Af. 
 
 »*V'' 
 
 '^, '? 
 
 i ^-H^V 
 
FIVE OLD PLAYS, 
 
 ILLUSTRATING 
 
 THE EARLY PROGRESS 
 
 THE ENGLISH DKAMA. 
 
 KDITED, 
 
 FROM COPIES, EITHER UNIQUE, OR OF GREAT RARITY, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. PAYNE COLLIER, ESa, F. S. A. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THK 
 
 l^oxhux^t Club* 
 
 LONDON : 
 W. NICOL, SHAKSPEARE PRESS, MDCCCLI. 
 
Cl^e iSojcburgi&e Club* 
 
 MDCCCL. 
 
 THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH AND 
 dUEENSBERRY, K. G., 
 
 President. 
 
 THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE, K. G. 
 
 THE DUKE OF SUTHERLAND, K. G. 
 
 HIS EXCELLENCY MONSIEUR VAN DE WEYER. 
 
 EARL OF POWIS. 
 
 EARL OF GOSFORD. 
 
 EARL BROWNLOW. 
 
 EARL CAWDOR. 
 
 EARL OF ELLESMERE. 
 
 LORD VERNON. 
 
 RIGHT HON. SIR JAMES PARKE. 
 
 RIGHT HON. SIR DAVID DUNDAS. 
 
 RIGHT HON. LORD RUTHERFURD. 
 
 HON. ROBERT CURZON, JUN. 
 
 HON. HUGH CHOLMONDELEY. 
 
 HON. AND VERY REV. THE DEAN OF WINDSOR. 
 
 SIR STEPHEN RICHARD GLYNNE. BART. 
 
 SIR ROBERT HARRY INGLIS, BART. 
 
 REV. BULKELEY BANDINEL, D. D. 
 
 NATHANIEL BLAND, ESQ. 
 
 REV. PHILIP BLISS, D. C. L., V. P. 
 
 BERIAH BOTFIELD, ESQ., Treasurer. 
 
 REV. WILLIAM EDWARD BUCKLEY, M. A. 
 
 FRANCIS HENRY DICKINSON. ESQ. 
 
 HENRY HALLAM, ESQ. 
 
 REV. EDWARD CRAVEN HAWTREY, D. D. 
 
 ALEX. JAMES BERESFORD HOPE, ESQ. 
 
 REV. JOHN STUART HIPPISLEY HORNER, M. A. 
 
 JOHN ARTHUR LLOYD. ESQ. 
 
 THOMAS PONTON, ESQ. 
 
 MELVILLE PORTAL, ESQ. 
 
 EVELYN PHILIP SHIRLEY, ESQ. 
 
 WILLIAM STIRLING, ESQ. 
 
 GEORGE TOMLINE, ESQ. 
 
 230 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Introduction - - - - - - - - i — xx. 
 
 The Conflict of Conscience, 1581, 4to. from a copy in 
 
 THE possession OF THE EdITOR _ - _ - _ 1 
 
 The rare Triumphes of Love and Fortune, 1589, 4to. 
 
 FROM A COPY IN THE LIBRARY OF THE EaRL OF ElLESMERE 81 
 
 The Three Ladies of London, 1584, 4to. from a copy in 
 
 THE Garrick Collection - - - - - -157 
 
 The Three Lords and Three Ladies of London, 1590, 
 
 4to. from a copy in the possession of the Editor - 241 
 
 A Knack to Know a Knave, 1594, 4to. from a copy in 
 
 the library of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire 351 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fiveoldplaysilluOOcollrich 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Four of the five Plays which form the ensuing volume belong to a 
 peculiar class of our early dramatic performances, never yet especially 
 noticed, nor sufficiently illustrated. 
 
 Many specimens have of late years been printed, and reprinted, 
 of Miracle-plays, of Moral-plays, and of productions written in the 
 most matured period of our dramatic literature ; but little or nothing 
 has been done to aflFord information respecting a species of stage-re- 
 presentation, which constitutes a hnk between Moral-plays, on the 
 one hand, and Tragedy and Comedy on the other, as Tragedy and 
 Comedy existed at the period when Shakespeare and his contem- 
 poraries were writers for various theatres in the metropolis. This 
 deficiency it has been our main object to supply. 
 
 The four pieces to which we refer are neither plays which enforce a 
 moral lesson by means of abstract impersonations only, nor are they 
 dramas which profess to consist merely of scenes drawn from life, repre- 
 sented by real characters : they may be said to form a class by them- 
 selves, where characters both abstract and individual are employed 
 in the same performance. The most remarkable drama of this in- 
 termediate kind, and the only one to which particular attention 
 has been directed in modem times, is called " The tragical comedy 
 of Appius and Virginia," which originally came out in 1575, and 
 is reprinted in Vol. XII. of the last edition of " Dodsley's Old 
 Plays" from the sole existing copy.* In it an important historical 
 
 * It is one of the six additional dramas which the Editor of the present volume 
 caused to be inserted in that impression, which came out between the years 1825 
 
 b 
 
u 
 
 event is commemorated, and the hero, heroine, and some other prin- 
 cipal agents are known characters ; but they are mixed up with 
 allegorical abstractions, and the representatives of moral qualities, 
 while the Vice of the older stage is introduced, for the sake of 
 diversifying the representation, and amusing popular audiences. The 
 plot of this production has no religious application, and it was 
 not written with any avowed moral purpose : in this respect, as well 
 as in some other peculiarities, it is unlike the drama which stands 
 first in the following sheets. Still, the general character is the same 
 in both : in both we have a mixture of fact and fable, of reality and 
 allegory, of individuality and abstraction, with the addition, in the 
 latter case, of the enforcement of a lesson, for the instruction of those 
 to whom it was addressed. 
 
 " The Conflict of Conscience" by Nathaniel Woodes, " Minister in 
 Norwich" was originally printed in 1581, 4to., and it is reprinted in 
 our volume from a copy in the possession of the Editor, which has 
 the advantage of a Prologue : this intifeductory address is wanting in 
 the exemplar in the British Museum ; but it unquestionably belonged 
 to the piece, because it also precedes a third copy, in the library of 
 the Duke of Devonshire. We know not that this drama was ever 
 republished, but the Registers of the Company of Stationers contain 
 an entry by John Charlwood, dated 15th June, 1587, of " a ballad of 
 of Mr. Fraunces, an Italian, a doctor of law, who denied the Lord 
 Jesus," * which, as will be seen presently, probably refers to the same 
 story, and, though called " a ballad," may possibly have been a reprint 
 of " The Conflict of Conscience." The names borne by the dif- 
 ferent characters are all stated upon the title-page, with such a dis- 
 
 and 1827. It may be here stated that his duties, from various circumstances, were 
 almost solely confined to these six dramas, four of them by Robert Greene, 
 by George Peele, by Thomas Lodge and by Thomas Nash, no specimens of whose 
 works had been previously included : the two other plays, then new to the col- 
 lection, were "The World and the Child," and " Appius and Virginia." 
 
 ♦ See " Extracts from the Registers of the Stationers' Company," (printed 
 for the Shakespeare Society) Vol. II. p. 230. 
 
m 
 
 tribution of the parts as would enable six actors to represent the 
 piece ; and looking merely at this list, which we have exactly copied, 
 it does not appear in what way the performance bears even a re- 
 mote resemblance to tragedy or comedy. The names read like an 
 enumeration of such personages as were ordinarily introduced into 
 the Moral-plays of an earlier period — indeed, one of them seems to 
 be derived from the still more ancient form of Miracle-plays, fre- 
 quently represented with the assistance of the clergy. We allude to 
 Satan, who opens the body of the drama by a long speech (so long 
 that we can hardly understand how a popular audience endured it) 
 but does not afterwards take part in the action, excepting through the 
 agency of such characters as Hypocrisy, Tyranny and Avarice, who 
 may be supposed to be his instruments, and under his influence and 
 direction. 
 
 Nevertheless, a real, and as he may be considered, a historical 
 personage is represented in various scenes of the play, and is, in 
 truth, its hero, although the author, for reasons assigned in the 
 Prologue, objected to the insertion of his name in the text. These 
 reasons, however, did not apply to the title-page, where the apostacy 
 of Francis Spera, or Spiera, is announced as the main subject, and 
 of whom an account may be found in Sleidan's Vingt-nmf Livres 
 (THistoire (Liv. 21. Edit. Geneva, 1563). Spiera was an Italian 
 lawyer, who abandoned the Protestant for the Roman Catholic faith, 
 and in remorse and despair committed suicide about thirty years 
 anterior to the date when "The Conflict of Conscience '^ came from 
 the press. How long this event had occurred before Nathaniel 
 Woodes wrote his drama upon the story we have no means of 
 knowing; but the object of the author unquestionably was to 
 fon\'ard and fix the Reformation, and we may conclude, perhaps, 
 that an incident of the kind would not be brought upon the stage until 
 some years after Elizabeth had been seated on the throne, and until 
 what was called *'the new faith'' was firmly settled in the belief, 
 and in the affiections, of the great majority of the nation. We appre- 
 hend, therefore, that " The Conflict of Conscience" was not written 
 until about 1570. 
 
IV 
 
 It is the introduction of this real person, under the covert name 
 of Philologus, that constitutes the chief distinction between the 
 drama we have reprinted, and Moral-plays, which, though still some- 
 times exhibited, were falling into desuetude. As most persons 
 are aware, they consisted, in their first and simplest form, entirely 
 of allegorical or representative characters, although, as audiences 
 became accustomed to such abstractions, attempts were from time to 
 time made to give, even to such imaginary impersonations, individual 
 peculiarities and interests. Besides the hero of " The Conflict of 
 Conscience," his friends Eusebius and Theologus may also have been 
 intended for real personages; and Gisbertus and Paphinitius were, 
 possibly, the true names of the sons of Francis Spiera. 
 
 It will be seen that the drama is divided into six acts; but the 
 last act consists of no more than a short speech by a Nuntius, who 
 comes forward, as it should seem, to give a false representation of a 
 historical fact — so early did a dramatist feel himself warranted in 
 deviating from received statements, if it better answered his pur- 
 pose not to adhere to them. In the instance before us Nathaniel 
 Woodes thought fit to alter the catastrophe, for the sake of the moral 
 lesson he wished to enforce; and he, therefore, represented that 
 Spiera had not committed suicide, and had, to the great joy of his 
 friends, before death been re-converted to the religion he had so weakly 
 abandoned. It will be observed, also, that the divisions of acts and 
 scenes are very irregularly made towards the conclusion of the per- 
 formance. From the last line of p. 77 we learn, that no less than 
 thirty weeks are supposed to elapse between the exit of Philologus 
 on p. 76, and his death as announced on the next page. 
 
 Nearly the whole of the piece is written in the ordinary seven-line 
 stanza, with here and there the insertion of a couplet, more, no 
 doubt, for convenience than for variety. The author seems to 
 have very little consulted the wishes and tastes of a popular assembly ; 
 for, independently of the wearisome introduction, the interlocutions 
 are sometimes carried to the extreme of tediousness, and the comic 
 scenes are few and failures. Perhaps, if any exception can be made, 
 
it is in favour of the interview between Hypocrisy, Tyranny and 
 Avarice, which begins on p. 18, where the first, in consistency with 
 his character, succeeds, somewhat humorously, in imposing upon 
 both his companions. The long address of Caconos on p. 32, and 
 his subsequent dialogue with Hypocrisy, Tyranny and Avarice is re- 
 commended to notice as an ancient and accurate specimen of our 
 northern dialect. The long passage, on p. 34, where Caconos describes 
 his knowledge of his portas by its illuminations, has been imitated by 
 other authors, and, very likely, was not new in this drama. 
 
 What we have to state regarding the text of this play applies 
 strictly to all the others. We have given, as far as modern typo- 
 graphy would allow, faithful representations of the original copies, 
 with the close observation of spelling and other peculiarities. If, 
 for the sake of mere inteUigibility, we have rarely added a word, or 
 even a letter, we have always inserted it between brackets ; and for the 
 settlement of difficulties, and the illustration of obscure customs and 
 allusions, we refer to the notes which succeed each play. We might 
 have subjoined them at the foot of the page, but we thought they 
 would be considered by many a needless interruption ; while, if we 
 had reserved the whole for the end of our volume, their bulk and the 
 numerous paginal references might have produced confusion and 
 delay. We judged it best, therefore, to follow each separate produc- 
 tion by the separate notes applicable to it ; and the reader will thus 
 have, as far as our knowledge extends, the ready means of required 
 explanation, which we hav6 endeavoured to compress into the smallest 
 compass. We ought to add, that the only liberty we have taken is 
 with the old and ill-regulated punctuation, which it was often neces- 
 sary to alter, that the sense of the author might be understood, and 
 appreciated. 
 
 The production which stands second in this volume may also be 
 looked upon, in another sense, as intermediate, with reference to 
 stage-performances. It has for title " The rare Triumphs of Love 
 and Fortune," and was probably designed by its unknown author 
 for a court-show. The earliest information we possess regarding it 
 
VI 
 
 establishes that it was represented before Queen Elizabeth between 
 Christmas 1581, and February 1582. The following is the entry 
 regarding it in the Accounts of the office of the Revels of that 
 date. 
 
 " A Historie of Love and Fortune, shewed before her Majestic at 
 Wyndesor, on the sondaie at night next before new yeares daie. 
 Enacted by the Earle of Derbie's servauntes. For which newe pro- 
 vision was made of one Citty and one Battlement of Canvas, iij EUs 
 of sarcenet, a [bolt] of canvas, and viij paire of gloves, with sondrey 
 other furniture in this office." * 
 
 There exists in the same records a memorandum respecting " the 
 play of Fortune " ten years earlier,t but the terms employed are so 
 general, that we do not feel warranted in considering it " The rare 
 Triumphs of Love and Fortune " which we have reprinted : the 
 " History of Love and Fortune/^ mentioned in the preceding quo- 
 tation from the Revel's Accounts, was no doubt the drama under 
 consideration ; and we see that, besides sarcenet and gloves, the new 
 properties (as they were then, and still are, called) necessary for the 
 performance were a city and a battlement to be composed of, or 
 represented on, canvas. We may perhaps conclude that the piece 
 was not written long before it was acted at Windsor ; but it did not 
 come from the press until 1589, and the sole copy of it is preserved in 
 the library of the Earl of Ellesmere, who, in his known spirit of liberal 
 encouragement, long since permitted the Editor to make a transcript 
 of it. We have met with no entry of its publication in the Registers 
 of the Stationers' Company. 
 
 It will be observed that the foundation of the piece depends upon 
 a contest for superiority between Venus and Fortune, and that the 
 first act (for the drama is regularly divided into acts, though the 
 scenes are not distinguished) is a species of Induction to the rest. 
 It is the more remarkable, because it contains some early specimens 
 
 * " Extracts from the Accounts of the Revels at Court " by Peter Cunningham, 
 Esq., (printed for the Shakespeare Society.) p. 176. 
 t Ibid. p. 36. 
 
Vll 
 
 of dramatic blank-verse, although it may be questioned whether the 
 piece was ever exhibited at a public theatre. 
 
 We discover no trace of it in " Henslowe's Diary," * nor in any 
 other authority, printed or manuscript, relating to plays exhibited 
 before public audiences in the reign of Elizabeth ; but it is never- 
 theless clear that it was " played before the Glueen's most excellent 
 Majesty" (as the title-page states) by the retainers of the Earl of 
 Derby, a company of actors at that date engaged in public perform- 
 ances ; and it was then, and afterwards, usual for the Master of the 
 Revels to select dramas for performance at Court, that were favourites 
 with persons who were in the habit of frequenting the houses ge- 
 nerally employed, or purposely erected, for dramatic representations. 
 If " The rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune " were ever acted 
 at a public theatre, the several shows in the first act, of Troilus and 
 Cressida, of Alexander, of Dido, of Pompey and Caesar, and of Hero 
 and Leander would, of course, have been attractive. 
 
 It is not necessary to enter at all into the plot, which was composed 
 to evince alternately the power of Venus and of Fortune in influencing 
 the lives of a pair of faithful lovers, the man, with some singularity, 
 being called Hermione, and the woman Fidelia. They are succes- 
 sively placed by the two goddesses in situations of distress and 
 difiiculty, from which they are ultimately released ; and in the end 
 Venus and Fortune are reconciled, and join in promoting the hap- 
 piness of the couple they had exposed to such trials. The serious 
 business is relieved by some attempts at comedy by a clownish 
 servant, called Lentulo, and in the third act a song is introduced 
 for greater variety, which, as was not unusual at a later period 
 of our stage-history, seems to have been left to the choice of the 
 performer. The prayer for the Queen, at the conclusion of the 
 drama, put into the mouth of Fortune, was a relic of a more ancient 
 practice, and perhaps affords farther proof, if it were wanted, that 
 it was represented before Elizabeth. It appears not unlikely that, if 
 
 ♦ Printed for the Shakespeare Society, in 1845, from the original most valuable 
 MS. preserved in Dulwich College. 
 
Vlll 
 
 " The rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune^' had been chosen by the 
 Master of the Revels for representation at Court on account of its 
 popularity, the fact of its having been acted by a particular company 
 at a known theatre, would have been stated upon the title-page, 
 as a testimony to its merits, and as an incentive to its purchasers. 
 
 We need not hesitate in stating that the third and fourth dramas 
 in the present volume were " publicly played," and the title-page of 
 one of them states the fact. Moreover, they were the author- 
 ship of a most distinguished individual, perhaps only second to 
 Tarlton as an actor, and decidedly his superior as an author : nothing 
 that has come down to us leads us to suppose that Tarlton had much 
 beyond his lavish extemporal wit, and broad drollery to recommend 
 him ; for although various productions were attributed to him, such 
 as are extant do not warrant an opinion that, as a writer, he had much 
 originality.* The reverse is the case with Robert Wilson, whose 
 initials are on the title-pages of " The three Ladies of London " and 
 of " The three Lords and three Ladies of London,^^ and who, 
 besides his well-attested talents as a public performer, was indisputa- 
 bly a dramatist of great ability. He, too, was famous for his extreme 
 readiness of reply when suddenly called upon ; but we cannot help 
 suspecting that some confusion has arisen between the Robert Wilson, 
 the writer of the two dramas above named, (as well as of "The 
 Cobbler's Prophecy," 1594, a production of a similar character) and 
 the Robert Wilson, who is mentioned in " Henslowe's Diary ^' and 
 whom Meres, as late as 1598, calls " our worthy Wilson," adding 
 that he was " for learning and extemporal wit " " without compare 
 or compeer." t The younger Robert Wilson was, perhaps, the son 
 of the elder; but without here entering into the evidence on the 
 
 * It seems more than probable that " Tarlton's Jig of the Horse-load of Fools," 
 (inserted in the introduction to the reprint of his " Jests " by the Shakespeare 
 Society, from a MS. belonging to the Editor of this volume) was written for his hu- 
 morous recitation by some popular author. 
 
 t "Palladis Tamia, Wits Treasury, &c. by Francis Meres, Maister of Artes 
 of both Universities." 8vo. 1598, fol. 286. 
 
IX 
 
 point, (with which we were not formerly so well acquainted) we may 
 state our persuasion, generally, that the Robert Wilson who was 
 appointed one of the leaders of one of Queen Elizabeth's two com- 
 panies of players in 1583 * was not the same Robert Wilson who 
 was a joint author, with Monday, Drayton, and Hathway, in the 
 drama on the story of Sir John Oldcastle, imputed to Shakespeare 
 on the authority of some copies printed in 1 600. 
 
 There are two old editions of '^ The three Ladies of London," one 
 of them printed in 1584, the text of which we have followed, and the 
 other in 1592, the various readings of which we have noted. Both of 
 them have the initials R. W. on the title-page as those of the writer ; 
 but some doubt has been thrown upon the question of authorship, 
 because, at the end of the piece, in both impressions, we read " Finis. 
 Paul Bucke." — The fact, however, no doubt, is that Paul Bucke, 
 who, it has been recently ascertained, was an actor, f subscribed, the 
 transcript, which about 1584 he had procured for Roger Warde, the 
 printer, in order to authenticate it : hence the connexion of his name 
 with the production, in the performance of which he may also have 
 had a share, and he may thus have had access to the prompter's book. 
 The Paul Bucke, who in 1578 was the author of a "prayer for Sir 
 Humphrey Gilbert," was in all probability the same individual. J 
 
 The second edition of 1592 would seem, from the many variations, 
 to have been printed from a different manuscript to that used for the 
 edition of 1584, and in some respects it was an improvement. 
 Still, as we have stated, the name of Paul Bucke is at the termination of 
 both ; and it is a somewhat remarkable indication of the care displayed 
 in bringing out the second edition, that whereas in the first edition an 
 event is spoken of as having occurred in the reign of Queen Mary 
 
 * Hist, of Enjfl. Drain. Poetry and the Sta^e, I. 255. 
 
 t See " Memoirs of the Principal Actors in the Plays of Shakespeare" (printed 
 for the Shakespeare Society) p. 131. If Bucke were a young actor in 1584, he had 
 a natural son buried in 1599, but it is not stated how old that son then was. 
 
 I See the entry of it by Henry Kirkhara in the " Extracts from the Registers of 
 the Stationers' Company " (printed for the Shakespeare Society) Vol II. p. 61. 
 
 c 
 
*' not much more than 26 years " before, in the second edition, 
 printed seven or eight years afterwards, the figures 26 are altered to 
 33. Such proofs of attention to comparative trifles were unusual in 
 the reprints of old plays ; and it may be doubted whether in this 
 nstance it would have been afforded, had not " The three Ladies of 
 London " continued such a favourite with the town, as to occasion its 
 frequent repetition at the public theatre. A piece of evidence to 
 shew the popularity of the drama, long after its original publication, 
 is to be found in Edward Guilpin's " Skialetheia, or a Shadowe 
 of Truth," 8vo. 1 598, where it is thus distinctly alluded to : 
 
 " The world's so bad that vertue's over-awde. 
 And forst, poore soule, to become vices bawde ; 
 Like the old morall of the comedie, 
 Where Conscience favours Lucar's harlotry." 
 
 These lines are contained in the first satire of this very curious and 
 interesting work, and the readers of the drama will at once be aware 
 of their application.* 
 
 " The three Ladies of London" recommended itself to our notice, 
 for the present volume, on account of the peculiarity of its construc- 
 tion : Guilpin, we see, speaks of it as " the old moral of the comedy," 
 and this, in truth, is the exact description of it. It is neither en- 
 ». tirely a " moral," nor entirely a " comedy," but a mixture of both, 
 differing from the drama that stands first in our volume, because 
 the real characters introduced are not known or historical per- 
 sonages. Most of the dramatis personce are indisputably allegori- 
 cal or representative, the embodyments of certain virtues and vices ; 
 but individuals are also employed, such as Gerontus, a Jew, and 
 Mercadore, a merchant, besides a Judge who is called upon to de- 
 termine a dispute between them. This portion of the piece may 
 
 • We quote from Mr. Utterson's, on all accounts, valuable reprint of Guilpin's 
 collection of Epigrams and Satires, which was limited to 16 copies. The same 
 gentleman has conferred many other disinterested favours of the same kind on the 
 lovers of our ancient literature. 
 
