
Besides, his grace, today dines with the Maior,  
Who on his knees humbly intends to fall,  
And beg a pardon for your nephews fault.  Lin. 
But I'll prevent him come sir Roger Oteley,  
The king will do us justice in this cause,  
howe'er their hands have made them man and wife,  
I will disjoin the match, or lose my life. exeunt.  Firke 
adieu monsieur Dodger, farewell fools, ha ha, Oh if they had staid I would have so lambed them with flouts, O heart, my codpiece point is ready to fly in pieces every time I think upon mistress Rose, but let that pass, as my Lady Mairesse says.  Hodge 
This matter is answered: come Rafe, home with thy wife, come my fine shoemakers, let's to our masters the new lord Maior and there swagger this shrove Tuesday, i'll promise you wine enough, for Madge keeps the seller.  All. 
O rare! Madge is a good wench.  Firke 
And I'll promise you meat enough, for simpering Susan keeps the larder, I'll lead you to victuals my brave soldiers, follow your captain, O brave, hark, hark.  Bell rings. All. 
The Pancake bell rings, the pancake bell, tri-lill my hearts.  Firke 
Oh brave, oh sweet bell, O delicate pancakes, open the doors my hearts, and shut up the windows, keep in the house, let out the pancakes: oh rare my hearts, let's march together for the honour of saint Hugh to the great new hall in Gracious street corner, which our Master the new lord Maior hath built.  Rafe 
O the crew of good fellows that will dine at my lord, majors cost today!  Hodge 
By the lord, my lord Maior is a most brave man, how shall prentices be bound to pray for him, and the honour of the gentlemen shoemakers? let's feed and be fat with my lords bounty.  Fir. 
O musical be still! O Hodge, O my brethren! there's cheer for the heavens, venison pastimes walk up and down piping hot, like sergeants, beef and brewis comes marching in dry fats, fritters and pancakes comes trolling in in wheel barrows, hens and oranges hopping in porters baskets, collops and eggs in scuttles, and tarts and custards comes quavering in in malt shovels.  Enter more prentices. All. 
Whoop, look here, look here.  Hodge 
How now mad lads, whither away so fast?  I. Pren. 
Whither, why to the great new hall, know you not why? The lord Maior hath bidden all the prentices in London to breakfast this morning.  All. 
Oh brave shoemaker, oh brave lord of incomprehensible good fellowship, who, hark you, the pancake bell rings. Cast up caps.  Firke 
Nay more my hearts, every Shrove-Tuesday is our year of Jubilee: and when the pancake bell rings, we are as free as my lord Maior, we may shut up our shops, and make holiday: I'll have it called, Saint Hugh's Holiday.  All. 
Agreed, agreed, Saint Hugh's Holiday.  Hodge 
And this shall continue for ever.  All. 
Oh brave! come come my hearts, away, away.  Firke 
O eternal credit to us of the gentle Craft, march fair my hearts, oh rare. exeunt.  Enter King and his train over the stage. King 
Is our lord Maior of London such a gallant?  Noble man 
One of the merriest madcaps in your land,  
Your Grace will think, when you behold the man,  
he's rather a wild ruffian than a Maior:  
Yet thus much I'll ensure your majesty,  
In all his actions that concern his state,  
He is as serious, provident, and wise,  
As full of gravity amongst the grave,  
As any maior hath been these many years.  King 
I am with child till I behold this half cap,  
But all my doubt is, when we come in presence,  
His madness will be dashed clean out of countenance.  Noble man 
It may be so, my Liege.  King 
Which to prevent,  
Let some one give him notice, 'tis our pleasure,  
That he put on his wonted merriment:  
Set forward.  All. 