XI 
 
 be said to belong to a more advanced period of our stage, and dis- 
 tinguishes it, as far as we are aware, from anything of the kind known 
 anterior to the date when the production first came from the press. 
 The name Gerontus, can hardly fail to bring to mind that of the 
 hero of the old ballad of " Gernutus, the Jew of Venice " ; * but 
 there is a remarkable difference between the two persons : in the play 
 before us Gerontus is represented in a very favourable light, as an 
 upright Jew, only anxious to obtain his own property by fair means, 
 while his antagonist, a Christian merchant, endeavours to defeat the 
 claim by fraud, perjury and apostacy. So far the drama of " The 
 three Ladies of London " contradicts the position, founded mainly 
 upon Marlowe^s Barabas t and Shakespeare's Shylock, that our early 
 dramatists eagerly availed themselves of popular prejudices against 
 the conscientious adherents to the old dispensation. 
 
 The construction of " The three Ladies of London" in other 
 respects will speak for itself, but we may be allowed to give Wilson 
 credit for the acuteness and political subtlety he evinces in several 
 of his scenes ; for the severity of many of his touches of satire ; for 
 his amusing illustrations of manners ; for his exposure of the tricks 
 of foreign merchants, and for the humour and drollery which he has 
 thrown into his principal comic personage. The name of this cha- 
 racter is Simplicity, who is the fool or clown of the performance, and 
 who, in conformity with the practice, not only of our earlier but some 
 times of our later stage, makes several amusing appeals to the 
 audience. We may pretty safely conclude, although we are without 
 any hint of the kind, that this arduous part was sustained by the 
 author himself. 
 
 The original copy of this production, to which we have resorted, is 
 among the Garrick Plays: we recollect to have met with no other 
 
 * Percy's Reliques, I. 226. edit. 1812. There are copies in the Roxburghe, 
 Pepys, and Ashmole collections. 
 
 t In his " Jew of Malta " reprinted in '♦ Dodsley's Old Plays " Vol. VIII, last 
 edit, or more perfectly in the Rev, A. Dyce's recent edit, of " The Works of 
 Christopher Marlowe," I. 227. 
 
xu 
 
 copy of the edition of the year 1584 ; but at least three of the later 
 impression have come under our notice : one is in the library of the 
 Duke of Devonshire, another in that of the Earl of EUesraere, and a 
 third at Oxford. Of all these we have more or less availed ourselves 
 in our reprint. 
 
 The fourth play in the ensuing pages, " The three Lords and 
 three Ladies of London/' is connected in subject with the third, and, 
 as stated already, is by the same author, who placed his initials, 
 R. W., upon the title-page. The reprint is made from a copy in the 
 possession of the Editor, compared with two others of the same date 
 which in no respect vary : it may be right to mention this fact, because, 
 as all who have been in the habit of examining the productions of our 
 early stage are aware, important alterations and corrections were 
 sometimes introduced while the sheets were going through the press. 
 Our title-page, including the wood-cut, may be considered a fac-simile. 
 It will be seen that it was printed in 1590, and it was probably 
 written by Robert Wilson about two'years before, as a sort of second 
 part to his '* Three Ladies of London," which had met with such 
 decided success. That success was perhaps in some degree revived 
 by the frequent performance of " The three Lords and three Ladies 
 of London," and the consequence seems to have been the publication 
 of the new edition of the former in 1592. 
 
 The author called his new effort " The pleasant and stately Moral 
 of the three Lords and three Ladies of London," and it bears, in 
 all its essential features, a strong resemblance to the species of drama 
 known as a Moral or Moral-play. This resemblance is even more close 
 and striking than that of " The three Ladies of London ;" for such 
 important characters as Gerontus and Mercadore are wanting, and 
 as far as the dramatis personce are concerned, there is little to take 
 it out of the class of earlier dramatic representations, but the charac- 
 ters of Nemo and the Constable, the latter being so unimportant that 
 Wilson did not include him in the Ust of " the Actor's names" which 
 immediately follows the title. Had the piece, however, made a still 
 more remote approach to comedy, and had it possessed fewer of the 
 
xm 
 
 mixed features belonging to its predecessor, we should unhesitatingly 
 have reprinted it as a necessary sequel. 
 
 Towards the conclusion of the drama, as well, indeed, as in the in- 
 troductory stanzas, the allusions to the Armada, and to the empty 
 vaunts of the Spaniards are so distinct and obvious, that we cannot 
 place the composition of it earlier than 1588 ; but it must have re- 
 mained in manuscript for about two years, since it was not published 
 until after July, 1590, the following entry in the Stationers' Registers 
 bearing date the 31st of that month. 
 
 " Richard Jones. Entred for his copie, under thandes of doctor 
 Wood and the wardens, a comedie of the plesant and statelie 
 morrall of the Three lordes of London." * 
 
 Richard Jones, as will be seen from the imprint, was the publisher 
 of the work; but the clerk, who made the memorandum in the 
 books, blundered respecting the name, and, besides terming it " a 
 comedy^' as well as " a pleasant and stately moral,'' he omitted 
 that portion of the title which immediately connects it with " The 
 three Ladies of London." That connexion is avowed in the Pro- 
 logue (unusually called a " Preface") which was spoken by " a Lady, 
 very richly attired, representing London ;" and it is evident that the 
 author had every reason for making the fact prominent, in as much as 
 it was his interest to prove the relationship between his new offspring, 
 and a drama that had for some years been estabUshed in pubUc appro- 
 bation. London, speaking in the poef s name, therefore, says, 
 " My former fruits were lovely Ladies three ; 
 Now of three Lords to talk is London's glee : 
 Whose deeds I wish may to your liking frame. 
 For London bids you welcome to the same." 
 
 Although, in its plot and general character, " The three Lords and 
 three Ladies of London" is not so far advanced towards genuine 
 comedy, the representation of life and manners, as its first part " The 
 
 • This quotation will appear in the next, the third, volume of "Extracts from 
 the Registers of the Stationers* Company," which is now in the press of the 
 Shakespeare Society. 
 
XIV 
 
 three Ladies of London,'^ in style and composition it makes a much 
 nearer approach to what soon afterwards became the language of the 
 stage, such as we find it in the works of Shakespeare, and of some of 
 his most gifted contemporaries. Wilson, doubtless, saw the necessity, 
 in 1588, of adopting some of those improvements of versification in 
 which Marlowe had led the way : he, therefore, laid aside (excepting in 
 a few comic scenes) his heavy, lumbering, and monotonous fourteen 
 syllable lines (sometimes carried to a greater length, for the sake 
 of variety) and not only usually employed ten syllable lines, but 
 introduced speeches of blank verse. His drama opens with this then 
 uncommon form, and he avails himself of it afterwards, interspersing 
 also prose in such situations as did not seem to require measured 
 speech. This of itself was at that time a bold undertaking ; for Marlowe 
 had only just before 1588, when *' The three Lords and three Ladies 
 of London" must have been written, commenced weaning audiences 
 at our public theatres from what, in the Prologue to his " Tambur- 
 laine the Great," he ridicules as the "-jigging veins of rhiming mother- 
 wits.^'* Robert Wilson is, on this account, to be regarded with singular 
 respect, and his works to be read with peculiar interest. It is not easy 
 to settle the question of precedency, but, as far as our knowledge 
 at present extends, he seems entitled to be considered the second 
 writer of blank verse for dramas intended for popular audiences. This 
 is a point of view in which his productions have never yet been con- 
 templated ; and it renders the play we have reprinted, illustrating as 
 it does so important and striking a change, especially worthy of notice 
 and republication. 
 
 Something has been already said respecting the characters who 
 figure in this representation, and we may add that although Simplicity, 
 who here performs even a more prominent and important part than in 
 " The three Ladies of London,^' must be reckoned the impersonation 
 
 * Tlie question when blank-verse was first employed in our public theatres is 
 considered and discussed in the " History of English Dramatic Poetry and the 
 Stage," III. 107 ; and the whole of Marlowe's Prologue, in which he may be said 
 to claim the credit of its introduction, is quoted on p. 116. 
 
XV 
 
 of a quality, and the representative of a class, so much individuality 
 is given to him, particularly in his capacity of a ballad-singer, that it is 
 impossible not to take a strong interest in all that he says, and in the in- 
 cidents in which he is engaged. Richard Tarlton, the famous comedian, 
 died on 3d Sept. 1588, rather more than a month after the entry of 
 " The three Lords and three Ladies of London" at Stationers'* Hall ; 
 and on p. 266 it will be seen that Simplicity produces his " picture" 
 before the audience, and gives a minute account of his habits, 
 appearance, and employments. It is clear, therefore, as Tarlton is 
 spoken of as dead, that this part of the drama must have been 
 written, and introduced, subsequent to the memorandum in the Sta- 
 tioners' Registers. This of itself is a curious circumstance, and it 
 serves to shew with what promptitude our old dramatists availed them- 
 selves of any temporary matter that could give attraction and popu- 
 larity to their plays. 
 
 As we have supposed Wilson himself to have acted Simplicity in 
 ** The three Ladies of London,'^ we may perhaps conclude that he 
 sustained the same character in **The three Lords and three Ladies 
 of London.^' The part was an excellent one for the display of comic 
 humour and clownish drollery, and the enumeration, on p. 264, of the 
 old ballads he sings and sells needs no illustration here, where, in fact, 
 it would be out of place. The familiar manner in which Simplicity 
 at times addresses the audience, for the sake of raising a laugh, is even 
 more unlicensed in this play than in its predecessor, and we never 
 before saw the words " To the audience" introduced, by way of stage- 
 direction to the performer, that he might appeal to the spectators. * 
 
 The copy of this play most employed in the ensuing pages is the 
 property of the Editor, but he has had an opportunity of comparing it 
 with another in the library of the Duke of Devonshire. 
 
 The connexion between the productions of our ancient and more 
 modern stage, such as it existed at the close of the reign of Elizabeth, 
 
 * See p 292, This practice of addressing the audience was continued to a 
 comparatively late date, and Thomas Hey wood's Plays, now in a course of pub- 
 lication by the Shakespeare Society, afford various instances of it. 
 
XVI 
 
 is even more slightly evidenced by the drama which comes last in our 
 volume, the main features of which bear only a distant resemblance 
 to our drama, while it was still under the trammels of allegorical 
 impersonation. Nevertheless, the likeness is to be traced without 
 difficulty ; and when we find such a character as Honesty most 
 prominently engaged from the beginning to the end of the per- 
 formance (to say nothing of the introduction of the representative 
 of the principle of evil on p. 365 and 409), the mind is carried 
 back to a period of our theatrical history, when such charac- 
 ters were alone employed on our stage. Honesty has no necessary 
 connection with the plot, nor with its developement, beyond the ex- 
 posure by his means of fraud, flattery and hypocrisy : he bears no 
 relation, however distant, to any of the parties engaged in the perform- 
 ance, and seems to have been designed by the unknown author 
 as a sort of running commentator, and bitter satirist upon the 
 vices and follies of mankind. On the other hand, the chief charac- 
 ters among the dramatis personce are real and historical, and King 
 Edgar and Bishop Dunstan, with Ethenwald and Alfrida, may 
 be said to figure prominently throughout. The Knight, the Squire 
 and the Farmer, who make their appearance on p. 385, are clearly 
 embodyments of the several classes of society to which they appertain. 
 Thus, although the " Knack to know a Knave^' makes a nearer 
 approach to comedy than any of the four dramas which precede it, it 
 still by no means entirely discards the use of personages of a descrip- 
 tion which, many years earlier, engrossed our stage. Characters 
 and scenes of life and manners are blended with others supported 
 only by conventional impersonations, in which the dialogue is not 
 intended to advance the plot, but merely to enforce a lesson of 
 morality, probity, or discretion. 
 
 It is not always easy to guess at the full meaning of the author 
 in various scenes he introduces, but some of them were obviously 
 inserted for the purpose of exciting the laughter of the audience, and 
 of giving an opportunity of display to a favourite low comedian. One 
 of the actors is expressly mentioned on the title-page, where " Kemp's 
 
XVll 
 
 applauded merriments of the men of Gotham, in receiving the King 
 into Gotham" are made prominent; but unless much were left to the 
 extemporaneous invention of the performer, or unless much has been 
 omitted in the printed copy, which was inserted by the author in his 
 manuscript, it is difficult at this time of day to discover in what the wit, 
 if not the drollery, consisted. As this portion of the play has come 
 down to us, it seems to be composed of mere ignorant and blundering 
 buffoonery, unworthy of a comedian, who undoubtedly afterwards sus- 
 tained important humorous characters in the plays of Shakespeare. 
 Who was the Bailiff of Hexham, and why he was brought forward 
 on his death-bed near the opening of the drama, we are unable to 
 explain, unless the author's object were, that the spectators, when 
 the Bailiff was ultimately carried away by the devil, should have 
 ocular proof of the condign punishment which followed his principles 
 as explained to his sons, and his practices as avowed by himself. 
 
 We can establish, almost to a day, when the " Knack to know a 
 Knave" was first represented, for we find it thus entered in " Hen- 
 slowe's Diary :" it is in an account relating to the performances of the 
 company acting under the name of Lord Strange, at the Rose theatre, 
 from 19th Feb. 1591-2 to the 22 June, 1592. 
 
 R[eceive]d at Jeronimo, the 9 of June 1592 xxviij^ 
 
 Rd at a Knack to know a Knave, 1592, 1 day iij". xij^ 
 
 Rd at Harry the VI, the 12 June 1592 xxxiij^ 
 
 Here, therefore, we find (reforming the uncouth spelling of the old 
 manager) that the play under consideration was acted, for the first 
 day,* between the 9th and 12th June, 1592, and that Henslowe's 
 share of the receipts amounted to £3. I2s. Od. It was acted again 
 on 15th and 22d June, when the account ends. William Kemp 
 was at this time a member of the company in the prosperity of 
 
 * Besides " 1 day," in the body of the entry, (" Henslowe's Diary," p. 28) the 
 letters ne are inserted in the margin, by which also the manager indicated that the 
 piece performed was a new play. Both these circumstances were unnoticed by, 
 because unknown to, Malone when he had the original MS. from Dulwich 
 College for some years in his hands. 
 
 d 
 
« XVlll 
 
 which Henslowe was interested, and had not yet joined the asso- 
 ciation acting under the sanction of the Lord Chamberlain, to which 
 in 1592 Shakespeare had for some years belonged. " Ed. Allen and 
 his Company/' spoken of on the title-page to the printed copy of 
 " A Knack to know a Knave" as those by whom it had been 
 '' played," were the actors of Lord Strange.* 
 
 With regard to the date when the " Knack to know a Knave" was 
 printed, we are in possession of pretty distinct evidence that it came 
 out in the early part of 1594, the year stated on the title-page. The 
 imprint also informs us that Richard Jones, then carrying on busi- 
 ness at the Rose and Crown near Holborn-bridge, was the typo- 
 grapher, and we meet with the following entry at Stationers' Hall, 
 preparatory to the publication, with his name prefixed to it. 
 
 " vij° Januarij [1593-4] 
 " Rich. Jones. Entred for his Copie &c. A comedie entitled a 
 Knack to knowe a Knaue, newlye sett fourth, as it 
 hath sundrye tymes ben plaid by Ned Allen and 
 his Companie, with Kemps applauded Merymentes 
 of the men of Goteham."t 
 The sum paid to the clerk, who kept the Register, was as usual 
 six-pence ; and from the terms above employed, which nearly follow 
 those of the title-page, we may feel pretty sure that the copy taken to 
 Stationers' Hall was a printed one, and not, as seems to have been 
 generally the case, a manuscript. 
 
 There is no doubt that the drama was extremely popular both on 
 and off the stage, and although it is now one of the scarcest of our 
 old plays, it must have been a profitable speculation to the publisher. 
 In order that the various parties interested might more efifectually 
 avail themselves of the favour with which it had been received, a sort 
 
 * See " Memoirs of Edward AUeyn," founder of Dulwich College (printed for 
 the Shakespeare Society), p. 29, &c. 
 
 t This memorandum, securing the right of publication to Richard Jones, is 
 also contained in tlie forth-coming volume of " Extracts from the Registers 
 of the Stationers' Company," to be issued by the Shakespeare Society. 
 
XIX 
 
 of counterpart was written to it, and acted for the first time on 22d 
 Oct. 1594, by the players of the Queen and of the Earl of Sussex, 
 (then performing together) under the title of " A Knack to know an 
 Honest Man." This drama, though inferior in every respect, appears 
 by " Henslowe's Diary " (for he was also interested in the receipts of 
 these united associations) to have had a long and advantageous run.* 
 It was not published until 1596, and it was previously entered on the 
 Stationers' books by Cuthbert Burby. In the same year was printed 
 by Valentine Simmes a work, the title of which was evidently borrowed 
 from the proverbial expression " a knack to knowe a knave," which 
 possibly had its origin in the great popularity of the drama we 
 have reprinted : this work was by M. B., and was called ** The 
 Triall of true Friendship ; or a perfect mirror to discern e a trustie 
 friend from a flattering Parasite — Otherwise a Knack to know a 
 Knaue from an honest man." One principal purpose of the play 
 under consideration was to expose the flattery of the parasite Perin, 
 who endeavoured to impose upon King Edgar, but was detected by 
 Honesty. It seems not unlikely that Honesty was the character sus- 
 tained by Edward Alleyn, but we have no knowledge of the distribu- 
 tion of any of the parts, beyond the fact that Kemp played a chief 
 blunderer in the comic scene on p. 401 : whether that was the Miller, 
 the Cobbler or the Smith may, perhaps, admit of dispute. 
 
 The story of the serious portion of the play was doubtless derived 
 from an old ballad, inserted by Thomas Deloney in his " Garland of 
 Good Will," (probably written by him) where it is entitled " A 
 Song of King Edgar, shewing how he was deceived of his Love." 
 As it is reprinted in all the editions of Evans's Old Ballads, and has 
 been the subject of two plays in comparatively modern times,t it is 
 not necessary here to give any detail of the plot, which also, in several 
 incidents, strongly resembles parts of Robert Greene's " Friar Bacon 
 
 * See his " Diary," pp. 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 50, 51, 54, 55, 57, 62, and 82. 
 
 t " Elfrid," afterwards remodelled under the title of " Athelwold," by Aaron 
 Hill ; and ** Elfrida " by William Mason. At an earlier date the story, more or 
 less altered, furnished a subject to Rymer and Ravenscroft. 
 
XX 
 
 and Friar Bongay," which, Uke the " Knack to know a Knave/' was 
 printed in 1594.* 
 
 The Editor was, some years ago, permitted to make a transcript 
 of this rare play from a copy in the hbrary of his Grace the Duke of 
 Devonshire, that in the British Museum being very defective in 
 several places, and the missing pages having been supplied by very 
 delusive manuscript. The Rev. Alexander Dyce also possesses a 
 perfect exemplar, which was extremely useful for the purpose of 
 collation. 
 
 * See Vol. VIII. of the last Edit, of Dodsley's Old Plays, p. 165; and Rev. A. 
 Dvce's " Robert Greene's Works," I. 141. 
 
An excellent new Commedie, 
 
 Intituled : 
 
 The Conflict of Conscience, 
 
 CONTAYNINGE, 
 
 The most lamentable Hystorye, of the des- 
 
 petatitnt of Frauncis Spera, tD(>0 fOt|EfOO£le 
 
 the trueth of Gods Gospell, for feare 
 
 of the losse of life and worldly goodes. 
 
 Compiled, by Nathaniell 
 
 Woodes. Minister, in 
 
 Norwich. 
 
 ^ The Actors names, deuided into six partes, most con- 
 uenient for such as be disposed, either to shew this Comedie in 
 priuate houses, or otherwise. 
 
 Prologue. 
 Mathetes. 
 Conscience. 
 Paphinitius. 
 
 f ot one. 
 
 Sathan. 
 
 Tyrannye. 
 
 Spirit. 
 
 Horror. 
 
 Eusebius. 
 
 Cardinal. 
 
 Hypocrisie. I ^ 
 
 Theologus. I * 1 Cacon. 
 
 for one. 
 
 fot one. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Suggestion. 
 Gisbertus. 
 Nuntius. 
 
 for one. 
 
 Philologus. tot one. 
 
 AT LONDON 
 Printed, by Richarde Bradocke 
 
 dwellinge in Aldermanburie, a Uttle aboue the 
 Conduict. Anno 1581. 
 
The Prologue. 
 
 When whirling windes which blowe with blustring blast, 
 Shall cease their course, and not the Ayre mooue. 
 But still vnstirred it doth stand, it chaunceth at the last 
 To be infect, the trueth hereof euen day by day we prooue ; 
 For deepe within the Caues of earth, of force it doth behoue, 
 Sith that no windes do come thereto, the Ayre out to beate, 
 By standing stil the closed ajre doth breede infections great. 
 
 ^ The streame or flood, which runneth vp and downe. 
 
 Is far more sweete, then is the standing brooke : 
 
 If long vnwome you leaue a Cloake or Gowne, 
 
 Moathes will it marre, vnlesse you thereto looke : 
 
 Againe, if that vppon a shelfe you place or set a booke> 
 
 And suffer it there stiU to stand, the wormes will soone it eate : 
 
 A Knife likewise, in sheath layde vp, the rust will marre and freat. 
 
 1[ The good road horsse, if still at racke he stand, 
 
 To resty lade will soone transformed be : 
 
 If long vntild you leaue a fertile lande. 
 
 From strecke, and weed, no place wilbe left free. 
 
 By these examples, and such like, approoue then well may wee, 
 
 That idlenes more euills doth bring into the minde of man. 
 
 Then labour great in longer tyme againe expell out can. 
 
 ^ Which thing our Author marking well, when weried was his minde 
 From reading graue and auncient workes, yet loth his time to loose. 
 Bethought himselfe, to ease his heart, some recreance to fynde, 
 And as he mused in his minde, immediately arose 
 A straunge example done of late, which might, as he suppose, 
 Stirre vp their mindes to godlines, which shoulde it see or heare. 
 And therefore humbly doth you pray to geue attentiue eare. 
 
 ^ The argument or ground wheron our Author chefely stayed. 
 Is (sure) a Hystory straunge and true, to many men well knowne, 
 Of one through loue of worldly wealth, and feare of death dismaide. 
 Because he would his lyfe and goods haue kept still as his owne. 
 From state of grace wherein he stoode was almost ouerthrowne j 
 So that he had no power at all in heart firme fayth to haue, 
 Tyll at the last God chaimgd his mynde his mercies for to craue. 
 
The Prologue. 
 
 % And here our Author thought it meete the true name to omit. 
 
 And at this time imagine him philologvs to be ; 
 
 First, for because a Comedie will hardly him permit 
 
 The vices of one priuate man to touch particulerly, 
 
 Againe, nowe shall it stirre them more, who shall it heare or see ; 
 
 For if this worldling had been namde, we wold straight deeme in minde. 
 
 That all by him then spoken were, our selues we would not finde. 
 
 1 But syth PHILOLOGVS is nought else but one that loues to taike. 
 
 And common of the worde of God, but hath no further care. 
 
 According as it teacheth them in Gods feare for to walke. 
 
 If that we practise this, in deede, philologi we are, 
 
 And so by his deserued fault we may in time beware : 
 
 Nowe, if as Author first it meant, you heare it with this gayne. 
 
 In good behalfe he will esteeme that he bestowed his payne. 
 
 ^ And for because we see by proofe that men do soone forget. 
 
 Those thinges for which to call them by no name at all they knowe. 
 
 Our Author, for to helpe short wittes, did thinke it very meete. 
 
 Some name for this his Comedy in preface for to showe : 
 
 Nowe, names to natures must agree, as euery man do knowe, 
 
 A fitter name he could in mynde no where excogitate. 
 
 Then the conflict of conscience the same to nominate. 
 
 % A cruell Conflict certainly, where Conscience takes the foyle. 
 And is constrained by the flesh to yelde to deadly sinne. 
 Whereby the grace and loue of God from him his sinne doeth spoyle, 
 Then (wretch accurst) small power hath repentance to beginne. 
 This Hystorie here example showes of one fast wrapt therein. 
 As in discourse before your eyes shall plainely prooued be ; 
 Yet (at the last) God him restoarde, euen of his mercie free. 
 
 ^ And though the Historic of it selfe be too too dolorus, 
 
 And would constraine a man with teares of blood his cheekes to wett. 
 
 Yet to refresh the myndes of them that be the Auditors, 
 
 Our Author intermixed hath, in places fitt and meete. 
 
 Some honest mirth, yet alwaies ware decorvm to exceede. 
 
 But list, I heare the players prest in presence foorth to come : 
 
 I therefore cease, and take my leaue : my Message I haue done. 
 
 Eaeit. 
 
 Finis. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Acte first. Sceane 1. 
 
 Sathan. 
 
 High time it is for mee to stirre about, 
 And doo my best my kingdom to maintaine, 
 For why ? I see of enemies a rought, 
 Which all my lawes, and Statutes doo disdaine j 
 Against my state doo fight and striue amaine : 
 Whome, in time if I do not dissipate, 
 I shall repent it, when it is to late. 
 
 My mortall foe, the Carpenters poore sonne, 
 Against my Children, the Pharises I meane. 
 Upbraiding them, did vse this comparison. 
 As in the storie of his lyfe may be seene. 
 There was a man which had a vinyard greene. 
 Who letting it to husbandmen vnkinde. 
 In steade of fruite vnthankfiilnesse did finde. 
 
 So that his Seruauntes firstly they did beate. 
 His Sonne lykewise they afterward did kill ; 
 And heerevpon that man in furie great. 
 Did souldiers send these Husbandmen to spill ; 
 Their Towne to burne he did them also will : 
 But out alas, alas, for woe I crie, 
 To vse the same farre iuster cause haue I. 
 
 For where the kingdome of this worlde is myne. 
 And his on whom I will the same bestow. 
 As Prince heereof I did my selfe assigne : 
 My darling deare, whose faithfull loue I know, 
 
6 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Shall neuer faile from mee, but daylie flow : 
 But who that is perhaps some man may doubt ; 
 I will therfore in breefe purtraict and paint him out. 
 
 The mortall man by natures rule is bound 
 That Child to fauour more then all the rest. 
 Which to himselfe in face is lykest found ; 
 So that he shall with all his goodes be blest : 
 Euen so doo I esteeme and lyke him best. 
 Which doeth most neare my dealyngs imitate. 
 And doth pursue Gods lawes with deadly hate. 
 
 As therefore I, when once in Angels state 
 I was, did thinke mysehe with God as mate to bee, 
 So doeth my sonne himselfe now eleuate 
 Aboue mans nature in rule and dignitie. 
 So that in terris Deus sum, saith he : 
 In earth I am a God, with sinnes for to dispence. 
 And for rewardes, I will forgiue eche maner of offience. 
 
 I said to Eue, tush, tush, thou shalt not die. 
 But rather shalt as God know euerie thing. 
 My Sonne likewise, to maintaine Idolatrie, 
 Saith, tush, what hurt can earned Idols bring ? 
 Dispise this law of God, the heauenly King, 
 And set them in the Churche for men thereon to looke ; 
 An Idoll doth much good ; it is a laymans booke. 
 
 Nembroth, that Tyrant, fearing Gods hande, 
 By mee was perswaded to builde vp high Babell ; 
 Whereby, he presumed Gods wrath to withstande : 
 So hath my Boy deuised very well 
 Many prety toyes, to keepe mens soule from hell. 
 Line they neuer so euill heere, and wickedly, 
 As Masses, trentalles. Pardons and Scala coeli. 
 
 I egged on Pharao, of Egipt the King, 
 The Israelites to kill so sone as they were borne : 
 My darling likewise doeth the selfe same thing, 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 And therefore cause Kinges and Princes to he swome. 
 That with might and maine they shall keepe vs his horn. 
 And shall destroy with fire. Axe and sworde 
 Such as against him shall speake but one worde. 
 
 And euen as I was somewhat to slow, 
 So that notwithstanding the Israehtes did augment ; 
 So for lack of murthering Gods people doo grow. 
 And dayly increase at this time present : 
 Which my sonne shall feele incontinent. 
 Yet an other practise, this euill to withstand. 
 He learned of mee, which now he takes in hand. 
 
 For when as Moses I might not destroy. 
 Because that he was of the Lord appointed , 
 
 To bring the people from thraldome to ioye, 
 I did not cease, whilst I had inuented 
 An other meanes to haue him preuented ; 
 By accompting himselfe the sonne of Pharao, 
 To make him loth Egipt to forgoe. 
 
 The same aduise I also attempted 
 Against the sonne of God, when he was incarnate ; 
 Hoping there by to haue him relented. 
 And for promotion sake himselfe to prostrate 
 Before my feete, when I did demonstrate. 
 The whole worlde vnto him, and all the glory, 
 As it is recorded in Matheus Historye. 
 
 So hath the Pope, who is my darlyng deare, 
 My eldest boy, in whom I doo delight. 
 Least he should fall, which thing he greatly feare, 
 Out of his Seat of honor, pompe and might. 
 Hath got to him, on his behalfe to fight. 
 Two Champions stout, of which the one is Auarice, 
 The other is called Tjrrannicall practise. 
 
 For, as I saide, although I claime by right 
 The kingdome of this earthly worlde so rounde, 
 
8 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 And in my stead to rule with force and might 
 
 I haue assigned the Pope, whose match I no wher found, 
 
 His hart with loue to race so muche abounde ; 
 
 Yet diners men of late, of maUice most vnkinde. 
 
 Do study to displace my son some way warde meanes to find : 
 
 Wherfore I maruell much what cause of let there is, 
 That hetherto they haue not their ofl&ce put in vre. 
 I will go see : for why ? I feare that somwhat is amis ; 
 If not, to raunge abroad the worlde I will them straight procure : 
 But needes they must haue one to help, mens harts for to allure 
 Unto their traine : who that should bee I cannot yet espie. 
 No meeter match I can finde out then is Hypocrisie : 
 
 Who can full well in time and place dissemble cithers parte. 
 No man shaU easely perceiue with which side he dooth beare ; 
 But when once fauour he hath got and credit in mans hart, 
 He will not slack in mine affaires : I doo him nothing feare. 
 But time doth runne too fast away for mee to tarie heere, 
 for none will be enamoured of my shape I doo know : 
 I will therfore myne impes send out from hell their shapes to show. 
 
 Eocit, 
 
 Acte f3rrst. Sceane 2. 
 
 Mathetes. Philologus. 
 My mynde doeth thirst, deare friende Philologus, 
 Of former talke to make a finall ende : 
 And where before we gan for to discus 
 The cause why God doth such afflictions sende 
 Into his Church, you would some more time spende 
 In the same cause, that thereby you might learne. 
 Betwixt the wrath and loue of God a right for to discerne 
 
 Philolofftis. 
 With right good will to your request heerin I doo consent, 
 As well because, as I perceiue, you take therein delight, 
 As also for because it is most chiefely pertinent 
 
The Conjlict of Conscience. 
 
 Unto mine office, to instruct and teache eche Christian wight 
 True godlynesse, and shew to them the path that leadeth right 
 Vnto Gods kingedome, where we shall inherite our saluation, 
 Geuen vnto vs from God by Christ our true propitiation. 
 
 But that a better ordered course heerein we may obserue, 
 And may directly to the first apply that which insue. 
 To speake that hath bene saide before I wil a time reserue. 
 And so proceede from whence we left, by course and order due 
 Unto the ende : At first, therfore, you did lament and rue 
 The miserie of these our daies, and great calamytie 
 Which those sustaine who dare gainsay the Romish Hypocrisie. 
 
 Mathetes, 
 I haue iust cause, as hath eche Christian hart. 
 To waile and weepe, to shed out teares of bloud, 
 When as I call to minde the torments and the smart, 
 Which those haue borne who honest be and good, 
 For nought els, but because their errors they withstood : 
 Yet ioyed I much to see how paciently. 
 They boare the crose of Christ with constancie. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 So many of vs as into one bodye bee 
 Incorporate, wherof Christ is the liuely heade. 
 As members of our bodies, which wee see 
 With ioyntes of loue together bee conioyned, 
 And must needes suffer, vnlesse that they be dead. 
 Some part of griefe in mynde, which other feele 
 In bodie, though not so much by a great deale. 
 
 Wherfore by this it is most apparent. 
 That those two into one bodie are not vnyted, 
 Of the which the one doth suffer, the other doth torment. 
 And in the woundes of his Brother is delighted : 
 Now which is Christes bodie may easely be decided j 
 For the Lambe is deuoured of the Wolfe alway. 
 Not the Wolfe of the Lambe, as Chrisostom doth say. 
 
 B 
 
10 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Agayne, of vnrighteous Cayne murthered was Abell, 
 By whom the Church of God was figured : 
 Isaac lykewise was persecuted of Ismaell, 
 As in the Booke of Genesis is mencioned : 
 Israeli of Pharao was also terrifyed : 
 Dauid, the Sainct, was afilicted by his Sonne, 
 And put from his kingdome, I raeane by Absolon. 
 
 EHas, the Thesbit, for feare of lezabell 
 Did fly to Horeb, and hid him in a Caue : 
 Micheas, the Prophet, as the story dooth tell, 
 Did hardly his lyfe from Baalles Priests saue : 
 leremy of that sawce tasted haue : 
 So did Esay, Daniell, and the Children three, 
 And thousandes more, which in stories we may see. 
 
 Mathetes. 
 
 In the new Testament we may also reede, 
 That our Sauiour Christ, euen in his Infancy, 
 Of Herod the King might stand in great dread. 
 Who sought to destroy him, such was his insolency : 
 Afterward of the Pharises he did with constancy 
 Sufi^er shamefuU death : his Apostles also, 
 For testimonie of the trueth did their crosses vnder go. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 lames, vnder Herod, was headed with the Sworde : 
 The rest of the Apostles did suffer much turmoyle. 
 Good Paul was murthered by Nero his worde : 
 Domitian deuised a Barrell full of Oyle, 
 The body of lohn the Euangelist to boile. 
 The Pope at this instant sondrie tormentes procure. 
 For such as by Gods holy word will indure. 
 
 By these former stories two thinges we may leame, 
 And profytably recorde in our remembraunce : 
 The fyrst is Gods Church from the Diuels to discerne 
 The second to marke what manyfest resistaunce 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 1 1 
 
 The Trueth of God hath, and what incombraunce 
 It bringeth vpon them that will it professe ; 
 Wherfore they must arme them selues to suffer distresse. 
 
 Mathetes. 
 
 It is no new thing, I doo now perceiue 
 That Christes Church doo suffer tribulation, 
 But that the same crosse I might better receiue, 
 I request you to shew me for my consolation 
 What is the cause, by your estimation. 
 That God doth suffer his people to be in thrall. 
 Yet helpe them so soone as they to him call ? 
 
 Philologus, 
 
 The chiefest thing which might vs cause or moue, ' 
 With constant mindes Christes crosse for to sustaine. 
 Is to conceiue of Heauen a faythfull loue ; 
 Wherto we may not come, as Paul doth proue it plaine, 
 Unlesse with Christ we suffer, that with him we may raine : 
 Againe, sith that it is our heauenly Fathers will 
 By worldly woes our camall lusts to kill. 
 
 Moreouer, we doo vse to loath that thing we alway haue. 
 And doo delight the more in that which mostly we doe want : 
 Affliction vrgeth vs also more earnestly to craue. 
 And when we once releeued be, true faith in vs it plant, 
 So that to caU in eche distresse on God we will not faint : 
 For trouble bring forth pacience, from pacience dooth insue 
 Experience, from experience Hope, of health the ankor true. 
 
 Againe, oftimes God doth prouide affliction for our gaine, 
 As lob, who after losse of goodes had twice so much therefore. 
 Sometime affliction is a meanes to honor to attaine, 
 As you may see, if losephes lyfe you set your eyes before : 
 Continually it doth vs wame from sinning any more, 
 When as we see the iudgements iust, which God, our heauenly king, 
 Vpon offenders heere in earth for their offences bringe. 
 
 Sometime God doth it vs to proue, if constant we will be ; 
 
12 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 As he did vnto Abraham : sometime his whole intent 
 Is to declare his heauenly might ; as in lohn we may see, 
 When the Disciples did aske Christ why God the blindnesse sent 
 Unto that man that was borne blinde ? to whom incontinent 
 Christ saide : neither for Parentes sinnes, nor for his owne offence. 
 Was he borne blinde, but that God might shew his magnificence. 
 
 Mathetes. 
 
 This is the summe of all your talke, if that I gesse aright, 
 That God doth punnish his electt to keepe their faith in vre. 
 Or least that if continuall ease and rest enioy they might, 
 God to forget through hautinesse fraile nature should procure ; 
 Or els by feeling punishment our sinnes for to abiure ; 
 Or els to proue our constancy ; or lastly, that we may 
 Be instruments in whom his might God may abroad display. 
 
 Now must I needes confesse to you my former ignoraunce. 
 Which knew no cause at all why God should trouble his elect, 
 But thought afflictions all to be rewafd6s for our offence. 
 And to proceede from wrathfiill ludge did alway it suspect ; 
 As doe the common sort of men, who will straightway direct 
 And point their fingers at such men as God doth chastice heere. 
 Esteeming them by iust desert their punishment to beare. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 Such is the nature of mankind, himselfe to iustifye. 
 And to condemne all other men, wheras we ought of right 
 Accuse our selues especiall, and God to magnfie. 
 Who in his mercy doth vs spare, whereas he also might, 
 Sith that we doo the selfe same things, with hke plagues vs requight 
 Which thing our Sauiour Christ doth teach, as testifyeth Luke, 
 The thirteenth Chapter, where he dooth vaine glorious men rebuke. 
 
 But for this time let this suffice : now lets homeward goe, 
 And further talke in priuat place, if neede be, we will haue. 
 
 Mathetes. 
 With right good will I will attend on you your house vnto. 
 Or els goe you with mee to mine, the longer ioumey saue ; 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 13 
 
 For it is now high dinner time : my stomack meat dooth craue. 
 
 Philologus. 
 I am soone bidden to my friende : come on ; let vs departe. 
 
 Mathetes. 
 Goe you before, and I will come behinde with all my harte. 
 
 [Exeunf] 
 
 Acte second. Sceane fyrst. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 God speede you all, that be of Gods beleefe : 
 The mightie lehouah protect you from ill. 
 I beseeche the lyuing God, that he would giue 
 To ech of you present a harty good will , 
 
 With flesh to contende, your lust for to kyll ^ 
 That by the aide of spyrituall assistance. 
 You may subdue your carnall concupisence. 
 
 God graunt you all, for his mercyes sake. 
 The lyght of his word to your hartes ioy. 
 I humbly beseeche him a confusion to make 
 Of erronious sectes, whiche might you annoy : 
 Earnestly requiring eche one to imploye 
 His whole endeuour Gods worde to maintaine, 
 And from straunge doctrine your hartes to refraine. 
 
 Graunt, Lord, I pray thee, such preachers to bee 
 In thy congregation, thy people to leame, 
 As may for Conscience sake, and of meere sinceritie, 
 Being able twixt Come and Cockle to disceme, 
 Apply their studie to replenish the Berne, 
 That is thy Church, by their doctrines increase, 
 And make many heires of thine eternall peace. Amen. Amen. 
 
 But soft, let mee see who doth mee aspect. 
 First, sluggish Saturn of nature so colde, 
 Being placed in Tauro, my beames doo reiect, 
 And Luna in Cancro in sextile he behould. 
 I will the effiect heereafter vnfoulde : 
 
14 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Now Jupiter, the gentil, of temperature meane, 
 Poore Mercury, the tumcote, hee forsooke cleane. 
 
 Now murthering Mars retrogarde in Libra, 
 With amiable tryne, apply to my beame ; 
 And splendant Sol, the ruler of the day, 
 After his Eclips to Jupiter will leane : 
 The Goddesse of pleasure, Dame Venus I meane, 
 To me her poore seruaunt seme friendly to be ; 
 So also doth Luna, otherwise called Phebe. 
 But now I speake mischeuously, I would say, in a mistery ; 
 Wherfore to interpret it I holde it best done. 
 For heere be a good sort, I beleeue, in this company. 
 That know not my meanyng, as this man for one. 
 What ! blush not at it ; you are not alone : 
 Heere is an other that know not my minde. 
 Nor hee in my wordes great fauour can fynd. 
 
 The Planet Mercurius is neither whot nor colde, 
 Neither good nor yet verie bad of his owne nature, 
 But doth alter his qualytie with them which doo holde. 
 Any friendly aspect to him : euen so I assure 
 We Mercuriahsts, I meane Hypocrits, cannot long endure 
 In one condicion, but doo alter our mynde 
 To theirs that talke with us, thereby friendship to iynde. 
 
 The litle Camelyon by Nature can chaunge 
 Her selfe to that colour the which she beholde : 
 Why should it then to any seeme straunge 
 That we doo thus alter ? why are we controulde, 
 Sith onely the rule of nature we holde ? 
 We seeke to please all men, yet most doo vs hate. 
 And we are rewarded, for friendship debate. 
 
 Satumus is enuious, how then can hee loue 
 Adulation or Hipocrisie, to him most contrarie ? 
 The louists, being good, doo looke high aboue. 
 And doo not regard the rest of the companye. 
 Now Mars, being retrogard, foretelleth miserie 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 15 
 
 To tyrannicall practise to happen eftsoone. 
 As shalbe apparant before all be done. 
 
 Which Tirannie with flatterie is easely pacifyed. 
 Whereas Tom tell troth shall feele of his Sword ; 
 So that with such men is fully verifyed, 
 That olde said saw, and common by word, 
 Obsequium amicos, by flateries friends are prepared, 
 But Veritas odium parit, as commonly is scene : 
 For speaking the trueth many hated haue beene. 
 
 By Sol vnderstand Popish principalytie. 
 With whom full highly I am entertained. 
 But being eclipsed shall shew forth his qualytie : 
 Then shall Hipocrisie be vtterly disdained. 
 Whose wretched exile, though greatly complayned 
 And wept for of many, shalbe without hope, 
 That in such pompe shall euer be Pope. 
 
 By Venus the riotus, by Luna the variable. 
 Betwixt whom and Mercury no variance can fall. 
 For they which in wordes be most vnstable 
 Would be thought faithfull, and the riotous liberall : 
 So that Hipocrisie their doings cloake shall. 
 But whist, not a word, for yonder come some : 
 While I know what they are I will be dombe. [step aside. 
 
 Acte second. Sceane 2. 
 
 Tiranny. Avarice. 
 
 Put mee before, for I wyll shift for one \jpush Auarice 
 
 So long as strength remaineth in this Arme : backwarde 
 
 And pluck vp thy hart, thou faint harted mome ; 
 As long as I lyue thou shalt take no harme. 
 Such as controll vs I will their tongues charme 
 By Fire or sword, or other like torment. 
 So that euer they did it they shall it repent. 
 
16 
 
 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Hast thou forgotten what sathan did saye. 
 That the K. Hipocrisy our doings should hide, 
 So that vnder his Cloake our partes we should playe. 
 And of the rude people should neuer be spide ? 
 Or, if the worst should happ or betide. 
 That I by Tiranny should both you defend 
 Agaynst such as mischife to you should pretend. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 Indeed, such wordes our Belsire did speake. 
 Which being remembred doth make my heart glad ; 
 But yet one thing my courage doth breake. 
 And when I think of it it makes me full sad : 
 I meane the euil lucke which Hipocrisy had. 
 When he was expelled out of this land ; 
 For then with me the matter euill did stand. 
 
 For I by him so shadowed was from light. 
 That almost no man could me out espye ; 
 But he being gon, to euery mans sight 
 I was apparent : ech man did descrye 
 My pilling and poling ; so that glad was I 
 From my nature to cease, a thing most merueilous. 
 And liue in secret, the tyme was so daungerous. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Tush, Auarice, thou fearest a thing that is vayne. 
 For by me alone both you shalbe stayed ; 
 And, if thou marke well, thou shalt perceiue playne 
 That if I, Tyranny, my parte had well played, 
 And from killing of Heretikes my hand had not stayed, 
 They had neuer growen to such a great rowt, 
 Neither shoulde haue been able to haue banisht him out. 
 
 But sero sapiunt Phriges : at length I will take heede. 
 And with bloud enough this euil will preuent ; 
 For if I here of any that in word or in deed. 
 Yea, if it be possible to knowe their intent. 
 
 Hyp. Ambo. 
 
 Hyp. tut. Fa- 
 ther lotsam. 
 
 Hyp. a litle k 
 to hide so 
 great a lub- 
 ber. 
 
 Hyp. he feareth 
 nothing : he thinketh 
 the hangman 
 is dead. 
 Hyp. he can 
 play too parts, 
 the foole and 
 theK. 
 
 Hi/p. a popish 
 policye. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 17 
 
 If I can proue that in thought they it ment 
 To impaire our estates, no prayer shall serue, 
 But will paie them their hire, as eche one deserue. 
 
 Auarice. 
 The Fish once taken, and scaped from baight. 
 Will euer heareafter beware of the hooke : 
 Such as vse hunting will spie the Hare straight. 
 Though other discerne her not, yet on her shall looke. 
 Againe, the learned can read in a Booke, 
 Though the vnskilfull, seeing equall with them. 
 Cannot discerne an F from an M. 
 
 So those which haue tasted the fruite that we beare. 
 And finde it so sower, will not vs implant. 
 