On afore. exeunt.  Enter Air Hodge, Firke, Rafe, and other shoemakers, all with napkins on their shoulders. Eyre 
Come my fine Hodge, my jolly gentlemen shoemakers, soft, where be these cannibals, these varlets my officers, let them all walk and wait upon my brethren, for my meaning is, that none but shoemakers, none but the livery of my Company shall in their satin hoods wait upon the trencher of my sovereign.  Firke 
O my Lord, it will be rare.  air 
No more Firk, come lively, let your fellow prentices want no cheer, let wine be plentiful as beer, and beer as water, hang these penny pinching fathers, that cram wealth in innocent lamb skins, rip knaves, avaunt, look to my guests  Hodge 
My Lord, we are at our wits end for room, those hundred tables will not feast the fourth part of them.  air 
Then cover me those hundred tables again, and again, till all my jolly prentices be feasted: avoid Hodge, run Rafe, frisk about my numble Firke, carouse me fathom healths to the honour of the shoemakers: do they drink lively Hodge? do they tickle it Firk?  Firke 
Tickle it? some of them have taken their liquor standing so long, that they can stand no longer: but for meat, they would eat it and they had it.  air 
Want they meat? where's this swagbelly, this greasy kitchenstuff cook, call the varlet to me: want meat! Firk, Hodge, lame Rafe, run my tall men, beleaguer the shambles, beggar all Eastcheap, serve me whole oxen in chargers, and let sheep whine upon the tables like pigs for want of good fellows to eat them. Want meat! vanish Firk, avaunt Hodge.  Hodge 
Your lordship mistakes my man Firk, he means their bellies want meat, not the boards, for they have drunk so much they can eat nothing.  Eneer hans, Rose, and Wife. Wife 
Where is my Lord.  air 
How now lady Madgy.  Wife 
The kings most excellent majesty is new come, he sends me for thy honour: one of his most worshipful Peers, bade me tell thou must be merry, and so forth: but let that pass.  Eyre 
Is my Sovereign come? vanish my tall shoemakers, my nimble brethren, look to my guests the prentices: yet stay a little, how now Hans, how looks my little Rose?  Hans 
Let me request you to remember me,  
I know your honour easily may obtain,  
Free pardon of the king for me and Rose,  
And reconcile me to my uncles grace.  Eyre 
Have done my good Hans, my honest journeyman, look cheerly, I'll fall upon both my knees till they be as hard as horn, but I'll get thy pardon.  Wife 
Good my Lord have a care what you speak to his grace.  Eyre 
Away you I slington whitepot, hence you happerarse, you barley pudding full of maggots, you broiled carbonado, avaunt, avaunt, avoid Mephistopheles: shall Sim Eyre leave to speak of you Lady Madgy? vanish mother Miniver cap, vanish, go, trip and go, meddle with your partlets, and your pishery-pashery, your flewes and your whirligigs, go, rub, out of mine alley: Sim Eyre knows how to speak to a Pope, to Sultan Soliman, to Tamburlaine and he were here: and shall I melt? shall I droop before my Sovereign? no, come my Lady Madgy, follow me Hauns, about your business my frolic freebooters: Firk, frisk about, and about, and about, for the honour of mad Simon Eyre Lord Maior of London.  Firke 
hay for the honour of the shoemakers. exeunt.  A long flourish or two: enter King, Nobles, Eyre, his wife, lacy, Rose: lacy and Rose kneel. King 
Well lacy though the fact was very foul,  
Of your revolting from our kingly love,  
And your own duty, yet we pardon you,  
Rise both, and mistress lacy, thank my Lord Maior  
For your young bridegroom here.  Eyre 
So my dear liege, Sim Eyre and my brethren the gentlemen shoemakers shall set your sweet majesties image, cheek by jowl by Saint Hugh, for this honour you have done poor Simon Eyre, I beseeth your grace pardon my rude behaviour, I am a handicrafts man, yet my heart is without craft, I would be sorry at my soul, that my boldness should offend my king.  King 
Nay, I pray thee good lord Maior, be even as merry as if thou wert among thy shoemakers, It does me good to see thee in this humour.  Eyre 
sayst thou me so my sweet Dioclesian? then hump, Prince am I none, yet am I princely borne, by the Lord of Ludgate my Liege, I'll be as merry as a pie.  King 
Tell me in faith mad Eyre, how old thou art.  Eyre 
My Liege a very boy, a stripling, a younker, you see not a white hair on my head, not a grey in this beard, every hair I assure thy majesty that sticks in this beard, Sim Eyre values at the king of Babylon's ransom, Tama cham's beard was a rubbing brush to't: yet I'll shave it off, and stuff tennis balls with it to please my bully king.  King 
But all this while I do not know your age.  Eyre 
My liege, I am six and fifty year old, yet I can cry humpe, with a sound heart for the honour of Saint Hugh: mark this old wench, my king, I danced the shaking of the sheets with her six and thirty years ago, and yet I hope to get two or three young Lord Majors ere I die: I am lusty still, Sim Eyre still: care, and cold lodging brings white hairs. My sweet Majesty, let care vanish, cast it upon thy Nobles, it will make thee look always young like Apollo, and cry humpe: Prince am I none, yet am I princely borne.  King 
Ha ha: say Cornwall, didst thou ever see his like?  Noble man 
Not I, my Lord.  Enter Lincoln, and Lord Maior. King 
Lincoln, what news with you?  Linc. 