 Tyrannye. 
 Tush, Auarice, I warrant thee thou needst not feare : 
 In the cleargy 1 knowe, no friends we shal want. 
 Which for hope of gaine the trueth will recant, 
 And giue them selues wholy to set out Hypocrisie, 
 Being egd on with Auarice, and defended by Tiranny. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Wei may the Clergie on our side holde. 
 For they by vs no small gaine did reape ; 
 But all the temporaltie, I dare be boulde 
 To venture in wager of Golde a goode heape 
 At our prefermentes will moume waile and weepe. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Though indeede no iust cause of ioy they can finde. 
 Yet for feare of my sword they will alter their minde. 
 
 But I maruell much where Hypocrisie is : 
 Mee think it is long since from vs he did goe. 
 
 Auarice. 
 I doubt that of his purpose he misse. 
 And therefore hath hanged hira selfe for woe. 
 How sayst thou, Tyranny, doest not thinke so ? 
 
 c 
 
 Hyp. Antichir- 
 stian charitie. 
 
 Vtilitas facit 
 esse Deos. 
 
 Hyp. This is 
 sharp argu- 
 mentes. 
 
 Hyp. Praye for 
 your selfe. 
 
18 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 In faith, if I thought that he might bee spared, Hyp. your kind 
 
 And we haue our purpose, beshrew mee if I cared. hart shal cost me a 
 
 Tyranny. couple of russhes. 
 
 Saw you euer the lyke of this doubting doult ? Hyp. Not I 
 
 It greeues mee to heare how faint harted he is. the lyke of 
 
 A litle would cause me to kill thee, thou Ascoulte. such a cut- 
 
 See, see, for woe he is lyke for to pisse : throte Coult. 
 
 To giue an attempt what a fellow were this ? 
 But this is the good that commeth of Couetousnesse : 
 He liueth alway in feare to loose his riches. 
 
 Againe, marke how he regardeth the death of his friend : 
 So he hath his purpose, he cares for no moe ; 
 A perfect patterne of a couetous mynd. 
 Which neither esteemeth his friend nor his foe. 
 But rather Auarice might I haue saide so. 
 Who, if he were gone, my selfe could defende. 
 Where thou by his absence wert soone at an ende. 
 
 Acte second. Sceane 3. 
 
 Hypocrisie. Tiranny. Avarice. 
 
 O Louing Father, and merciful! God, 
 We through our sinnes thy punishment deserue, 
 And haue prouoked to beat with thy rod 
 Vs stubbome Children, which from thee doo swerue. 
 We loathed thy worde, but now we shall sterue ; 
 For Hypocrisie is placed againe in this lande. 
 And thy true Gospell as exile doth stande. 
 
 This is thy iust iudgement for our offence, 
 Who hauyng the light in darknesse did straie, 
 But now, if thou wouldest of thy fatherly beneuolence 
 Thy purposed iudgements in wrath for to stay. 
 The part of the prodigall Sonne we would play ; 
 And with bitter teares before thee would fall. 
 And in true repentaunce for mercy would call. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 19 
 
 In our prosperitie we woulde not regard 
 
 The wordes of the Preachers, who threatned the same, 
 
 But flattering our selues, thought y" wouldest haue spared 
 
 Vs in thy mercy, and neuer vs blame : 
 
 But so much prouoked thee by blasphemynge thy name, 
 
 Indeede to deny that in words we raayntaine, 
 
 That from thy lustice thou couldst not refraine. 
 
 So that Romish Pharao, a Tirant most cruell. 
 Hath brought vs againe into captiuytie. 
 And instead of the pure floud of thy Gospell, 
 Hath poysoned our soules with diuelish Hypocrisie, 
 Unable to maintaine it, but by murthering Tiranny ; 
 Seeking rather the fleece, then the health of the Sheepe, 
 Which are appointed for him for to keepe. 
 
 Tyranny, 
 Loe, Auarice, harke what a Traitor is heere, Hyp. he spea 
 
 Against our holy Father this language to vse. keth to you, 
 
 I might haue harde more if I would him forbeare, Syra. 
 
 But for greefe my eares bume to heare him abuse 
 His tongue in this maner : wherfore no excuse 
 Shall purchase fauour, but that with all speede 
 By Sword I will render to him his due meede. 
 
 Wherfore, thou miscreant, while thou hast time, 
 Pray to the Saintes thy spokesmen to bee, 
 That at Gods hand, from this thy great crime. 
 By their intercession, thou may be set free : 
 
 Auarice. 
 Nay, hearest thou Tyranny ? be ruled by mee : 
 First cut of his head, and then let him pray. 
 So shall he be sure vs not to bewray. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 O, wicked Tyranny, thou impe of the Deuill, 
 Too ioyfyll tidinges to thee haue I brought. 
 For now thou art irabouldened to practise all euill. 
 
20 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Many, thou shalt not giue mee thy seruice for nought. 
 But for thy paines to please thee I thought. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Thou art nothing so ready to doo any good, 
 As thou art to shed poore Innocents bloud. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 Nay, Tyranny, suffer this raskall to prate. Hyp. on your 
 
 Till some man come by, and then he is gone. face, syr. 
 
 Then wilt thou repent it, when it is too late : 
 Dispatch him, therfore, while we are alone. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Well may the Couetous be lykened to a drone. 
 Which of the Bees labours will spoile and wast make, 
 And yet to get hony no labour will take. 
 
 The Coueitous lykewise from poor men extort. 
 Their gaines to encrease they onely doo seeke; 
 And so they may haue it, of them a great sorte 
 What meanes they vse for it they care not a leeke : 
 Yet will these mysers scarce once a weeke 
 Haue one good meale at their owne table : 
 So by Auarice to help them selues they are vnable. 
 
 Auarice to a Fire may well compared bee. 
 To the which the more you adde, the more still it craue : 
 So lykewise the Couetous minde we doo see, 
 Though riches abound, doo wish still more to haue ; 
 And to be short, your reiierences to saue. 
 To a filthy Swyne such mysers are comparable, 
 Which while they be dead are nothing profytable. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Nay, farewell Tyranny : I came hither too soone, 
 I perceiue already, I am to well knowne. 
 I were not best in their clawes for to come, 
 Unlesse I were willing to be cleane ouerthrowne. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 21 
 
 Tyranny. 
 By the preaching of Gods word al this mischife is growen, 
 Which if Hypocrisie might happely expell. 
 All we in safetie and pleasure might dwell. 
 
 Stay, therefore, while from Hypocrisie we heare. 
 
 Atbarice. 
 Dispatch then this Marchant, least our counsell he tell. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 I am content for Gods cause this crosse for to beare. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 It is best killyng him now his mynde is set well. 
 
 Hypocrisie, 
 Your scofiing and mocking God seeth eche deal. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Yea, doest thou persist vs still thus to check ? 
 Thy speach I will hinder by cutting of thy neck. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Nay, holde thy hand Cadby, thou hast kild mee enough. 
 What ! neuer the sooner for a mery worde. 
 I meant not good earnest, to your maship I vow. 
 I dyd but iest, and spake but in boord : 
 Therfore, of friendship, put vp agayne thy sword : 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Nay, caytifife, presume not, that thou shalt goe scotfree,; 
 Therfore, hold still and I will soone dispatch thee. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 What ! I pray thee. Tyranny, know fyrst who I am. 
 Ye purbUnded fooles, doo your lyps blinde your eyes ? 
 Why, I was in place long before you came ; 
 But you could not see the wood for the trees. 
 But in faith, father Auarice, I will pay you your fees. 
 For the great goodwill which you to mee beare, [Hyp. Jighteth. 
 
 And in time wyll requight it againe, doo not feare. 
 
22 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Attarice. 
 Content your selfe, good master Hypocrisie : 
 The wordes which I spake I spake vnaware. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Holde thy hande, Hypocrisie, I pray thee hartely : 
 Sy lyke a mad man with thy friendes doo not fare. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 For nether of you both a pin doo I care : 
 Goe, shake your eares both, hke slaues as you bee, 
 And looke not in your neede to be holpen of mee. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 What, Master Hypocrisie, will you take snuffe so soone ? 
 Marry, then you had neeede to be kept very warme. 
 
 Auarice. 
 I swear to your maistership, by the man in the Moone, 
 That to your person I entended no harme. 
 
 Hypocrisiei 
 But that I am wearie, I would both your tongs charme. 
 See how to my face they doo mee deride ; 
 I will not therfore in your companies abide. 
 
 . Auarice. 
 Why, master Hypocrisie, what would you that I doo ? 
 For my offence of mercie I you praye. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 With thee I am at one ; but of that Marchant to, 
 I looke for some amendes, or els I will away : 
 
 Tyrannye. 
 The presumptuous fooles parte heerein thou doest play. 
 What ! of thy Master dooest thou looke for obaysance ? 
 I will not once intreate thee : if thou wilt, get thee hence. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Nimia familiaritas parit contemptum. 
 The olde prouerbe by mee is verefied. 
 By too much famyliaritie contemned be some : 
 
The Conj9dct of Conscience. 23 
 
 Euen so at this present to mee it betide. 
 
 For of long time Hypocrisie hath ruled as guide. 
 
 While now, of later daies, through Heretikes resistaunce 
 
 I retained Tyranny to yeeld mee assistaunce ; 
 
 But through ouer much lenytie he thinks himself check mate 
 
 With mee, his good patron, Master Hypocrisie. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Lyst, I pray thee, Auarice, how this rascall can prate. 
 And with mee. Tyranny, doth chalenge equalytie ; 
 Where hee of himselfe hath neither strength nor hability ; 
 But thou to him riches, and I strength doo giue, 
 So that I must be his master, though it doth him greeue. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Two Dogges oftentimes one bone would faine catch. 
 But yet the thirde doo them both deceiue. 
 Euen so Hypocrisie for the preheminence dooth snatch. 
 Which Tiranny gapes for, ye may perceiue : 
 But I must obtaine it ; for of mee they retaine 
 All kind of riches, their states to mayntaine. 
 To yeelde to mee therfore they must be both faine. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Was ludas Christes master, because he bare the purs ? 
 Nay, rather of all he was least regarded. 
 Haue not men of honor Stewards to disburse 
 All such summes of money wherwith they be charged ? 
 Yet aboue their maister their honor is not enlarged : 
 Euen so, thee, Auarice, my Steward I account. 
 To pay that whereto my charges amount. 
 
 And to thee, Tirranny, this one word I obiect : 
 Whether was loab or Dauid the King ? 
 When loab was glad his ease to reiect. 
 The Ammonyts in Rabah to confiision to bring, 
 When Dauid with Bethseba at home was sleeping, 
 Was not loab, his seruant, in warfare to fight ? 
 
24 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 And so art thou mine, mine enimies to quight. 
 
 Tiranny. 
 Nay then, at the hole god giue you good night. 
 Shall Tiranny to Hypocrisie in any point yeelde ? 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 With this one word I will vanquish thee quight. 
 That thou shalt be glad to giue mee the feelde. 
 The ende to be preferred all learned men wild : 
 Sith, therfore, Hypocrisie of Tiranny is ende, 
 
 I must haue the preferment for which I contende. Ava. indede 
 
 Tiranny. you say troth. 
 
 I will make you both graunt that I am the chiefe, 
 Or els with my sword your sides I will pearce. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 That were sharp resonyng, indeede, with a mischiefe. 
 
 Auarice. 
 1 wyll yeelde him my right, if that hee be so fearce. 
 
 Hypocrysie. 
 The nature of Hypocrites heerein we rehearce ; 
 Which, being conuinced by the text of Gods worde. 
 The end of their spowting is Fyre and Sword. 
 
 But if you wil needs be chiefe, God speed wel y* plough. 
 I will be none that shall follow your traine ; 
 For if I should, I know well inough. 
 That to fly the Countrie we all should be faine : 
 Then were my labour done but in vaine. 
 You know not so much as I doo, Tiranny, 
 Therfore, 1 aduise you, be ruled by mee. • 
 
 Tiranny. 
 Inter amicos omnia sunt communia, they say : 
 Among friendes there is reconed no propertie. 
 But that the one hath of his owne, thother may 
 Haue the vse of the same, at his owne lybertie. 
 Euen so among vs it is of a suretie ; 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 25 
 
 For what the one hath of his owne proper right. 
 It is thine to vse by day or by night. 
 
 Aumice. 
 
 Indeede you say trueth, the ende is worth all ; 
 Such thinges as to get the ende are referred. 
 And by this reason to you I proue shall. 
 That I before Hypocrisie must be preferred : 
 The conclusion of my reason is this inferred ; 
 Sith Hypocrisie was inuented to augment priuat gaine, 
 I am the end of Hypocrisie : this is plaine. 
 
 Hypocrisie, 
 Actum est de Amicitia, the bargen is dispatched. 
 And we too in friendship are vnited as one. 
 
 Auarice. 
 In the same knot with you let mee also be matched. 
 And of mony, I warrant you, you shall want none. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 I agree : what say you ? shall he be one ? 
 
 Tyranny. 
 I iudge him needeful in our company to bee, 
 And therfore, for my part, he is welcome to mee. 
 
 Let vs now speedely on our businesse attende. 
 And labour eche one to bring it about. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 That is already by mee brought to ende, 
 So that of your preferment you neede not to doubt ; 
 And my comming hether was to finde you out. 
 That at my elbow you might be in readinesse, 
 To help, if neede were, in this waightie businesse. 
 
 To tell you the Storie it were but to tedious. 
 How the Pope and I together haue deuised. 
 Firstly to inuegle the people relygious. 
 For greedinesse of gaine who will be soone prezed : 
 And for feare least heereafter they should be dispised, 
 
 Hyp. he hath 
 learned lo- 
 geres. 
 
 Hyp friend- 
 ship for gaine. 
 
26 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Of their own freewill will maintaine Hypocrisie, 
 So that Auarice alone shall conquere the Cleargie. 
 
 Now, of the chiefest of his carnall Cardinals 
 He doth appoint certaine, and giue them authoritie 
 To ride abrode in their pontificalles, 
 To see if with Auarice they may winne the Layitie ; 
 If not, then to threaten them with with open Tyranny : 
 Whereby doubt not but many will forsake 
 The trueth of the Gospell, and our parties take. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 This deuice is praise worthy : how saist thou Auarice ? 
 
 Auarice. 
 I lyke it well if it were put in vre, 
 Yet litle gaine to race shall this whole practise, 
 More then I had before time, procure. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 The Legates are ready to ride I am sure ; 
 Wherfore we had neede to make no small delaye : 
 They stay for my comming alone, I dare say. 
 
 Howbeit the Layitie would greatly mislike, 
 If they should know all our purpose and intent ; 
 Yea, and perhaps some meanes they would seeke. 
 Our forsaide businesse in time to preuent. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Will you then be ruled by my arbiterment ? 
 Least the people should sodenly dissolue tranquyllytie. 
 For the Legates defence let hym vse me Tyranny : 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 Herein your counsell is not muche vnwise, 
 Saue that in one thing we had neede to beware : 
 Least you be knowen we wyll you disguise, 
 And some graue Apparell for you wyll prepare ; 
 But your name, Tyranny, I feare, all wyll marre : 
 Let me alone, and I will inuent 
 A name to your nature, whiche shalbe conuenient. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 27 
 
 Zeale shall your name be : how lyke you by that ? 
 And therfore in office you must deale zealously. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Let me alone, I wyll pay them home pat : 
 Though they call me Zeale, they shall feele me Tyrranny. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Loe, here is a Garment : come, dresse you handsomly. 
 I mary (quoth he) I lyke this very well : 
 Now, to the Deuyls Grace you my seeme to geue cousell. 
 
 Now must I apply al my Inuention, 
 That I may deuice Auarice to hide. 
 Thy name shalbe called Carefull prouision, 
 And euery man for his Houshold may lawfully prouide : 
 Thus shalt thou go cloaked, and neuer be spide. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Thy counsell, Hipocrisie, I very well allow. 
 And will recompence thee, if euer I know how. 
 
 Tirranny. 
 Now on a boon voyage let vs depart. 
 For I well lothe any time to delaye. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Nay, yet in signe of a mery hart. 
 Let vs singe before we go awaye. 
 
 Auarice. 
 I am content, begyn I you pray ; 
 But to singe the Treble we must needes haue one. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 If you say so, let it euen alone. Exeunt. 
 
 Acta thyrde. Sceane 1. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 TOO true (alas) too true, I say, was our Diuination, 
 
 The whiche Mathsetes did foresee, when last we were in place ; 
 
28 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 For now (in deede) we feele the smart and horrible vexation, 
 Whiche Romysh power vnto vs did threaten and menace. 
 Wherfore, great neede we haue to call to God allway for grace ; 
 For feeble flesh is farre too weake those paynes to vndergo, 
 The whiche all they that feare the Lord are now appoincted too. 
 
 The Legate from the Pope of Roome is come into our Coastes, 
 Who doth the Sainctes of God eche where with Tiranny oppresse, 
 And in the same most gloryously himselfe he vawnt and boast : 
 The more one mourneth vnto him he pittieth the lesse. 
 Out of his cruell Tyranny the Lorde of Heuen me blesse ; 
 For hitherto in blessed state my whole lyfe I haue spent, 
 With health of body, wealth in Gooddes, and minde alway content. 
 
 Besides, of friendes I haue great store, who do me firmely loue : 
 A faithfuU wife and children fayre, of wooddes and pasture store. 
 And diuers other thinges whiche I haue got for my behoofe, 
 Whiche nowe to be depraued off" would grieue my hart full sore. 
 And if I come once in their clawes, I shall get out no more, 
 Unlesse I wyll renounce my fayth, and so their minde fulfyll ; 
 Whiche if I do, without all doubt, my soule for ay I spyll. 
 
 For sith I haue receiued once the first fruictes of my faith, 
 And haue begon to ronne the course that leadeth to saluation. 
 If in the midst therof I stay or cease, the Scripture sayth 
 It booteth not that I began with so good preparation ; 
 But rather maketh muche the more vnto my condempnation : 
 For he alone shall haue the Palme, whiche to the ende doth ronne, 
 And he which plucks his hand fro Plough in Heaue shal neuer com. 
 
 Those Labourers which hyred were in Vineard for to moyle. 
 And had their Peny for their payne, they taried all whyle night ; 
 For if they ceassed had, when Sunne their flesh with heat did broyle, 
 And had departed from their worke, they should haue lost by right 
 Their wages Peny : I likewise shalbe depriued quight 
 Of that same Crowne, the whiche I haue in fayth longe looked for. 
 But for this time I wyll depart : I dare here say no more. Exit. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 29 
 
 Acte thyrde. Sceane 2. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 HA, ha, ha ! mary, now the Game beginne. 
 Hypocrisie throughout this Realme is had in admiration. 
 And by my meanes both Auarice and Tirranny crept in. 
 Who in short space wyll make men ronne the way to desolation. 
 What did I say ? my tongue dyd tryp : I should say, consolation ; 
 For now (forsooth) the Clergie must into my bosome creepe. 
 Or els they know not by what meanes them selues alyue to keepe. 
 
 On the other side the Laietie, be they eyther riche or poore : 
 If riche, then Auarice strangle them, because they wyll not loose 
 The worldly wealth : or els we haue one subtile practise more ; 
 That is, that sensuall Suggestion their outwarde man shall pose. 
 Who can full finely in eche cause his minde to them disclose. 
 But if that neither of these twayne can to my trayne them wynde, 
 Then, at his Cue to play his parte doth Tiranny begynne. 
 
 As for the poor knaues, suche a one as this is. 
 We do not esteeme hym, but make short adoo. 
 If he wyll not come on, we doo hym not mysse. 
 But to the Pot he is sure to goe : 
 Tirranny deales with hym and no moe. 
 But I meruayle what doth hym from hence so longe stay. 
 Sooner named, sooner cume, as comon Prouerbes say. S\f\epf aside. 
 
 Acte th)Tde. Sceane 3. 
 
 Tyrranny, Avarice, Hypocrisib. 
 BY his woundes I feare nott, but it is cocke sure now. Hip. he hath a 
 Under the Legates Scale in Office I am placed : goodly grace 
 
 Therefore, who so resist me I will make him to bow. in swearyng. 
 
 Who can make Tyranny now be disgraced ? Hip. he is gra- 
 
 With a head of brasse I wiU not be out faced, celesse alredy. 
 
 But will execute mine office with extreeme crueltie. 
 
30 
 
 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 So that all men shall knowe me to be playne Tyramiy. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 Nay, Master Zeale, be ruled by me : 
 To such as resist, such rigor you may show. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 
 Zeale ? nay, no Zeale ; my name is Tyranny : 
 Neither am I ashamed who doth my name knowe. 
 For in my dealings the same I will showe, Hip. he is 
 
 None dare reprooue me, of that I am sure. Kit carelesse. 
 
 So long as Authority on my side endure. 
 But to thy wordes a while I will list ; 
 Therefore, in briefe saye on what you will. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 I would haue you show rigor to such as resiste. 
 And such as be obstinate spare not to kill ; 
 But those that be willing your hestes to fulfill. 
 
 If they offend, and not of obstinacie, Hip. harke 
 
 For money excuse them, though they vse villanie. the practis of 
 
 Thus shall you performe your office aright, Spiteful Sum- 
 
 For fauour or money to spare the offiendent. ners. 
 
 T)/ranny. 
 
 So maye I also, of mallice or spight. 
 Or ranckor of myne, punnish the innocent : 
 But I wilbe ruled by thine arbitrament. 
 And will fauour such as will my hand greaze. 
 
 The deuil is a good fellow, if one can him please : Hip. and you 
 
 But to follow our busines great paynes we do take ; are one of his 
 
 On an hastie message we were fit to be sent. sonnes mee 
 
 Hypocrisie. think by your 
 
 When I lye a dying I will you messengers make : head. 
 
 You plye you so fast, you are too to diUigent. 
 Hoope how. Master Zeale, whether are yee bent ? 
 
 Auarice. 
 Harke ; me thought one hallowed, and called you by name. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 3 1 
 
 Tyranny. 
 I would it were Hypocrisy. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 It is the very same. 
 What, Master Hypocrisie, for you I haue sought 
 This howre or two, but could you not finde. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 That is no meruaile, it is not for nought, 
 For I am but litle, and you two are blinde ; 
 Neither haue you eyes to see with behinde : 
 Yet may the learned note herein a mystery. 
 That neither Tyran. nor Auar. can finde out Hypocrisie. 
 But what earnest busines haue you in charge. 
 That with so great speede must presently be finished. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Mary see here. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 What is it? 
 
 Tyranny. 
 A commission large 
 From my Lord Legate him selfe authorized. 
 The effect whereof must presently be practised. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 What is the tenure ? I pray you let me know. 
 
 Tyrannye. 
 Auarice hath red it, not I ; let him showe. 
 
 Auarice. 
 He hath firstly in charge to make inquisition, 
 Whether Aulters be reedified, whether chalice and booke. 
 Vestments for Masse, sacraments and prosession, 
 Be prepared againe : if not, he must looke. 
 And finde out such fellowes as these cannot brooke, 
 And to my Lord Legate such Marchants present, 
 That for their offence they may haue condign punishmet. 
 