My gracious Lord, have care unto yourself,  
For there are traitors here.  All. 
traitors, where? who?  Eyre 
Traitors in my house? God forbid, where be my officers? I'll spend my soul ere my king feel harm.  King 
Where is the traitor? Lincoln.  Linc. 
Here he stands.  King 
Cornwall, lay hold on lacy: Lincoln, speak:  
What canst thou lay unto thy nephews charge?  Linc. 
This my dear liege: your grace to do me honour,  
Heaped on the head of this degenerous boy,  
Desertless favours, you made choice of him,  
To be commander over powers in France,  
But he.  King 
Good Lincoln pry thee pause a while,  
Even in thine eyes I read what thou wouldst speak,  
I know how lacy did neglect our love,  
Ran himself deeply (in the highest degree)  
Into vile treason.  Linc. 
Is he not a traitor?  King 
Lincoln, he was: now have we pardoned him,  
'twas not a base want of true valours fire,  
That held him out of France, but loves desire.  Linc. 
I will not bear his shame upon my back.  King 
Nor shalt thou Lincoln, I forgive you both.  Lin 
Then (good my liege) forbid the boy to wed  
One, whose mean birth will much disgrace his bed.  King 
Are they not married?  Linc. 
No my Liege.  Both 
We are.  King 
Shall I divorce them then? O be it far,  
That any hand on earth should dare untie,  
The sacred knot knit by God's majesty,  
I would not for my crown disjoin their hands,  
That are conjoined in holy nuptial bands,  
How sayst thou Lacy? wouldst thou lose thy Rose?  Hans 
Not for all Indians wealth, my sovereign.  King 
But Rose I am sure her lacy would forego.  Rose 
If Rose were asked that question, she'd say, no.  King 
You hear them Lincoln.  Linc 
Yea my liege, I do.  King 
Yet canst thou find i'th' heart to part these two?  
Who seeks, besides you, to divorce these lovers?  L. Ma. 
I do (my gracious Lord) I am her father.  King 
Sir Roger Oteley, our last Maior I think,  Nob 
The same my liege.  King 
Would you offend loves laws?  
Well, you shall have your wills, you sue to me,  
To prohibit the match: Soft, let me see,  
You both are married, lacy, art thou not?  Hans 
I am, dread Sovereign.  King 
Then upon thy life,  
I charge thee, not to call this woman wife.  L. Ma. 
I thank your grace.  Rose 
O my most gracious Lord!  kneel King 
Nay Rose, never woo me, I tell you true,  
Although as yet I am a bachelor,  
Yet I believe I shall not marry you.  Rose 
Can you divide the body from the soul,  
Yet make the body live?  King 
Yea, so profound?  
I cannot Rose, but you I must divide:  
Fair maid, this bridegroom cannot be your bride.  
Are you pleased Lincoln? Oteley, are you pleased?  Both 
Yes my Lord.  King 
Then must my heart be eased,  
For credit me, my conscience lives in pain,  
Till these whom I divorced be joined again:  
Lacy, give me thy hand, Rose, lend me thine.  
Be what you would be: kiss now: so, that's fine,  
At night (lovers) to bed: now let me see,  
Which of you all mislikes this harmony?  L. Ma. 
will you then take from me my child perforce?  King 
Why tell me Oteley, shines not Lacy's name,  
As bright in the worlds eye, as the gay beams  
Of any citizen?  Linc. 