32 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 If any we take tardy. Tyranny them threat 
 That for their neglygence he will them present ; 
 And I, desirous some money to get. 
 If ought they will giue me, their euil will preuent ; 
 Yea, sometime of purpose such shifts we inuent. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 Peace : yonder coms one, (me thinke) it is a preest 
 By hys gowne cap and tippet, made of a list. 
 
 Acte third, Sceane 4. 
 Caconos. Hyp. Tiranny. Avarice. 
 In gude feth, sir, this newis de gar me lope. 
 Ay is as light as ay me wend, gif that yo wol me troth. 
 Far new agen within awer lond installed is the Pope, 
 Whese Legat w* authoritie tharawawt awr cutry goth. 
 And charge befare him far te com vs' Preests end lemen hath. 
 Far te spay awt, gif that he mea, these new sprang Arataykes, 
 Whilk de disturb aur hally Kirke, laik a sart of saysmataykes. 
 
 Awr gilden Gods ar brought ayen intea awr Kirks ilk whare. 
 That vnte tham awr Parishioner ma offer thar gudewill. 
 For hally Masse in ilke place new thea auters de prepare, 
 Hally watter, Pax, Crosse, Banner, Censour and CandiU, 
 Cream, Crismatory, hally Bred, the rest omit ay will, 
 Whilt hally Fathers did inuent fre awd Antiquitie, 
 Be new receued inte awr Kirks, with great solemnitie. 
 
 Bay these thaugh lemen bene apprest, the Clargy all het gean. 
 Far te awr Sents theis aifer yifts all whilk we sail receyue : 
 Awr hally Masse, thaw thea bay dere, thea de it but in vayne. 
 Far thaw ther frends frea Purgatory te help thea dea beleue. 
 Yet af ther hope, gif nede rewhayre, it wawd theam all <leceue. 
 Sea wawd awr Pilgrimage, Reliques, Trentals and Pardons, 
 Whilk far awr geyn inte awr Kirk ar braught in far the nones. 
 
 Far well a nere what war awr tenths, and taythes that gro in fild. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 33 
 
 What gif we han of glebed lond ene plawwark bay the yeare, 
 
 Awr afFring deas de vara laytell ar nething te vs yeld : 
 
 Awr BeadroU geanes, awr chrisom clethes de laytle mend awr fare, 
 
 Gif awt af this we pea far vale, we laytle mare can spare. 
 
 Sawl Masses, Diriges, Monethmayndes and Buryinges, 
 
 Alsowlnday, Kirkings, Baneasking and weddings. 
 
 The Sacraments, gif we mowt sell, war better then thea all ; 
 Far gif the Jewes gaue thratty pence te hang Chrayst on a tree, 
 Gude Christia folk thrayse thratty pence wawd cout a price but smal ; 
 Sea that te ete him with ther teeth delayuered he mawght be. 
 New of this thing delayuerance ne man can make but we, 
 Se that the market in this punt we Preests sawd han at will, 
 And with the money we sowd yet awr pooches we sowd fill. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 I will goe and salowt him : good morrow, sir lohn. 
 
 Cacon. 
 Naw, bay may Freest hade, God giue ye ten far ene. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Do you, Master Parson, in this Parish singe ? 
 
 Cacon. 
 Yai sir, that ay de, gif yowU giue me troothing. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 I haue a comission your house and Church to seeke. 
 To search if you any seditious Bookes do keepe. 
 
 Cacon. 
 Whe ay ? well a neare ay swer bay the Sacrament, 
 Ay had rather han a cup af nale then a Testament. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 How can you without it your office discharge ? 
 
 Cacon. 
 It is the least thing ay car far, bay may charge ; 
 Far se lang as thea han Images wharon te luke. 
 What nede thea be distructed awt af a Buke. 
 
34 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Tush, that will nodifie them all well enowe : 
 As well a dead Image as a dumb Idole, I make God avowe. 
 
 Cacon. 
 Yai, ay my sen bay experience thot con showe ; 
 Far in may Portace the tongue ay de nat knowe. 
 Yet when ay see the great gilded letter. 
 Ay ken it sea well, as nea man ken better. 
 As far Example : on the day of Chraistes Natyuitie 
 Ay see a Bab in a Manger, and two Beastes standing by. 
 The Seruice whilk to Newyeares day is assaygnd 
 Bay the Paicture of the Circumcision ay faynd. 
 The Seruice whilk on Twalfth day mun be don 
 Ay seeke bay the marke of the three kynges of Colon, 
 Bay the Deuill tentyng Chraist ay faind whadragesima ; 
 Bay Chraist on the Crosse ay serch out gude frayday. 
 Pasch for his marke hath the Resurrection. 
 Ayenst Hally Thursday is pented Chraistes Assention. 
 Thus in mayn owne buke ay is a gude Clarke ; 
 But gyf the Sents war gone, the Cat had eate my mark. 
 Se the sandry mairacles, whilk ilk Sent haue done. 
 Bay the Picttures on the walles sal appeere to them soone. 
 Bay the whilk thea ar lerned in euery distresse, 
 What Sent thea mun prea te far succour doubtles : 
 Sea that all Lepers to Syluester must prea, 
 That he wawd free tham ther disease take away. 
 Laykwais, thea that han the fallyng saicknes, 
 Te be eased therfre thea mun prea to St. CorneUs : 
 In contagious aier, as in plague or pestilence, 
 Te hally Sent Ruke thea mun call far assistance. 
 Fra parill of drawning Sent Carp keepe the Maryners : 
 Fra dayng in warfare Sent George gard the Soldiers : 
 Sent Job heale the Pore, the Agew Sent Germayne : 
 For te ease the toothache call te Sent Appollyne. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 35 
 
 Gif that a woman be barren and childles, 
 
 Te helpe her herein she must prea te Sent Nicolas. 
 
 Far wemen in trauayle call to Sent Magdalene ; 
 
 Far lawlynes of minde call te Sent Katheryne, 
 
 Sent Loy saue your Horse, Sent Anthony your Svvyne. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 What ! this Parson seemeth connyng to be, 
 And, as farre as I see, in a good vniformytie. 
 Yea, he is well red in that golden Legend. 
 
 Cacon. 
 Bay may trooth, in readyng any other ne taym do I spend, 
 Far that, ay ken, bay general causell is canonized. 
 And bay the hely Pope hymselfe is authorized : 
 That Buke, farther, is wholly permytted, 
 Wharas, the Bayble in part is prohibited. 
 And therfore, gif it be lawfuU to vtter my conscience, 
 Before the new Testament ays giue it credence. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 I allow his Judgement before Ambrose and Austin, 
 And for Hypocrisie a more conuenient Chapleyn. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 It greeueth me much that no fault we can spye. 
 For now of some bribe disappoynted am I, 
 Yet happily he may tell vs of some Heretykes. 
 
 Tiranny. 
 
 Is there, M. Parson, in your parish no Scismatikes ? 
 
 Cacon. 
 
 Yai, mara, is ther a vara busy bodye, 
 Whe will iest with me and call me fule and noddye. 
 And sets his Lads te spowt latin ayenst me, 
 But ay spose then with Deparfundis Clam aui : 
 And oftentimes he wil reson with me of the Sacarment, 
 And say he can prooue bay the new Tastament 
 That Chraystss body is in Heauen placed ; 
 
36 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 But ays not beleue him, ay woll not be awt faced. 
 He says besayd that the Pope is Anticraist, 
 Fugered of John bay the seuen bedded beast, 
 And all awre religion is but mons inuention, 
 And with Gods ward is at vtter dissention ; 
 And a plaguy deel mare af sayk layk talke. 
 That ay dar not far may nars bay his yate walke. 
 But ay wawd he wer brunt, that ay mawght be whaiet. 
 
 Tiranny. 
 He must haue a cooler ; his tongue runnes at riat. 
 
 Auarice. 
 What is his name, sir John, canst thou tell vs ? 
 
 Cacon. 
 Yai, sir, that ay ken : he is cleped Phailelegoos. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Wilt thou go show his house where he dwell ? 
 
 Cacon. 
 Yai, or els ay wawd may sawl war in Hell. 
 Te de him a plesure ay wawd gang a whole yeare, 
 Gif it war but te make him a Fadocke te beare. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Go with vs, Auarice, and beare vs company. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Nay, if you go hence, I will not here tary. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Away, sirs : in your busines in a corner do not lurke, 
 That my Lord Legate, when he coms, may haue worke. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Come on : let vs go together, sir John. 
 
 Cacon. 
 Ay sail follow after. God boy, you good Gentleman. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Farewell, three false knaves as betweene this and London, 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 37 
 
 Tyranny. 
 What sayst thou ? 
 
 Hipocrisie, 
 As honest men as y^. three Kings of Colon, 
 
 [Exeunt Tyr. Auar. Cacon. 
 This geare goes round if that we had a fiddle : 
 Nay, I must sing too, heigh dery dery dery. 
 I can do but laugh my hart is so merry : 
 I wilbe minstrel my selfe, heigh didle didle didle ; 
 But lay there a strawe I began to be wery. 
 But harke ; I heere a tramplyng of feete. 
 It is my Lord Legate ; I will him go meete. 
 
 Acte fourth. Sceane 1 . 
 
 Car. Hypo. Ava. Tyr. Philo. 
 Go to, Master Zeale ; bring forth that Heretike, 
 Which doth thus disturb our religion CathoUcke. 
 
 Hypoerisie. 
 Rowm for my Lords grace ! what ! no maner reuerence. 
 But Cap on head Hodge, and that in a Lords presence ? 
 
 Cardinall. 
 What, Master Hypoerisie, I haue stayed for you long. 
 
 Hypoerisie. 
 You were best crowd in, and play vs amonge. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Where haue you been from me so long absent ? 
 I appoynted to haue ben here three howres ago. 
 In my consistory to haue set in Judgement 
 Of that wretched Scismatike that doth trouble vs so. 
 
 Hypoerisie. 
 What, haue you caught but one, and no moe ? 
 In fayth, father Auarice, you haue plied your chaps well. 
 
38 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Auarice. 
 I must needs confesse that I am payd for my trauell. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Rowme for the prisoner ! what ! rowme on ech hand. 
 Or I shall make some out of the way for to stand. 
 Loj heere (my Lord) is that seditious Scismatike, 
 That we haue layd waite for, an arrant Heretike. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Sit downe. Master Hypocrisie, to yeeld me assistance. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 I thank your Lordship for your courteous beneuolence. 
 I wilbe the Noddy, I should say the Notary, 
 To wright before my Lord Legate, which is Comissary. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Ah sirra, be you he that doeth thus disturb 
 The whole estate of our fayth Catholike ? 
 Art thou so expert in Gods lawes and word, 
 That no man may leame thee, thou arrant Heretike ? 
 But this is the nature of euery Scismatike : 
 Be his errors neuer so false Doctrine, 
 He will say by Gods word he dare it examine. 
 
 PMlologus. 
 With humble submission to your authoritie, 
 I pardon craue, if ought amisse I saye ; 
 For being thus set in perill and extreamitie. 
 To me vnaquainted, my tongue soone trip maye : 
 Wherefore excuse me, I do your Lordship praye, 
 And I will answeare to euery demaund 
 
 According to my conscience, Goddes worde being my warrand. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 To begin therfore orderly : how saist thou, Philologus, 
 Haue I authoritie to call the me before ? 
 Or, to be short, I will obiect it thus : 
 Whether hath the Pope, which is Peters successor, 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 39 
 
 Then all other Bishops preheminence more ? 
 If not, then it follow that neither he, 
 Nor I which am his Legate, to accompts may call thee. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 The question is perillous for me to determine, 
 Cheefely when the party is Judge in the cause ; 
 Yet, if the wholl course of Scripture ye examine. 
 And wilbe tryed by Gods holy lawes. 
 Small help shall you finde to defend the same cause, 
 But the contrary may be proued manifestly. 
 As I in short wordes will proue to you breefely. 
 
 The surest ground whereon your Pope doth stand 
 Is of Peters being at Roome a strong imagination. 
 And the same Peter, you do vnderstand. 
 Of all the Disciples had the gubernation, 
 Surmising both without good approbation ; 
 Unlesse you will by the name of Babylon, 
 From whence Peter wrote, is vnderstanded Roome. 
 
 As indeed diuers of your writers haue afiirmed. 
 Reciting leromy, Austine, Primasius and Ambrose, 
 Who by their seuerall writinges haue confirmed, 
 That Rome is new Babylon : I may it not glose. 
 But it were better for you they were dumbe, I suppose, 
 For they labour to proue Roome by that acception 
 The whore of Babilon, spoke of in the Reuelation, 
 
 But graunt that Peter in Roome setled was. 
 Yet that he was cheefe it remayns you to proue ; 
 For in my Judgement it is a playne case. 
 That if any amongst them to rule it did behooue, 
 He should be the cheefe whom Christ most did loue ; 
 To whom he bequethed his mother most deere. 
 To whom in reuelation Christ did also appeere. 
 
 I meane lohn Euangelist (by birth) Coosin germaine 
 To our Sauiour Christ, as storyes do vs tell : 
 
40 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 From whose succession if that you should clayme 
 Superioritie, you should mend your cause well. 
 For then of some hkelyhood of truth it should smell, 
 Where none so often as Peeter was reproued. 
 Nor from stedfast fayth so often tymes remooued. 
 
 But graunt all were true herein you do fayne, 
 Marke one proper lesson of a Greeke Oratour : 
 As a good childe of his fathers welth is inheritour, 
 So of his fathers vertues he must be possessour. 
 Now Peter folows Christ, and al worldly goods forsakes ; 
 But the Pope leaueth Christ, and himselfe to glory takes. 
 
 And to be short, Christ himselfe refused to be a Kinge, 
 And the seruant aboue the Master may not be ; 
 Which being both true, it is a strange thing, 
 How the Pope can receiue this pompe and dignitie. 
 And yet professe himselfe Christes seruant to be. 
 Christ wilbe no King, the Pope wilbe more : 
 The Pope is Christes Master, not his seruant, therefore. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 Ah, thou arrant Heretike, I will thee remember. 
 I am glad I know so much as I doo : 
 I haue wayed thy resons, and haue found them so slender 
 That I think them not worthy to be answeared. 
 How say you Master Hipocrisy ? 
 
 Hipocrisie. 
 
 I also thinke so ; 
 But let him go forwarde and vtter his conscience, 
 And we will awhile longer here him with patience. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 Say on, thou Heretike : of the holy Sacrament 
 Of the body and bloud of Christ what is thine opinion ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 I haue not yet finished my former argument. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 4 1 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Say on as I bid thee : thou art a stoute Minion. 
 
 Philologus. 
 I shall then gladly : it is a signe of vnion. 
 The which should remaine vs Christians among, 
 That one should loue another all our life long. 
 
 For as the bread is of many Cornells compounded. 
 And the Wine from the luce of many Graps do discend, 
 So we, which into Christ our Rocke are ingrounded, 
 As into one Temple, should cease to contend. 
 Least by our contention the Church we offend. 
 This was not the least cause, among many more 
 Which are now omitted, that this Sacrament was geued for. 
 
 The cheefest cause why this Sacrament was ordained. 
 Was the infirmitie of our outwarde man ; ; 
 
 Whereas Saluation to all men was proclaymed, 
 That with true fayth apprehend the same can, 
 By the death of lesus Christ that immaculate Lambe ; 
 That the same might the rather of all men be beleued. 
 To the word to ad a Sacrament it Christ nothing greued. 
 
 And as we the sooner beleeue that thing true. 
 For the tryall whereof more witnesses we finde, 
 So by the meanes of the Sacrament many grue 
 Beleeuing creatures, where before they were blynde ; 
 For our sences some sauour of our fayth now do finde. 
 Because in the Sacrament there is this Analogy, 
 That Christ feedes our soules as the bread doth our body. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Ah, thou foxd Heretike, is there bread in the Sacrament ? 
 Where is Christes body then, which he did vs giue ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 I know to the faythfuU receiuer it is there present, 
 But yet the bread remaineth stil I stedfastly beleeue. 
 
42 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 To here these his errors it doth me greatly greeue : 
 But that we may shortly to some issue come, 
 In what sence sayd Christ, Hoc est Corpus meum ? 
 
 Philologus, 
 
 Euen in the same sence that he sayd before : 
 Vos estis sal terrce^ vos estis hux mundi, 
 Ego sum ostium, and a hundred such more, 
 If tyme would permit to alleadge them seuerally ; 
 But that I may the simple sorte edifie, 
 You aske me in what sence these wordes I verifye. 
 Where Christ of the bread sayd, this is my body ? 
 
 For answere herein I aske you this question : 
 Were Christes disciples into salt transformed. 
 When he sayd, ye are the salt of the earth euery one. 
 Or when the light of the world he them affirmed ? 
 Or himselfe to be a dore when he confirmed ? 
 Or to be a Vine did his body then change ? 
 If not then, why now ? this to me seemeth strange. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 Why doest thou doubt of Christ his omnipotencye ? 
 But what so he willeth doth so come to passe. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 God keepe me and all men from such a frencye. 
 As to thinke any thing Christes power to surpasse. 
 When his will to his power ioyned was ; 
 But where his will wanteth, his power is vneffectuall : 
 As Christ can be no Iyer, God cannot be mortall. 
 Set down therefore some proofe of his will. 
 That he would be made bread, and then I recant. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 This Caytif myne eares with winde he doth fill : 
 His wordes both trueth and reason doth want. 
 Christes word is his will ; this must thou needes graunt. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 43 
 
 Philologus. 
 He spake the word hkewise, when he said, I am the dore : 
 Was his body transformed into tymber therefore ? 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Nay, if thou beest obstinate I will say no more. 
 Haue him hence to prison and keepe him full sure : 
 1 will make him set by my friendship more store. 
 But herest thou, Zeale ? go first and procure. 
 Some kinde of new torment which he may not indure. 
 
 Tiranny. 
 I am here in redines to do your commaundement, 
 And will returne hither agayne incontinent. 
 
 Hypocrisie, 
 At thy returne bring hether Sensuall Suggestion, 
 That, if neede be, he may vs assist, 
 Least that both I, and CarefuU prouision. 
 The zeale of Philologus may not fully resist. 
 But he in his obstinacie doth styll persist : 
 To put him to death would accuse vs of Tirranny ; 
 But if we could win him, he should do vs much honesty. 
 
 Tyranny, 
 I heare you, and wyll fulfill your wordes spedely. 
 
 [Exit Tyrran. 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Good Maister Philologus, I pittie your case. 
 To see you so foolysh your selfe to vndoo : 
 I durst yet promys to purchase you grace, 
 If you would (at length) your errours forgoe. 
 Therfore, I pray you, be not your owne foe. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Call you those Errours whiche the Gospell defends ? 
 I know not, then, whence true D[o]ctrine descends. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Nay Mayster Hypocrisie, you spend tyme in vaine. 
 
44 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 To reason with him : he will not be remooued. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 Had I so much to Hue by as he hath certayne, 
 I would not loose that which I so well loued. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 He stands in his reputation, he will not be reproued ; 
 And that is the cause that he is so obstinate : 
 But I shall well enough thy corage abate. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 I humbly beseeche you of Christian charitie. 
 You seeke not of purpose my bloud for to spill ; 
 For if I haue displeased your authoritie. 
 In reasonable causes redresse it I will : 
 But in this respect I feare I should kill 
 My souU for euer, if against my conscience 
 I should to the Popes lawes acknowledge Obedience. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 Ceace from those wordes, if your safetie you loue : 
 As though no man had a so\ile more then you. 
 Suche nips (perchance) my Lords patience wyll mooue j 
 Then, would you please him, if that you wist how. 
 But, if you wyll be ruled, (by my honestie) I vow, 
 I will do the best herein that I can. 
 Because you seeme to be a good Gentleman. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 Were it not better for you to lyue at ease, 
 And spend that merely, which earst you haue got. 
 Then by your owne follie your selfe to disease. 
 And bring you to trouble, whiche other men seeke not ? 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 In faith, Philologus, your zeale is too bote, 
 Whiche wyll not be quenched, but with your hart blood. 
 If I were so zealous, I would thinke my selfe wood. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 45 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 Tush, it wyll not be : he thinkes we do but iest. 
 Wherfore, that some tryall of my minde he may haue, 
 That Carefull Prouision should goe I thinke best 
 Into the towne, and there assistance craue. 
 His House for to enter, and his Goods for me saue: 
 Least when his wife know that they be confiscate. 
 Into other mens keepyng the same she doth dissipate. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 You speake very wisely, in my simple Judgement : 
 Therfore, you were best to sende him away. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 Go too, Carefull Prouision, depart incontinent, 
 And fulfill the wordes whiche I to you say, 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 Of pardon herein I do your Lordshyp pray. 
 You doubt not, I trust, of my wyllyng minde, 
 Whiche herein is most redy, you alway shall finde: 
 
 For who is more redy by frawde to purloyne 
 Other mens goods then I am eche where ? 
 But least some man at mee shoulde chaunce to faine. 
 And kill mee at once, I greatly doo feare. 
 I had rather perswade him his folly to forbeare. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 
 Proue then if thou canst doo him any good : 
 He shall not say that we seeke his bloud. 
 
 Auarice. 
 
 Ah, maister Philologus, you see your owne case. 
 That both life and goodes are in my Lords will : 
 Therefore you were best to sue for some grace. 
 And be content his wordes to fulfill. 
 If you neglect this, hence straight way I wyll. 
 And all your goodes I will sure confiscate : 
 Then will you repent it when it is to late. 
 
46 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Philologus. 
 My case, indeede, I see most miserable, 
 As was Susanna betwixt two euyls placed ; 
 Either to consent to sinne most abhominable, 
 Or els in the worldes sight to be vtterly disgraced : 
 But as she her chastitie at that time imbraced, 
 So will I now spirituall whordom resist 
 And keepe mee a true Virgin to my louing spouse Christ. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Wilt thou then neglect the prouision of thy houshold ? 
 Thou art therfore worsse then an Infydell is. 
 
 Philologus. 
 That you abuse Gods word, to say I dare be bolde, 
 And the saying of Paule you interpret amisse. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 I neuer saw the hke heretick that this is. 
 Away, CarefuU Prouision, about your businesse. 
 
 Auarice. 
 Sith there is no remedie, I am heere in redinesse. 
 
 [Exit Alba. 
 Philologus. 
 I beseeche your Lordship, euen from the hart roote. 
 That you would vouchsafe, for my contentation, 
 To approue vnto mee by Gods holy booke 
 Some one of the questions of our disputation : 
 For I will heere you with hartes delectation, 
 Because I would gladly to your doctrine consent. 
 If that I could so my conscience content. 
 