Yea but my gracious Lord,  
I do mislike the match far more than he,  
Her blood is too too base.  King Lincoln, 
no more,  
Dost thou not know, that love respects no blood?  
Cares not for difference of birth, or state,  
The maid is young, well borne, fair, virtuous,  
A worthy bride for any gentleman:  
Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoop  
To bare necessity: and as I hear,  
Forgetting honours, and all courtly pleasures,  
To gain her love, became a shoemaker.  
As for the honour which he lost in France,  
Thus I redeem it: lacy, kneel thee down,  
Arise sir Rowland lacy: tell me now,  
Tell me in earnest Oteley, canst thou chide?  
Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride.  Lord Maior. 
I am content with what your Grace hath done.  Linc. 
And I my liege, since there's no remedy.  King 
Come on then, at shake hands, I'll have you friends,  
Where there is much love, all discord ends,  
What says my mad Lord Maior to all this love?  Eyre 
O my liege, this honour you have done to my fine journeyman here, Rowland lacy, and all these favours which you have shown to me this day in my poor house, will make Simon Eyre live longer by one dozen of warm summers more than he should.  King 
Nay, my mad Lord Maior (that shall be thy name)  
If any grace of mine can length thy life,  
One honour more I'll do thee, that new building,  
Which at thy cost in Cornhill is erected,  
Shall take a name from us, we'll have it called,  
The Leaden hall, because in digging it,  
You found the lead that covereth the same.  Eyre 
I thank your Majesty.  Wife 
God bless your Grace.  King 
Lincoln, a word with you.  Enter Hodge, Firke, Rafe, and more shoemakers. Eyre 
How now my mad knaves? Peace, speak softly, yonder is the king.  King 
With the old troop which there we keep in pay,  
We will incorporate a new supply:  
Before one summer more pass o'er my head,  
France shall repent England was injured.  
What are all those?  Hans 
All shoemakers, my Liege,  
Sometimes my fellows, in their companies  
I lived as merry as an emperor.  King 
My mad lord Mayor, are all these shoemakers?  Eyre 
All Shoemakers, my Liege, all gentlemen of the Gentle Craft, true Trojans, courageous Cordwainers, they all kneel to the shrine of holy saint Hugh.  All. 
God save your majesty all shoemakers  King 
Mad Simon, would they any thing with us?  Eyre 
Mum mad knaves, not a word, I'll do't, I warrant you. They are all beggars, my Liege, all for themselves: and I for them all, on both my knees do entreat, that for the honour of poor Simon Eyre, and the good of his brethren these mad knaves, your Grace would vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leden hall, that it may be lawful for us to buy and sell leather there two days a week.  King 
Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you shall have patent  
To hold two market days in Leden hall,  
Mondayes and Fridays, those shall be the times:  
Will this content you?  All. 
jesus bless your Grace.  Eyre 
In the name of these my poor brethren shoemakers, I most humbly thank your Grace. But before I rise, seeing you are in the Giving vain, and we in the Begging, grant Sim Eyre one boon more.  King 
What is it my Lord Maior?  Eyre 
Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquet that stands sweetly waiting for your sweet presence.  King 
I shall undo thee Eyre, only with feasts,  
Already have I been too troublesome,  
Say, have I not?  Eyre 
O my dear king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a day of shroving which I promised long ago to the prentices of London: for an'dt please your Highness, in time passed  
I bore the water tankard, and my coat  
Sits not a whit the worse upon my back:  
And then upon a morning some mad boys,  
It was Shrove-Tuesday even as 'tis now,  
Gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of my tankard, if ever I came to be Lord Maior of London, I would feast all the prentices, This day (my liege) I did it, and the slaves had an hundred tables five times covered, they are gone home and vanished: yet add more honour to the Gentle Trade, taste of Eyre's banquet, Simon's happy made.  King 
Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say,  
I have not met more pleasure on a day,  
Friends of the Gentle Craft, thanks to you all,  
Thanks my kind Lady Mairesse for our there,  
Come Lords, a white let's revel it at home,  
When all our sports, and banquetings are done,  
wars most right wrongs which frenchmen have begun.  Exeunt. 
FINIS.