 But my Conscience crieth out, and bids me take heede 
 To loue my lord God aboue all earthly gaine ; 
 Wherby all this while I stande in gread dread. 
 That if I should Gods statutes disdaine. 
 In wretched state, then, I should remaine. 
 Thus cryeth my Conscience to mee continually, 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 47 
 
 Which if you can stay, I will yeelde to you gladly. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 I can say nomore then I haue done already. 
 Thou heardest that I called the hereticlc and foole : 
 If thou wilt not consent to mee, and that speedily, 
 With a new maister thou shalt goe to schole. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Thou hast no more wit, I see, then this stoole, 
 Farre vnfit to dispute, or reason with my Lorde : 
 He can subdue thee with fire and sword, quight w* one word. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Come follow apace, sensuall Suggestion, 
 Or els I will leaue you to come all alone. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 You go in hast, you make expedition : 
 Nay, if you runne so fast I wil none. 
 This litle iournay will make mee to grone : 
 
 I vse not to trouble my selfe in this wise. 
 And now to beginne I doo not aduise* 
 
 Tiranny. 
 Haue I not plyed mee, which am come againe so soone. 
 And yet haue finished such stindry businesse ? 
 I haue caused many pretie toyes to be done. 
 So that now I haue eche thing in readinesse. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 What, maister Zeale, you are praiseworthy doubtlesse. 
 Art thoou prepared this gentleman to receiue ? 
 He will roste a Fagot, or els he me deceiue. 
 
 Tyranny, 
 In simple manner I will him entertaine, 
 Yet must he take it all in good parte ; 
 And though his diet be small, he may not disdaine. 
 Nor yet contemne the kindenes of my heart : 
 For though I lack instruments to put him to smart, 
 
48 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Yet shall he abide in a hellish blacke dungeon : 
 As for blocks, stocks and irons, I warrant him, want none. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Well, farewel Philologus : you heare of your lodging. 
 I would yet do you good, if that I wist howe. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Let him go, Hypocrisie ; stand not all day dodging : 
 You haue don to much for him, I make God avowe. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Staye ; for Suggestion doth come yonder nowe. 
 Come on, lasy Lubber, you make but small haste : 
 Had you staled awhile loger, your coming had been waste. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 You know of my selfe I am not very quicke, 
 Because that my body I do so much tender ; 
 For Sensuall Suggestion wiU quickely be sicke, 
 If that his owne ease he should not remember. 
 Thus one cause of my tariaunce to you I do render : 
 Another I had as I came by the waye. 
 Which did me the longer from your company staye. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 What was that, Suggestion ? I praye thee to vs vtter. 
 For I am with child, till that I do it heare. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 A certaine gentlewoman did murmur, and mutter, 
 And for greefe of minde her hayre she did teare : 
 Shee will at last kill her selfe, I greatly do feare. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 What is the cause why this greefe she did take ? 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Because her Husband her company did forsake : 
 Her children also about her did stand. 
 Sobbing and sighing, and made lamentation. 
 Knocking their brestes, and wringing their hand. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 49 
 
 Saying they are brought to vtter dessolation 
 By the meanes of their fathers wilfull protestation ; 
 Whose goodes, they saye, are already confiscate, 
 Because he doth the Popes lawes violate. 
 And indeed I sawe Auarice standing at the doore, 
 And a company of Ruffians assisting him there. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Alas, alas, this pincheth my heart full sore. 
 Myne euills he doth declare, myne owne wo I do heare. 
 Wherefore from teares I cannot forbeare. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Ha ha, doth this touch you. Master Philologus ? 
 You neede not haue had it, being rulde by vs. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Why, what is he, thus. Master Hypocrisie, 
 That taketh such sorrow at the wordes which I spake ? 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 One that is taken and conuinced of Heresie, 
 And, I feare me much, will burne at a stake : 
 Yet to reclayme him much paynes would I take, 
 And haue don already, howbeit in vayne. 
 I would craue thine assistance, were it not to thy pa3nie. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 I will do the best herein that I can : • 
 
 Yet go thou with me, to helpe at a neede. 
 With aU my heart, God saue you, good gentleman. 
 To see your great sorrow my heart doeth welnigh bleede. 
 , But what is the cause of your trouble and dreede ? 
 Disdaine not to me your secrets to teU : 
 A wise man sometime of a fool may take counsell. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Myne estate (alas) is now most lamentable. 
 For I am but deade which euer side I take : 
 Neither to determine heerein am I able, 
 
 o 
 
50 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 With good aduice mine election to make. 
 
 The worse to refuse, and the best for to take : 
 
 My Spirit couites theone ; but, alas, since your presence. 
 
 My flesh leades my spirit therfroe by violence. 
 
 For at this time, I being in great extremitie. 
 Either my Lord God in hart to reiect, 
 Or els to be oppressed by the Legates authorytie. 
 And in this world to be counted an abiect. 
 My Landes, wife and Children also to neglect : 
 This later part to take my Spirit is in readinesse. 
 But my Flesh doth subdue my Spirit doubtlesse. 
 
 Suggestion, 
 
 Your estate, perhaps, seeraeth to you dangerous, 
 The rather because you haue not bene vsed 
 To incurre before time such troubles perilous. 
 But to your power such euils haue refused : 
 Howbeit, of two euils the least must be chused : 
 Now, which is the least euill wee will shortlye examine. 
 That which part to take your selfe may determine. 
 
 On y^ right hand, you say, you see gods iust iudgement. 
 His wrath and displeasure on you for to fall. 
 And in steede of the ioyes of Heauen, euer permanent. 
 You see for your stipend the tormentes infernall. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 That is it, indeede, which I feare most of aU ; 
 For Christ said, feare not them which the body can annoy. 
 But feare him which the body and soule can destroy. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 
 Well, let that ley aside awhile as it is, 
 And on the other side make the lyke inquisition. 
 If on the left side you fall, then shall you not misse 
 But to bring your body to vtter perdition ; 
 For at mans hand, you know, there is no remission. 
 Beside, your Children fatherlesse, your wife desolate, 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 51 
 
 Your goodes and possessions to other men confiscate. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Saint Paul to the Romanes hath this worthy sentence : 
 I accompt the afflictions of this world transitorie. 
 Be they neuer so many, in full equiuolence 
 Cannot counteruaile those heauenly glorie, 
 Which we shal haue through Christ his propitiatorie. 
 I also accompt the rebukes of our Sauiour 
 Greater gaines to mee, then this house full of treasure. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 You haue spoken reasonably ; but yet, as they say, 
 One Birde in the hande is worth two in the bush : 
 So you now inioying these worldly ioyes may 
 Esteeme the other as light as a rush : 
 Thus may you scape this perrillous pushe. 
 
 Philologm. 
 Yea, but my saluation to mee is most certaine ; 
 Neither doubt I that I shall suffer this in vaine. 
 
 Suggestion, 
 Is your death meritorious, then, in Gods sight. 
 That you are so sure to attaine to saluation ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 I doo not think so, but my faith is full pight 
 In the mercies of God, by Christs mediation ; 
 By whom I am sure of my preseruation. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Then, to the faithfiill no hurt can accrew, 
 But what so he worketh good end shall insue. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Our Sauiour Christ did say to the tempter, 
 When he did perswade him from the Pinacle to fall. 
 And saide, he might safely that danger aduenture. 
 Because that Gods Angels from hurt him saue shall, 
 See that thy Lord God thou tempt not at all. 
 
52 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 So I, though perswaded of my sinnes free remission. 
 May not commit sin vpon this presumption. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 What, haue you not yet done your foolysh tatteUng 
 With that frowarde heretick ? I will then away : 
 If you will tarie to heare all his prattelyng, 
 He would surely keepe you most part of the day. 
 It is now high dinner-time my stomack doth say ; 
 And I will not lose one meale of my diet. 
 Though thereon did hang an hundred mens quiet. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 By your Lordships pacience, one word with him more. 
 And then, if he will not, I geue him to Tyranny. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 I neuer saw my Lord so pacient before, 
 To suffe [r] one to speake for himselfe so quietly ; 
 But you were not best to trust to his curtesie : 
 It is euil waking of a Dog that doth sleepe. 
 While you haue his friendship you were best it to keepe. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 I promise thee, Philologus, by my vowed chastitie, 
 If thou wilt be ruled by thy friendes that be heere. 
 Thou shalt abound in wealth and prosperitie. 
 And in the Countrie chiefe rule thou shalt beare. 
 And a hundred pounds more thou shalt haue in the yeere. 
 If thou will this curtesie refuse. 
 Thou shalt die incontinent : the one of these chuse. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Well, sith it is no time for vs to debate 
 In former maner what is in my minde, 
 I will at once to thee straight demonstrate 
 Those worldly ioyes, which heere thou shalt finde. 
 And, for because thou art partly blinde, 
 In this respect looke through this mirrour. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 53 
 
 And thou shalt behold an vnspeakeable pleasure. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Oh peerelesse pleasures, oh ioyes vnspeakable, 
 Oh worldly wealth, oh pallaces gorgious. 
 Oh faire Children, oh wife most amyable ; 
 Oh pleasant pastime, oh pompe so glorious, 
 Oh deUcate diet, oh lyfe lasciuious ; 
 Oh dolourous death which would mee betray, 
 And my felycitie from mee take away. 
 
 I am fully resolued, without further demeanour. 
 In these delightes to take my whole solace ; 
 And what paine so euer hereby I incurre, 
 
 Whether heauen or hell, whether Gods wrath or grace, .; 
 
 This glasse of delight I will euer imbrace. 
 But one thing most chiefly doth trouble mee heere : 
 My Neighbors vnconstant will compt mee, I feare. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 
 He that will seeke eche man to content 
 Shall prooue him selfe at last most vnwise. 
 Your selfe to saue harmlesse think it sufiicient. 
 And waigh not the peoples clamorous outcries. 
 Yet there mouthes to stop I can soone deuise : 
 Say that the reading of the workes of S. Selfloue, 
 And doctor Ambition did your errours remoue. 
 
 And harke in myne eare, delay no more time : 
 The sooner the better in ende you will say. 
 We haue now caught him as Birde is in Une. 
 
 Tyranny. 
 Come on, sirs ; haue yee done ? I would faine away. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Goe euen when you will, we doo you not stale. 
 Philologus hath drunk such a draught of Hypocrisie, 
 That he minds not to die yet ; he wil master this malady. 
 
54 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Cardinal. 
 Come on, master Philologus : are you growne to a stay ? 
 I am glad to heare that you become tractable. 
 
 Philologus. 
 If it please your Lordship, I say euen what you say, 
 And confesse your relygion to be most allowable. 
 Neither will I gainsay your customes lawdable : 
 My former follyes I vtterly renownce ; 
 That my selfe was an Heretick I doo heere pronownce. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Nay, Master Philologus, goe with mee to my Pallace, 
 And I shall set downe the forme of recantation, 
 "Which you shall reade on Sonday next in open place. 
 This done, you shall satisfie our expectation. 
 And shall be set free from all molestation : 
 Into the bosome of the Church we will you take. 
 And some high officer therein will you make. 
 
 Philologus. 
 I must first request your Lordships fauour, ** 
 That I may goe home my wife for to see. 
 And I will attend on you within this howre. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Nay, I may not suffier you alone to goe free, 
 Unlesse one of these your suretie wil bee. 
 
 Suggestion, 
 I, sensuaU Suggestion, for him will vndertake. 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Verie well, take him to you : your prisoner I him make. 
 Come you, maister Hypocrisie, and beare me company. 
 Or els I am sure no meate I should eate ; 
 And goe before, Zeale, to see ech thing ready, 
 That, when we once come, we stay not for meate. 
 
 Hypocrisie, 
 With small sute heereto you shaU mee intreate. [Exit Tyr. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 55 
 
 Cardinall. 
 Farewell, Philologus, and make small delay : 
 Perhaps of our dinners for you I will staie. 
 
 [Exit Car. ^ Hyp. 
 Suggestion. 
 Had not you bene a wise man your selfe to haue lost, 
 And brought your whole family to wretched estate ? 
 Where now of your blessednesse your selfe you may host, 
 And of all the countrie accompt your selfe fortunate. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Such was the wit of my fooUsh pate. 
 But what doo we stay so long in this place ? 
 I shall not be well whilst I am with my Lordes grace. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Acte fourth. Sceane 4. 
 
 Spirit. Philo. Svgges. 
 Philologus, Philologus, Philologus, 1 say. 
 In time take heede, goe not to farre, looke well thy steps vnto : 
 Let not Suggestion of thy flesh thy Conscience thee betray. 
 Who doth conduct thee in the path that leadeth to all woe. 
 Waigh well this warning giuen from God before thou further goe. 
 And sell not euerlasting ioyes for pleasures temporall, 
 From which thou soone shalt goe, or they from thee bereaued shall. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Alas, what voice is this I heere, so dolefully to sounde 
 Into mine eares, and wameth mee in time yet to beware ? 
 Why, haue not 1 the pleasant path of worldly pleasures founde ? 
 To walk therein for my delight no man shall me debarre. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Looke in this Glasse, Philologus : for nought els do thou care. 
 What doost thou see within the same ? is not the Coast all cleare ? 
 
 Philologits. 
 Naught els but pleasure, pompe, and wealth, heerein to mee appeare. 
 
56 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Giue me thy hande : I will be guide, and leade thee in the way. 
 What, doost thou shrink, Philologus, where I dare goe before ? 
 
 Spirit. 
 Yea, shrinke so still, Philologus ; no time turne back, I say : 
 In sensuall Suggestions steppes see that thou tread no more ; 
 And though the frailtie of the flesh hath made the fall full sore, 
 And to denye with outward lyps thy Lord and God most deare, 
 The same to stablish with consent of Conscience stand in feare. 
 Thou art yet free, Philologus ; all torments thou maist scape, 
 Onely the pleasures of the world thou shalt awhile forbeare. 
 Renownce thy crime, and sue for grace, and do not captiuate 
 Thy conscience vnto mortall sinne : the yoke of Christ doo beare. 
 Shut vp these wordes within thy brest, which sound so in thine eare : 
 The outwarde man hath caused thee this enterprise to take ; 
 Beware least wickednesse of spirit the same doo perfect make. 
 
 Philologus. 
 My hart doth tremble for distres, my conscience pricks mee sore, 
 And bid mee cease that course in time, which I would gladly runne. 
 The wrath of God, it doth mee tell, doth stand my face before : 
 Wherfore, I hold it best to cease that race I haue begun. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 These are but fancies certainly, for this way thou shalt shun 
 All worldly woes : looke in thy Glasse and tell me what it show. 
 Thou wilt not credit other men before thy selfe I trow. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Oh gladsome Glasse, oh mirrour bright, oh cristal cleare as sun, 
 The ioyes cannot be vttered which herein I beholde ; 
 Wherefore I will not thee forsake, what euill so euer come. 
 
 Spirit. 
 If needes thou wilt thy selfe vndoo, say not but thou arte tolde. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Hap what hap wyll, I will not loose these pleasures manyfolde. 
 Wherfore conduct mee once againe : heere, take mee by the hande. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 57 
 
 Suggestion, 
 That sensuall Suggestion doth leade him vnderstand. 
 
 Acte fourth. Sceane 5. 
 
 CoNsci. Philo. Svgges. 
 Alas alas, thou wofull wight, what furie dooth thee moue 
 So wiUingly to cast thy selfe into consumyng fyre ? 
 What Circes hath bewitched thee thy worldly wealth to loue 
 More then the blessed state of Soule, this one thing I desyre ? 
 Waigh wel the cause with sincere hart, thy Coscience thee require. 
 And sell not euerlasting ioyes for pleasures temporall. 
 Resist Suggestion of the flesh, who seekes thee for to spoile ; 
 From which thou soone shalt goe, or they from thee bereaued shall. 
 And take from thee, which God electi, true euerlasting soyle. 
 See where confusion doth attend to catch thee in his snare. 
 Whose handes, if that thou goest on still, thou shalt no way eschew. 
 
 Philologus, 
 What wight art thou, which for my health doost take such ear- 
 
 Conscience. [nest care ? 
 
 Thy erased Conscience, which forsee the plagues and torments due, 
 Which from iust ludge, whom thou denyest, shal by and by insue. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Thou hast good triall of the faith which I to thee doo beare : 
 Commit thy safetie to my charge ; there is no daunger neere. 
 
 CoTiscience, 
 Such is the blindnesse of the flesh, that it may not descrie. 
 Or see the perrils which the Soule is ready to incurre ; 
 And much the lesse our owne estates we can our selues espie. 
 Because Suggestion in our hartes such fancies often stirre : 
 Wherby to worldly vanities we cleaue as fast as burre, 
 Esteeming them with heauenly ioyes in goodnesse comparable. 
 Yet be they mostly very prickes to sinne abhomynable. 
 
 For proofe we neede no further goe then to this present man, 
 
 H 
 
58 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Who by the blessing of the Lorde of riches hauing store, 
 When with his hart to fancy them this worldlyng once began. 
 And had this Glasse of vanyties espied his eyes before, 
 He God forsooke, whereas he ought haue loued him the more ; 
 And chooseth rather with his goodes to be throwne down to hell, 
 Then by refusyng of the same with God in heauen to dwell. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 Nay harke, Philologus, how thy conscience can teache. 
 And would deteyne thee with glosinges vntrue : 
 But hearest thou. Conscience, thou maiest long inough preache, 
 Eare wordes, from whence reason or trueth none ensue. 
 Shall make Philologus to bid mee adue. 
 What, shall there no rich man dwell in Gods kingdorae ? 
 Where then is Abraham, lob, and Dauid become ? 
 
 Conscience, 
 I speake not largelye of all them which haue this worldly wealth, 
 For why ? I know that riches are the creatures of the Lorde ; 
 Which of themselues are good ech one, as Salamon vs telleth, 
 And are appoynted to do good withall by Gods owne word ; 
 But when they let vs from the Lord, then ought they be abhord : 
 Which caused Christ himselfe to say, that with much lesser payne 
 Should Camel passe through needles ey, the rich men Heaue obtayn. 
 Hereby Rich men Christ did not mean ech one which welth enioy. 
 But those which fastned haue their loue vpon this worldly dust ; 
 Wherefore another cryes and sayth, oh death, how great anoye 
 Doest thou procure vnto that man, which in his gooddes doth trust. 
 That thou doest this, Philologus, thou needes acknowledge must ; 
 Whereby ech one may easly see, thou takest more delight 
 In Mundian ioyes, then thou esteemest to be with Angels bright. 
 
 Philologm. 
 This toucheth y* quicke : I feele y* wound, which if thou canst not cure. 
 As maimed in limmes I must retyre ; I can no further goe. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 This is the greef which Conscience takes against thee, I am sure, 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 59 
 
 Becfiuse thou vsest those delights which Conscience may not do ; 
 And therefore he perswadeth thee to leaue the same also, 
 As did the Foxe, which caught in snare and scapt with losse of tayle, 
 To cut off theirs, as burthenous, did all the rest counsayll. 
 
 Conscience. 
 
 In deede I cannot vse those fond and foolish vanities, 
 In which the outward part of man doth take so great delight : 
 No, neither would I, though to me were geuen that liberty. 
 But rather would consume them all to nought, if that I might ; 
 For if I should delight therein, it were as good a syght 
 As if a man of perfect age should ride vpon a sticke, 
 Or play with compters in the street, which pastime children lyke. 
 
 But all my ioyes in heauen remaynes, wheras I long to be ; 
 And so wouldest thou, if that on Christ thy fayth fall fastned were : 
 For that affection was in Paull the apostle we may see. 
 The first to the Philippians doth witnes herein beare. 
 His words be these : oh would to God disolued that I were, 
 And were with Christ : another place his mynde in those words tell ; 
 We are but straungers all from God, while in this world we dwell. 
 
 Now, marke how far from his request dissenting is thy mynde ; 
 He wisht for death, but more then hell thou doest the same detest. 
 
 Suggestion. 
 
 The cause why Paul did loth his lyfe may easely be assignde. 
 Because the lewes in euerie place did seeke him to molest : 
 But those which in this world obtaine securitie and rest. 
 Do take delight to Hue therein ; yea, nature doth indue 
 Ech lyuing creature with a feare, least death should them accrue. 
 Yea, the same Paul at Antioche dissembled to be dead. 
 While they were gone who sought his lyfe with stones for to destroy. 
 Elias for to saue his lyfe to Horeb likewise fled. 
 So did King Dauid flee, when Saul did seeke him to annoy : 
 Yea, Christ himselfe, whom in our deedes to follow we may ioy. 
 Did secreatly conuaigh himselfe from lewes so full of hate. 
 When they thought from the top of hil him to precipitate. 
 
60 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Wherefore it is no sinne at all a man for to defende, 
 And keepe himselfe from death so long as nature giues him leaue. 
 
 Conscience. 
 
 The same whom you recited haue conceiued a further end. 
 Then to them selues to liue alone, as ech man may perceiue ; 
 For when that Paul had runne his course, he did at last receiue 
 With hartes consent the final death which was him put vnto. 
 So when Christ had perfourmed his work he did death vndergoe : 
 And would to god, thou wouldest do y*, which these men were contet ; 
 For they dispised worldly pomp, their flesh they did subdue, 
 And brought it vnder, that to spirit it mostly did consent : 
 Whereby they, seeking God to please, did bid the world adue, 
 Wife, Children, and possessions forsaking ; for they knew 
 That euerlasting treasures were appointed them at last. 
 The which, they thirsting, did from them al worldly pleasures cast. 
 
 But thou, O wretch, doest life prolong, not that thou wouldst gods 
 As dutie binds vs all to doo, most chiefly gloryfy, [name. 
 
 But rather by thy lining still wilt Gods renowne defame. 
 And more and more dishonor him : this is thy drift I spy. 
 
 Philologus. 
 I meane to liue in worldly ioyes ; I can it not denye. 
 
 Conscience. 
 What are those ioyes, which thou doost meane, but pleasures straing 
 By vsing of the which thou shalt prouoke his lieauy rod. [fro god ? 
 
 Suggestion. 
 
 Tush, knowest thou what, Philologus, be wise thy selfe vnto, 
 And hsten not to these fond wordes which Conscience to thee tell. 
 For thy defence I will alleadge one worthy lesson moe. 
 Unto the which I am right sure he cannot answere well : 
 When Dauid by vaine trust in men of warre from God sore fell. 
 And was appointed of three plagues the easiest for to chuse. 
 He saide Gods mercy easier is to get then mans, as I suppose. 
 
 Againe, he sayeth among the Psalmes, it better is to trust 
 In God, then that our confidence we setle should in man. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 61 
 
 Wherefore to this which I now say of force consent thou must ; 
 That when two euils before vs plaste no way avoide we can, 
 Into the hand of God to fal by choyce is lawful! than, 
 Because that God is mercyfuU, when man no mercy show. 
 Thus haue I pleaded in this cause sufl&ciently I trow. 
 
 Conscience, 
 How can you say, you trust in God when as you him forsake. 
 And of the wicked Mammon heere doo make your fained frende ? 
 No, no ; these wordes which you recite against you mostly make. 
 For thus he thinks in his destresse, God cannot mee defende. 
 And therfore by Suggestion fraile to mans helpe he hath leande. 
 Marke who say trueth of him or mee, and doo him best beleeue. 
 
 Philologus. 
 I lyke thy wordes, but that to lose these ioyes it would mee greeue. 
 
 Conscience. 
 And where Suggestion telleth thee, that God in mercies flow. 
 Yet is he iust sinnes to correct, and true in that he speake ; 
 Wherfore he sayeth, who so my name before men shall not know, 
 I shall not know him when as ludge I shall sit in my seate. 
 This if you call to minde it wil your proude presumption breake. 
 Againe he sayeth, who so his lyfe or goodes will seeke to saue 
 Shal loose them all ; but who for Christ wil lose them gaine shall 
 
 Suggestion. [haue. 
 
 What, did not Peter Christ deny, yet mercy did obtaine ? 
 Where, if he had not, of the Jewes he should haue tasted death. 
 
 Philoloffiis. 
 Euen so shall I in tract of time with bitter teares complaine. 
 
 Suffgestion. 
 Yea, time inough, though thou deffierst untill thy latest breath. 
 
 Conscience. 
 So saieth Suggestion vnto thee, but Conscience it denyeth. 
 And in the ende what so I say for trueth thou shalt espye. 
 And that most false which Conscience shal in secreat hart deny. 
 
62 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Philologus. 
 Ah wretched man, what shall I doo ? which doo so playnly see 
 My flesh and Spirit to contende, and that in no small thing. 
 But as concernyng the euent of extreame miserie ; 
 Which either studie to auoyde, or els vpon mee bring : 
 And which of them I should best trust it is a doubtful thing. 
 My Conscience speaketh truth, mee think ; but yet, because I feare 
 By his aduice to suffier death, I doo his wordes forbeare. 
 And therfore pacyfy thy selfe, and doo not so torment 
 Thy selfe in vaine : I must seeke some meanes for to eschew 
 These griping greefes, which vnto mee I see now imminent ; 
 And therfore will no longer stay, but bid thee now adue. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Oh stay, I say, Philologus, or els thou wilt it rue. 
 
 Phihloyus. 
 It is lost labour that thou doest : I will be at a point, 
 And to inioye these worldly ioyes I ieoparde will a io[i]nt. 
 
 [Exit Phil, and Sug. 
 Conscience. 
 Oh cursed creature, O fraile flesh, O meat for wormes, O dust, 
 O blather pufifed full of winde, O vainer then these all: 
 What cause hast thou in thine own wit to haue so great a trust, 
 Which of thy selfe canst not espie, the euils which on thee fall ? 
 The bUndnesse of the outwarde man Philologus shew shall 
 At his retume, vnless I can at last make him relent ; 
 For why the Lord him to correct in furious wrath is bent. 
 
 [Exit Consciencia. 
 
 Acte fyfth. Sceane 3. 
 
 Hypocrisie. 
 Svch chopping cheare as we haue made, the Uke hath not bin seene. 
 And who so pleasant with my Lorde as is Philologus ? 
 His recantation he hath made, and is dispatched cleane 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 63 
 
 Of all the griefes which vnto him did seeme so dangerous : 
 Which thing, you know, was brought to passe especially by vs, 
 So that Hypocrisie hath done that which Sathan did intende, 
 That men for worldly wealth should cease the Gospell to defende. 
 
 What shall become of foolish Goose, I meane Philologus, 
 In actuall maner to your eyes shall represented bee ; 
 For though as now he seemes to be in state most glorious, 
 He shall not long continue so, eche one of you shall see. 
 But needes I must be packing hence, my fellowes stay for mee. 
 Shake handes before we do depart : you shall see me no more ; 
 And though Hypocrisie goe away, of hypocrits heere is good store. 
 
 [Eant Hyp. 
 
 Acte fyfth. Sceane 4. 
 
 Philo. Gisbert. Paphi. 
 Come on my Children deare to mee, and let vs talk awhile 
 Of worldly goodes, which I haue got and of my pleasant state, 
 Which fortune hath installed mee, who on mee cheerly smyle. 
 So that into the top of wheele she doth me eleuate. 
 I haue escaped all mishaps of which my Concience did prate. 
 And where before I ruled was, as is the common sorte, 
 Now as a ludge within this Land I beare a Rulers port. 
 
 Gisbertus. 
 Indeede, good father, we haue cause to praise your grauitie. 
 Who did both saue your selfe from woe, and vs from begging state ; 
 Where if you had perseuered still, as we did feare greatly. 
 Your good from vs, your Children, should to Legate be confiscate : 
 Our glorious pompes, then, should we haue bene glad for to abate. 
 
 Paphinitius. 
 But now, not only that you had for vs, but also haue 
 Such offices, whereby more gaines you yeare by yeare shall saue. 
 
 Philologus. 
 I was at point, once very neare, to haue bene quite forlomc. 
 
64 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Had not Suggestion of the flesh from folly mee reclaymed, 
 And set this Glasse of worldly ioyes my sight and eyes beforne ; 
 The sight wherof did cause all thinges of mee to be disdained. 
 I thought I had felycitie when it I had obtained ; 
 And, to say trueth, I doo not care what to my soule betide. 
 So long as this prosperitie and wealth by mee abide. 
 
 But let vs homewarde goe againe some pastime there to make : 
 My whole delight in sport and games of pleasure I repose. 
 
 Horror. 
 
 Nay, stay thy iournay heere awhile : I doo thee prisoner take. 
 I shall abate thy pleasures soone, yea, to soone thou wilt suppose. 
 
 Philologus. 
 What is thy name ? whence commest thou ? wherfore, to me disclose ? 
 
 Horror. 
 
 My name is calde Confusion and horror of the mynde. 
 And to correct impenitents of God I am assignde. 
 
 And for because thou dost dispise Gods mercy and his grace. 
 And wouldst no admonytion take by them that did thee warne. 
 Neither when Conscience counsailed thee thou wouldst his wordes 
 Who would haue had thee vnto god obedience tru to leame ; [imbrace. 
 Nor couldst betweene Suggestions craft and Conscience truth disceme : 
 Behold, therfore, thou shalt of mee an other lesson heare. 
 Which, wil thou nil thou, w* torment of Conscience thou shalt beare. 
 
 And where thou hast extinguished the holy Spirit of God, 
 And made him wery with thy sinnes, which dayly thou hast done. 
 He will no lenger in thy soule and spirit make abode, 
 But with the Graces, which he gaue to thee, now is he gone : 
 So that to Godwarde by Christs death reioysing thou hast none. 
 The peace of Conscience faded is ; in stead whereof I bring 
 The Spirit of Sathan, blasphemy, confusion and cursing. 
 
 The Glasse likewise of vanyties, which is thine onely ioy, 
 I will transforme into the Glasse of deadly desperation, 
 By looking in the which thou shalt conceiue a great annoy. 
 Thus haue I caught thee in thy pride, and brought thee to damnatio ; 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 65 
 
 So that thou art a patteme true of Gods iust indignation : 
 Whereby eche man may warned be the hke sinnes to eschew, 
 Least the same torments they incurre, which in thee they shall view. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 painfull paine of deepe disdaine, oh griping greefe of hell, 
 Oh horror huge, oh soule supprest, and slaine with desperation, 
 Oh heape of sinnes, the sum wherof, no man can number well ; 
 Oh death, oh furious flames of hell, my iust recompensation. 
 
 Oh wretched wight, oh creature curst, oh childe of condempnation ; 
 Oh angrie God and mercilesse, most fearfull to beholde. 
 Oh Christ, thou art no Lambe to mee, but Lion fearce and boulde. 
 
 Gisbertus. 
 Alas, deare Father, what doth moue and cause you to lament ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 My sinnes (alas) which in this Glasse appeare innumerable. 
 For which I shall no pardon get ; for God is fully bent 
 In furie for to punish me with paines intoUerable. 
 Neither to call to him for grace or pardon am I able : 
 My sinne is vnto death, I feele Christes death doth me no good. 
 Neither for my behoofe did Christ shed his most precious bloud. 
 
 Paphinitius. 
 Alas, deare Father (alas I say) what sodaine chaunge is this ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 1 am condemned into hell these torments to sustaine. 
 
 Gisbartus. 
 Oh say not so, my Father deare, Gods mercy mighty is. 
 
 Philologus. 
 The sentence of the righteous ludge cannot be cald againe. 
 Who hath already iudged mee to euerlasting payne. 
 Oh, that my bodie buried were that it at rest might bee. 
 Though soule were put in ludas place, or Caines extremitie. 
 
 Gisbertus. 
 Oh Brother, hast you to the Towne, and tel Theologus 
 What sodaine plague and punishment my Father hath befell. 
 
 I 
 
66 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Paphinitius, 
 I run in hast, and will request him for to come with vs. 
 
 Gisbertus. 
 Oh Father, rest your selfe in God, and all thing shalbe well. 
 
 PMlologus, 
 
 Ah dreadfull name, which when I heere to sigh it mee compel!. 
 God is against me, I percieue ; he is none of my God, 
 Unlesse in this, that he will beat and plague me with his rod. 
 
 And though his mercy doth surpasse the sinnes of all the worlde, 
 Yet shall it not once profit me, or pardon mine offence : 
 I am refused vtterly, I quite from God am whorld. 
 My name within the Booke of lyfe had neuer residence ; 
 Christ prayed not, Christ suffered not, my sinnes to recompence, 
 But only for the Lordes elect, of which sort I am none : 
 I feele his iustice towardes mee, his mercy all is gone. 
 
 And to be short, within short space my finall end shall bee : 
 Then shall my soule incurre the paines of vtter desolation. 
 And I shall be a president most horrible to see 
 To Gods elect, that they may see the price of abiuration. 
 
 Gisbertus. 
 
 To heere my Fathers dolefuU plaints it bringeth preturbation 
 Unto my soule ; but yonder comes that good Theologus. 
 Oh welcome, sir, and welcome you, good master Eusebius. 
 
 Acte fyfth. Sceane 2. 
 
 Theo. Phi. Evse. Gis. Paphi. 
 God saue you, good Philologus ; how do you by Gods grace ? 
 
 PMlologus. 
 You welcome are, but I (alas) vile wretch am heere euill found. 
 
 Eusebius. 
 What is the chiefest cause (tell vs) of this your dolorus case ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 Oh, would my soule were sunke in hell, so body were in grounde ; 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 67 
 
 That angrie God now hath his will, who sought mee to confounde. 
 
 Theologus. 
 
 Oh say not so, Philologus, for God is gracious. 
 And to forgiue the penitent his mercy is plentious. 
 Do you not know that all the earth with mercy doth abound, 
 And though the sinnes of all the world vppon one man were layde, 
 If he one only sparke of grace or mercy once had found. 
 His wickednesse could not him harme : wherefore be not dismayde. 
 Christes death alone for all your sinnes a perfect raunsome payde : 
 God doth not couet sinners death, but rather that he may 
 By liuing still bewaill his sinnes, and so them put awaye. 
 Consider Peeter, who three tymes his Maister did denye ; 
 Yea, with an oath, and that although Christ did him warning giue. 
 With whome before tyme he had lyued so long familiarly. 
 Of whome so many benefits of loue he did receiue ; 
 Yet when once Peeter his owne fault did at the last perceiue. 
 And did bewaile his former cryme with salt and bitter teares, 
 Christ by and by did pardon him, the Gospell witnes beares. 
 
 The theefe lykewise, and murtherer, which neuer had don good. 
 But had in mischeefe spent his dayes, yea, during all his lyfe. 
 With lattest breth when he his sinnes and wickednes withstoode. 
 And with iniquityes of flesh his spirit was at strife, 
 Thorow that one motion of his heart, and power of true behefe. 
 He was receiued into grace, and all his sinnes defaced, 
 Christ saying, soone in Paradice with me thou shalt be placed. 
 
 The hand of God is not abridged, but still he is of myght 
 To pardon them that caU. to him vnfainedly for grace. 
 Againe, it is Gods propertye to pardon sinners quight : 
 Pray therefore with thy heart to God, heere, in this open place. 
 And from the very roote of heart bewaile to him thy case, 
 And, I assure thee, God will on thee his mercy show 
 Through lesus Christ, who is with him our aduocate you knowe. 
 
 Philologus, 
 
 I haue no fayth : the wordes you speake my hart doth not beleeue. 
 
68 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 I must confesse that I for sinne am iustly throwne to hell. 
 
 Eusehius. 
 
 His monstrous incredulitye my very hart doth greeue. 
 Ah, dere Philologus, I haue knowne by face and visage well 
 A sort of men, which haue bene vext with Diuels and spirits fell. 
 In farre worse state then you are yet brought into desperation. 
 Yet in the ende haue bene reclaimde by godly exhortation. 
 
 Such are the mercies of the Lorde, he will throw downe to hell. 
 And yet call back againe from thence, as holy Dauid wrightes. 
 What should then let your trust in God ? I pray you to vs tel, 
 Sith to forgiue, and doo vs good, it chiefely him delightes. 
 What, would not you that of your sins he should you cleane acquite ? 
 How can he once denie to you one thing you doo request, 
 Which hath already geven to you his best beloued Christ ? 
 
 Lift up your hart in hope, therefore ; awhile be of good cheare, 
 And make accesse vnto his seate of grace by earnest prayer. 
 And God will surely you releeue with grace, stand not in feare. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 I doo beleeue that out from God proceede these comfortes faire : 
 So doo the Diuels, yet of their health they alway doe dispaire. 
 They are not written vnto mee, for I woulde faine attaine 
 The mercy and the loue of God, but he doth me disdaine. 
 How would you haue that man to lyue which hath no mouth to eate ? 
 No more can I lyue in my soule, which haue no faith at all : 
 And where you say, that Peter did of Christ soone pardon get. 
 Who in the selfe same sinne with mee from God did greatly fall. 
 Why I cannot obtaine the same to you I open shall : 
 God had respect to him alwaies, and did mee firmly loue, 
 But I, alas, am reprobate, God doth my soule reproue. 
 
 Moreover, I will say with tongue what so you wyll require : 
 My harte I feele with blasphemy and cursing is repleate. 
 
 Theologus. 
 
 Then pray with vs as Christ vs taught, we doo you all desire. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 69 
 
 Philologus. 
 To pray with lips vnto your God you shall mee soone intreate : 
 My spirit to Sathan is in thrall ; I can it not thence get. 
 
 EusebiuSy 
 God shall renue your spirit againe ; pray onely as you can, 
 And to assist you in the same we pray ech Christian man. 
 
 Philologus. 
 O God, which dwellest in the Heauens, and art our father deare. 
 Thy holy name throwghout the world be euer sainctified, 
 The kingdome of thy word and spirit vppon vs rule might beare, 
 Thy will in earth as by thy Saincts in heauen be ratified ; 
 Our dayly bread, we thee beseech, O Lord, for vs prouide, 
 Our sinnes remit (Lord vnto vs) as we ech man forgiue : 
 Let not tentation vs assayle, in all euiU vs releeue. Amen. 
 
 Theologus. 
 The Lord be praysed, who hath at length thy spirit mollified. 
 These are not tokens vnto vs of your reprobation : 
 You morne with teares, and sue for grace ; wherfore be certified 
 That God in mercy giueth eare vnto your supplication. 
 Wherfore dispayre not thou at all of thy soules preseruation. 
 And say not with a desperat heart, that God against thee is ; 
 He will no doubt, these paynes once past, receiue you into blisse. 
 
 PhilologuLS. 
 No, no, my friends, you only heare and see the outward part. 
 Which, though you thinke they haue don wel, it booteth not at all. 
 My lyppes haue spoke the wordes in deede, but yet I feele my heart 
 With cursing is replenished, with rancor, spight, and gall : 
 Neither do I your Lord and God in hart my father call. 
 But rather seeke his holy name for to blaspheame and cursse. 
 My state therfore doth not amend, but waxe still worse and worse. 
 I am secluded cleane from grace, my heart is hardened quight ; 
 Wherefore you do your labour loose, and spend your breth in vayne. 
 
 Eusebius, 
 Oh, say not so, Philologus, but let your heart be pight 
 
70 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Uppon the mercyes of the Lord, and I you assertayne. 
 Remission of your former sinnes, you shall at last obtayne. 
 God hath it sayde (who cannot lye) at whatsoeuer time 
 A sinner shall from heart repent, I will remitt his cryme. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 You cannot say so much to me as herein I do knowe, 
 That by the mercyes of the Lord all sinnes are don awaye. 
 And vnto them that haue true fayth aboundantly it flowe ; 
 But whence do this true fayth proceede to vs, I do you pray ? 
 It is the only gift of God, from him it comes alwaye ; 
 I would therefore he would vouchsafe one spark of fayth to plant 
 Within my breast, then of his grace I know I should not want. 
 
 But it as easely may be done, as you may with one spoone 
 At once take vp the water cleane which in the seas abide. 
 And at one draught then drink it vp : this shall ye doe as soone. 
 As to my brest of true beleefe one sparkle shall betide. 
 Tush, you which are in prosperous state, and my paines haue not tried 
 Doe think it but an easy thing a sinner to repent 
 Him of his sinnes, and by true faith damnation to preuent. 
 
 The healthfull neede not Phisicks art, and ye which are all haile 
 Can giue good counsell to the sick their sicknesse to eschew; 
 But here, alas, confusion and hell doth mee assaile. 
 And that all grace from me is reft I finde it to be true. 
 My hart is Steele, so that no faith can from the same insue. 
 I can conceiue no hope at all of pardon or of grace. 
 But, out alas. Confusion is alway before my face. 
 
 And certainly, euen at his time, I doo most playnly see 
 The deuils to be about me rounde, which make great preparation. 
 And keepe a stirre, here, in this place which only is for mee : 
 Neither doe I conceiue these thinges by vaine imagination. 
 But euen as truly as mine eyes beholde your shape and fashion. 
 Wherefore, desired Death, dispatch, my body bring to rest, 
 Though that my soule in furious flames of fire be supprest. 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 71 
 
 TheologiLS. 
 Your minde corrupted dooth present to you this false illusion ; 
 But turne awhile vnto the spirit of trueth in your distresse. 
 And it shall cast out from your eies all horror and confusion. 
 And of this your affliction it will you soone redresse. 
 
 EiLsebius. 
 We haue good hope, Philologus, of your saluation doubtlesse. 
 
 Philologus. 
 What your hope is concerning mee I vtterly contempne : 
 My Conscience, which for thousands stand, as guiltie mee condemne. 
 
 Eusehim. 
 When did tliis horror first you take ? what think you is the cause ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 Euen shortly after I did make mine open abiuration. 
 For that I did prefer my goods before Gods holy lawes. 
 Therefore in wrath he did me sende this horrible vexation. 
 And hath me wounded in the soule with greeuous tribulation. 
 That I may be a president, in whom all men may view 
 Those torments, which to them that wil forsake the Lord are due. 
 
 Theologus. 
 Yet let me bouldly aske one thing of you without offence : 
 What was your former faith in Christ, which you before did holde ? 
 For it is saide of holy Paule, in these same wordes in sence, 
 It cannot be that vtterly in faith he should bee colde. 
 Who so he be, which perfectly true faith in hart once holde. 
 Wherefore rehearce in short discourse the sum of your beleefe 
 In those points chiefly which for health of soule are thought most 
 
 Philologus^ [cheefe. 
 
 I did beleeue in hart that Christ was that true sacrifice. 
 Which dyd appease the fathers wrath, and that by him alone 
 We were made iust and sanctified : I dyd beleeue likewise. 
 That without him heauen to attaine sufiicient meanes were none. 
 But to reknowledge this againe, alas, all grace was gone : 
 I neuer loued him againe with right and sincere harte. 
 
72 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Neither was thankful! for the same, as was ech goodmans part. 
 
 But rather tooke the faith of Christ for lybertie to sinne. 
 And did abuse his graces great to further carnall lust. 
 What wickednesse I did commit I cared not a pinne, 
 For that, that Christ discharged had, my ransome I dyd trust : 
 Wherfore the Lord doth now correct the same with torments iust. 
 My sonnes, my sonnes, I speake to you : my counsell ponder well. 
 And practise that in deedes which I in wordes shall to you tell. 
 
 I speake not this, that I would ought the Gospell derogate, 
 Which is most true in euery part, I must it needes confesse ; 
 But this I say, that of vaine faith alone you should not prate, 
 But also by your holy lyfe you should your faith expresse : 
 Beleeue me, syres, for by good proofe these thinges I doo expresse. 
 Peruse the wrighting of S. lames, and first of Peeters too. 
 Which all Gods people holynesse of lyfe exhort vnto. 
 
 By sundrie reasons, as for, firste, because we strangers are ; 
 Againe, sinne from the flesh proceede, but we are of the spirit ; 
 The third, because the flesh allway against the spirit doo warre ; 
 The fourth, y* we may stop the mouthes of such as would backbight ; 
 The fifth, that other by our Hues to God reduce we might : 
 Againe, they sing a pleasant song, which sing in deede and word. 
 But where euill life insue good words there is a foule discorde. 
 
 But I, alas, most wretched wight, whereas I did presume 
 That I had got a perfect faith, did holy life disdaine : 
 And though I did to other preach, good lyfe I did consume. 
 My lyfe in wickednesse and sinne, in sport and pleasures vaine. 
 No, neither did I once contende from them flesh to refraine. 
 Beholde, therfore, the iudgements iust of God doth mee annoy, 
 Not for amendement of my lyfe, but mee for to destroy. 
 
 Etisebius. 
 
 We doo not altogether like of this your exhortation. 
 Whereas you warne vs not to trust so much vnto our faith. 
 But that good workes we should prepare vnto our preseruation : 
 There are two kindes of righteousnesse, as Paul to Romanes saith : 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 73 
 
 The one dependeth of good workes, the other hangs of faith. 
 
 The former, which the world allowes, god counts it least of twaine, 
 
 As by good proofe it shall to you in wordes be proued playne. 
 
 For Socrates and Cato both did purchase great renowne, 
 And Aristides, surnamed lust, this righteousnesse fulfilled. 
 Wherefore he was as iustest man expelde his natiue towne ; 
 Yet are their soules with Infydels in hell for euer spilled, 
 Because they sought not righteousnes that way that God the willed. 
 The other righteousnes corns from faithe, which God regards alone, 
 And makes vs seeme immaculate before his heauenly throne. 
 
 Wherfore there is no cause you should sende vs to outwarde act. 
 As to the ancor or refuge of our preseruation. 
 
 Theologus. 
 
 The meaning of Philologus is not heere so exact. 
 As doo his wordes make it to seeme by your allegation. 
 He doth not meane betweene good works and faith to make relation. 
 As though workes were equiuolent saluation to attaine, 
 As is true faith ; but what he ment I will set downe more playne. 
 He did exhort the youngmen heere by him for to beware 
 Least, as he did, so they abuse Gods gospell pure, 
 And without good aduice vsurp of faith the gift so rare : 
 Whereby they think, what so they doo, the selues from torments free. 
 And by this proud presumption Gods anger should procure : 
 And where they boast and vaunt the selues good faithfuU men to bee, 
 Yet in their lyues they doo deny their faith in ech degree. 
 
 Wherfore he saith, as Peter saide, see that you doo make knowne 
 Your owne election by your workes : againe, S. lames doth say, 
 Shew mee thy faith, and by my works my faith shall thee be shown. 
 And wherupon his owne ofience he dooth to them bewray, 
 Wheras he did vainegloryously vpon a dead faith stay ; 
 Which for the inwarde righteousnesse he alway did suspect, 
 And heereupon all godlynes of lyfe he did neglect. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 That was the meaning of my wordes, how euer I them spake : 
 
 K 
 
74 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 The truth (alas) vile wretch, my soule and Conscience too true feele. 
 
 Theologus. 
 
 What, do you not, Philologus, with vs no comfort take 
 When all these thinges so godlyly to you I doo reueale, 
 Especially sith that your selfe in them are scene so well ? 
 Some hope vnto vs of your health and safetie yet is left : 
 We do not think that all Gods grace from you is wholly reft. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 Alas, what comfort can betide vnto a damned wretch ? 
 What so I heere, see, feele, tast, speake, is turned all to woe. 
 
 Eusebim. 
 Ah, deare Philologus, think not y' ought can Gods grace outreache. 
 Consider Dauid which did sinne in lust, and murther too ; 
 Yet was he pardoned of his sinnes, and so shalt thou also. 
 
 Philologus. 
 King Dauid alwaies was elect, but I am reprobate. 
 And therefore I can finde small lease by waighing his estate. 
 
 He also prayed vnto God, which I shall neuer doe : 
 His prayer was that God would not his spirit take away ; 
 But it is gone from me long since, and shall be giuen no moe. 
 But what became of Cayne, of Cam, of Saul, I do you pray ? 
 Of ludas, and Barehu ? these must my Conscience slay. 
 Of lulyan Apostata, with other of that crue. 
 The same torments must I abide which these men did insue. 
 
 Theologm, 
 
 Alas, my friend, take in good part the chastment of y^ Lorde, 
 Who doth correct you in this world, that in the lyfe to come 
 He might you saue, for of the like the Scripture beares recorde. 
 
 Philologus. 
 
 That is not Gods intent with mee, though it be so with some. 
 Who after bodies punishment haue into fauour come : 
 But I (alas) in spirit and soule these greeuous torments beare : 
 God hath condemned my Coscience to perpetuall greife and feare. 
 I would most gladly chuse to lyue a thousand, thousande yeare 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 75 
 
 In all the torments and the griefe that damned soules sustaine, 
 So that at length I might haue ease it would me greatly cheare : 
 But I, alas, shall in this lyfe in torments still remaine, 
 While Gods iust anger vpon mee shall be reuealed plaine, 
 And I example made to all of Gods iust indignation. 
 Oh, that my body were at rest, and soule in condemnation. 
 
 Eusebius. 
 I pray you answer me herein : where you by deepe dispaire 
 Say you are worse here in this lyfe, then if you were in hell ; 
 And for because to haue death come you alway make your prayer, 
 As though your soule and body both in torments great did dwell. 
 If that a man should giue to you a sword, I pray you tell. 
 Would you destroy your selfe there with, as doe the desperate, 
 Which hange or kill, or into flouds themselues precipitate ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 Giue me a sworde, then shall you know what is in mine intent. 
 
 Eusebius. 
 Not so, my friend, I onely aske what heerein were your will ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 I cannot, neither will I tell wherto I would be bent. 
 
 Theologus. 
 These wordes doe nothing edifye, but rather fancies fill, 
 Which we would gladly, if we could, indeuour for to kill. 
 Wherefore I once againe request, together let vs pray. 
 And so we will leaue you to God, and send you hence away. 
 
 Philologus. 
 I cannot pray ; my spirit is dead, no faith in me remayne. 
 
 TTieologits. 
 Doe as you can ; no more then might we can ask at your hand. 
 
 Philologus. 
 My prayers turned is to sinne, for God doth it disdaine, 
 
 Eusebius. 
 It is the falsehood of the spirit, which doo your health withstande. 
 That teach you this : wherfore in time reiect his filthy bande. 
 
76 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 Theology^. 
 Come, kneele by mee, and let vs pray the Lord of Heauen vnto. 
 
 Philologus. 
 With as good will as did the Diuell out of the deaffe man goe. 
 
 O God, which dwellest in the heauens, &c. [come, 
 
 Tush, sirs, you doo your labours loose : see where Belzabub doth 
 And doth inuite me to a feast : you therefore speake in vaine. 
 Yea, if you aske ought more of me, in answer I will be dumbe : 
 I will not wast my tong for naught ; as soone shall one small grayne 
 Of Musterdseed fill all the world, as I true faith attaine. 
 
 Theologus. 
 We will no lenger stay you now, but let you hence depart. 
 
 Eusebius. 
 Yet will we pray continually that God would you conuart. 
 
 Theologus. 
 Gisbertus and Paphinitius, conduct him to his place ; 
 But see he haue good company : let him not be alone. 
 
 Amho. 
 We shall so doo : God vs assist with his most holy grace. 
 
 Gisbertus. 
 Come, Father, doo you not think good that we from hence begone ? 
 
 Philologus. 
 Let go my handes at lybertie : assistaunce I craue none. 
 Oh, that I had a sword awhile, I should soone eased bee. 
 
 Ambo. 
 Alas, deare father, what do you ? 
 
 Eusebius. 
 His wil we may now see. 
 
 [Exeunt Phi. Gis. Paph. 
 Theologus. 
 O glorious God, how wonderfull those iudgements are of thine : 
 Thou doost beholde the secret hart, nought doth thy eyes beguile. 
 Oh, what occasion is vs giuen to feare thy might deuine. 
 And from our hartes to hate and lothe iniquities so vile, 
 
The Conflict of Conscience. 77 
 
 Least for the same thou in thy wrath doost grace from vs exile. 
 The outwarde man doeth thee not please, nor yet the minde alone, 
 But thou requirest both of vs, or else regardest none. 
 
 Eusebius. 
 Heere may the worldlinges haue a glasse their states for to behold. 
 And learne in time for to escape the iudgements of the Lorde ; 
 Whilste they by flattering of them selues, of faith both dead and colde, 
 Doo sell their soules to wickednes, of all good men abhorde : 
 But godlynes doth not depend in knowing of the worde ; 
 But in fulfilling of the same, as in this man we see. 
 Who though he did to others preach, his lyfe did not agree. 
 
 Theologus. 
 Againe, Philologus witnesseth which is the trueth of Christ, 
 For that consenting to the Pope he did the Lorde abiure, 
 Whereby he teacht the wauering fayth on which side to persist : 
 And those which haue the trueth of God, that stil they may indure. 
 The Tyraunts, which delight in bloode he likewise doth assure 
 In whose afi"ayTes they spende their time : but let vs homewarde goe. 
 
 Eusebius, 
 I am content that after meate we maye resorte him to. 
 
 [Exiunt Theo. and Euse. 
 
 Acte sixe. Seane last. 
 
 NVNTIVS. 
 
 Oh, ioyfuU newes which I report, and bring into your eares. 
 Philologus, that would haue hangde himselfe with coard. 
 Is nowe conuerted vnto God with manie bitter teares : 
 By godly councell he was woon, all prayse be to the Lorde. 
 His errours all he did renounce, his blasphemies he abhorde. 
 And being conuerted left his lyfe, exhorting foe and friend. 
 That do professe the fayth of Christ, to be constant to the ende. 
 Full thyrtie weekes in wofull wise afflicted he had bene, 
 
78 The Conflict of Conscience. 
 
 All which long time he tooke no foode, but forst against his will, 
 Euen with a spoone to pour some broath his teeth betweene : 
 And though they sought by force this wise to feed him still. 
 He alwayes stroue with all his might the same on ground to spill ; 
 So that no sustenaunce he receiu^de, ne sleepe could he attayne. 
 And nowe the Lorde in mercy great hath easde him of his payne. 
 
 FINIS. N. W. 
 
NOTES TO THE CONFLICT OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 P. 4. 1. 33. But list, I heare the players prest.'} i. e. ready, pret, Fr. 
 
 P. 13. 1. 3. I am soone bidden.'} " Bidden " is invited. 
 
 P. 13. 1. 6. Eweunt.'] This necessary stage-direction is omitted in the old copy. 
 
 P. 16. 1. 2. Hyp. Ambo.] We are probably to understand, that these speeches 
 
 in the margin are spoken by Hypocrisy aside, who is unseen by 
 
 Tyranny and Avarice. 
 P. 16 1. 7- Agaynst such as mischife to you should pr^^^wrf.] i. e. intend. 
 P. 17. 1. 16. Utilitas facit esse Deos.j This proverb has no prefix, but it was, 
 
 most likely, meant to be spoken aside by Hypocrisy, like the other 
 
 speeches in the margin. 
 P. 21 . 1. 7. Despatch, then, this Marchant.'] The word " merchant " was often 
 
 used of old disparagingly. See Roineo and Juliet, Act II. sc. 4., 
 
 and Henry VI. Pt. I. Act II. sc. 4. It is employed in the same way 
 
 afterwards, p. 22. 
 P. 21. 1, 21. I dyd but iest, and spake but in boord'] " In boord " is mjest. 
 P. 2.9. 1. 15. Can to my trayne them teynde.'] Sic in orig. but the rhime seems 
 
 to require wynne instead of " wynde." 
 P. 33. 1. 15. Good morrow. Sir John."] The usual style in which priests and 
 
 clergymen were anciently addressed. Instances are too numerous 
 
 to require citation; but see Shakespeare, I. 177. HI. 393. V. 119. 
 
 416. 472. Edit. Collier. 
 P. 36. 1. 8. That ay mavvght be tchaiet.} That I might be quiet. 
 P. 36. 1. 20. A Fadocke to beare.] A faggot to bear, by which he was to be 
 
 burned. 
 P. 40. 1. 23. Not worthy to be answeared] The rhime is deficient in this line : 
 
 perhaps the author wrote " to be answeared tOt " the preposition 
 
 having dropped out in the press. 
 P. 44. 1. 33. I would thinke my selfe wood.'] i. e. mad. 
 
80 
 
 p. 45. 1. 20. At mee shoulde chaunce to/aine.'] So the old copy, but ought we 
 not to read foine, a fencing term, which also better accords with the 
 rhime ? 
 
 P. 47. 1. 11. Tyranny.] On p. 43 Tyranny had made his e/vit, in order to bring 
 back with him Sensual Suggestion : here he returns, but his re-entrance 
 is not noted. Sensual Suggestion follows him, but not immediately, 
 and what he first says was perhaps oflf the stage and out of sight of the 
 audience; for Hypocrisy, five speeches afterwards, informs the Car- 
 dinal that Sensual Suggestion is coming. 
 
 P. 49. 1. 18. And convinced of Heresie.] i. e. convicted of Heresy. This use of 
 the verb ** to convince" was not unusual at a considerably later date: 
 thus in Beaumont and Fletcher's " Lover's Progress," Act V. sc. 3. 
 Edit. Dvce. 
 
 " You bring no witness here that may convince you," &c. 
 It was also often employed as synonymous with " to overcome." 
 See Shakespeare, II. 377- VI. 49. &c. Edit. Collier. 
 
 P. 51. 1. 23. But my faith is full pight.'] Pight generally means pitched, but 
 another of its senses is fixed, and such is its meaning here, and after- 
 wards. 
 
 P. 53. 1. 25. And harke in myne care.] Probably we ought to read " And harke 
 in thyne eare." 
 
 P. 63. 1. 27. As Birde is in line.'] The rhime and the sense require lime for 
 *• line." This is, of course, not addressed to Philologus. 
 
 P. 55. 1. 14. Exeunt."] A necessary stage-direction, wanting in the original copy. 
 
 P. 57. 1. 3. Sceane 5.] Marked " Sceane g " in the old edition ; but although 
 the divisions of this kind have been very irregular throughout, the last 
 was " Sceane 4." 
 
 P. 57. 1. 12. From which thou soone shalt goe, or they from thee bereaved shall.] 
 This same line has occurred before, p. 55, at the close of the speech of 
 Spirit. 
 
 P. 63. 1. 14. Philo. Gisbert. Paphi.] Besides these persons. Horror is one of 
 the speakers in this scene, although he is not mentioned at the be- 
 ginning of it. 
 
 P. 68. 1. 28. And did mee firmly love.] The sense seems to require us to read 
 Mm for " mee," but we reprint the line exactly as it stands. 
 
Plaide before the Queenes most 
 excellent Maiestie : wherin are 
 manye fine Conceites 
 with great de- 
 light. 
 
 AT LONDON 
 
 Printed by E. A. for 
 Edward White, and are 
 
 to be solde at the httle North 
 
 dooreofS. Paules Church at the 
 
 signe of the Gunne. 
 
 1589, 
 
The first Acte. 
 
 Enter Mercury, then riseth a Furie : then enter 
 
 the assembly of the Gods, Jupiter with Juno, 
 
 Apollo with Minerva, Mars and Saturne, 
 
 after Vulcan with Venus : the Fury 
 
 sets debate amongst them, and 
 
 after Jupiter speakes as 
 
 foUoweth. 
 
 Jupiter, 
 Ye Gods and Goddesses, whence springes this strife of late ? 
 Who are the authors of this mutenye ? 
 Or whence hath sprung this civill discorde here, 
 Which on the sodaine strook us in this feare ? 
 If Gods that raigne in skyes doo fall at warre, 
 No mervaile, then, though mortall men doo jarre. 
 But now I see the cause : thou Fury fell. 
 Bred in the dungeon of the deepest hell, 
 Who causeth thee to shew thy selfe in light ? 
 And what thy message is, I charge thee tell upright. 
 
 Enter Tystphone. 
 
 Tisiphone. 
 
 O Jupiter, thou dreadfuU King of Gods, and men the father hie. 
 
84 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 To whose commaund the heavens, the earth, and lowest hell obey, 
 
 Tysiphone, the daughter of etemall night. 
 
 Bred in the bottome of the deepest pit of hell. 
 
 Brought up in blood, and cherisht with scrauling snakes. 
 
 Tormenting therwithall the damned soules of them, 
 
 Heer upon earth, that carelesse live of thy commaundement ; 
 
 I am the same. 
 
 I am the same whom both my loth some sisters hate. 
 
 Whom hell it selfe complaines to keep within her race. 
 
 Whom every fearfull soule detesteth with a cursse. 
 
 Whom earth and seas defie heavens lothing to beholde ; 
 
 I am the same. 
 
 I am the same sent from thy brother Pluto now. 
 
 Thy brother Pluto, King of hell and golden mynes ; 
 
 Sent unto thee and these thy fellow Gods I am. 
 
 From him to thee, from him by me, to tell thee to thy face 
 
 He hath been lately rubde, and toucht perhaps too neere ; 
 
 Which he ne can, or will put up without revenge. 
 
 If thou or any God the quarrell dare defend. 
 
 And this it is. 
 
 Thy daughter Venus, thy proud daughter Venus heere. 
 
 Blabs it abroad, and beareth all the world in hand. 
 
 She must be thought the only Goddesse in the world. 
 
 Exalting and suppressing whom she likes best, 
 
 Defacing altogeather Lady Fortunes grace ; 
 
 Breaking her anckers downe, dishonouring her name. 
 
 Whose governement thy selfe, thy selfe doost knowe. 
 
 How saist thou ? doost thou not? 
 
 Her father, therfore, thy brother Pluto, sendes 
 
 By me, the messenger of discorde and debate, 
 
 Commaunding or desiring, choose thou whether of both. 
 
 Her honour still impire she may maintaine ; 
 
 Els on thy daughter Venus, that lascivious dame. 
 
 Him selfe will wreak his high dispite on her. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 85 
 
 Jupiter. 
 
 Departe, foule feend, unto thy loth some cell. 
 Where thou lamenting makes continuall mone. 
 Goe tell my brother, were it not for him 
 Thou shouldst haue rude thy bold presumption. 
 Say thou thy message hath been largely heard, 
 And bid him send his daughter Fortune : now, 
 Whilst we are heere, the matter may have ende. 
 Dispatch ! 
 
 Tisiphone, 
 
 I goe. 
 Give place thou aire, open thou earth, gape hollow hell belowe ; 
 And unto all that Uve and breathe I wish a world of woe. 
 
 [Exit Tysiphone. 
 Jupiter. 
 
 Ye powers devine, be reconcilde againe ; 
 Departe from discorde and extreme debate : 
 Within your breasts let love and peace remains, 
 A perfect patteme of your heavenly state, 
 Whilome a goe to hell condemning hate. 
 Thus, when the hier powers is in one. 
 Men upon earth will flye contention. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Great God and father mine, your care and feare 
 Of us, and eke of all the world beside. 
 That restles rules in his continuall sphere, 
 Wherby all thinges in perfect course abide. 
 As one arayes an other forth to slide : 
 And this example may prevaile for all. 
 To woorke our willes according to your ceill. 
 And I dare say, presuming on the rest. 
 The poyson of this rancour is supprest, 
 
 Vulcan. 
 
 How ye agree, my maisters, I cannot tell ; 
 
86 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 But, were we a bed, we two could agree well. 
 
 Jupiter. 
 
 Gramercy, Mercury ; I know thy will 
 Is ever prest to further my desire : 
 In signe wherof, to quiet all thinges well, 
 And to surpresse betimes the secret fire 
 That I perceive would break and mount up hier. 
 This to prevent content ye heere to staye. 
 To marke a while what for themselves they say. 
 And, Venus, heere I charge thee on my grace, 
 Not that I found thee heertofore untrue. 
 But for thine adversarie is not yet in place, 
 Thou tell uprightly whence your quarrell grew ; 
 What woords betwixt you therof did ensue. 
 Say, lovely daughter ; tell us flat thy minde : 
 They shalbe blamed on whom the fault we finde. 
 
 Verms, 
 
 O thou that govemest every thing that Gods and men attempt. 
 And with thy fearfuU thunderbolte their doings doost prevent, 
 What hath thy daughter so deserved ? what doth she, silly dame. 
 Before ye thus to be abused with underserved blame ? 
 Surely, but that thy duety commaundes me now to speake, 
 For such a trifling cause this way my wrath I would not wreak. 
 But she, no mervaile though she seeke my seat thus to staine. 
 When otherwaies she cannot tell advantage how to gaine. 
 But thence this hot dispight, Hinc illce lacrimcey 
 Because, I say, she could not prove her self of power with me. 
 Gor all you Godheads know, she paines but such as pleasure knewe 
 She never greeves the groning minde, where gladnes never grewe. 
 She never overthrowes but at the top of joy ; 
 For they that never tasted blisse mislike not their anoye. 
 But I torment the minde that never felt releefe ; 
 I plague the wretch that never thought on comfort in his greefe. 
 That never had the hope of any happy chaunce. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 87 
 
 That never once so much as deemed I would his state advance. 
 Thinke, then, which of us both are of the greater power, 
 Once in his Ufe, or not at all, to graunt a hghtning hower. 
 I neede not stand to make rehearsall here of all, 
 For Gods and ghosts, yea, men and beasts unto my power are thrall. 
 I dare appeale to you, if I should looke awry. 
 Say, father, with your leave, in heaven who dares my woord deny ? 
 And if I please to smile, who will not laugh out right ? 
 Wherby my great omnipotence is knowne to every wight. 
 I make the noble love the bastarde in degree ; 
 I tame and temper all the tunges that raile and scofFe at me. 
 What bird, what beast, what worme, but feeleth my delight ? 
 What lives or draweth breth, but I can plesure or despight ? 
 Yet divers thinges there be that Fortune cannot tame ; 
 As are the riches of the minde, or els an honest name. 
 Or a contented hart, still free from Fortunes power : 
 But such as cUme before they crale must drink the sweet with sower. 
 Thy self, O Jupiter, didst graunt sometimes to me. 
 Of all things heer beneath the moone I should the ruler be : 
 Thou saist I did deserve the honor of that praise ; 
 Thy selfe didst once devise wherby my glory first to raise. 
 Is this my soveraigntie ? is this so glorious ? 
 Is this becomming thy renown, to quit thy daughter thus ? 
 
 Jupiter, 
 
 Feare not, faire Venus, neither be dismaide ; 
 Repose thee on the warrant of my woord. 
 What I have promist doubt not to be perfourmed; 
 The sparelesse destinies my will aflfoorde : 
 Let this defend thee, like a trusty swoord. 
 But lady Fortune commeth, now I see. 
 Welcome, faire dame ; what is thy will with me ? 
 
 Fortune. 
 
 Ye sacred powers devine, how should I now begin. 
 Or which way should I couch my words your favors for to win ? 
 
68 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 I may poure out my plaint, but thou maist it redresse. 
 
 My father humbly praieth you to give me leave to speak, 
 
 A.nd pardon him that in his wrath he did your quietnes break. 
 
 I cannot but confesse, dread Gods, I am not she 
 
 That seekes with Venus to compare in her supremacie. 
 
 I am not of that power, yet am I of some might, 
 
 Which she, usurping, chalengeth to keep me from my right. 
 
 I graunt she may doo much with her aluring smiles, 
 
 But soon your Godheads can perceive her woords be full of wiles. 
 
 What be the tragedies, the terors that she makes ? 
 
 Lets see the mighty monarchs, the kingdomes that she shakes ? 
 
 Poore soule, she soundly lives with wanton sugred joyes. 
 
 Triumphing in her own delight upon her foolish toyes. 
 
 Sometime she flattereth it in pleasure mixt with paine. 
 
 Like to a faire sunshine day overcast with clowds of raine. 
 
 But should I reckon up what thinges I can confound. 
 
 What is it then, or what hath been, or shall for aye be found ? 
 
 Is not the wonder of the world a woork that soon decayes ? 
 
 Therfore, ye see all earthly thinges are wearing out alwaies ; 
 
 As brittle as the glasse, unconstant like the minde. 
 
 As fickle as the whirling wheele, as wavering as the winde. 
 
 Loe, such I am that overthrowes the hiest reared tower, 
 
 That changeth and supporteth realmes in twinkhng of an hower. 
 
 And send them hasty smart whom I devise to spoyle. 
 
 Not threatning on forwaming them, but at a sodain smile. 
 
 Where joy dooth most abound, there I doo sorrow place. 
 
 And them I cheefely persecute that pleasure did embrace. 
 
 What greater greefe can fall to man in all his life. 
 
 Then after sweet to tast the sower, in peace to be at strife ? 
 
 It is a biting thought that fretteth on the hart. 
 
 To say the time was when I joy'd, though now opprest with smart. 
 
 If ever mightye king did scape untoucht of me. 
 
 If every yeere, or moneth, or day, or if an hower might be, 
 
 Wherin I have not usM to practise some exchange. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 89 
 
 Perhaps for this authoritie I might be thought to range 
 Too farre beyond my right ; but even the very starres, 
 The heavens, the planets and the seas beare witnesse of my scarres. 
 
 Venus. 
 No more of that, good dame ; you run too farre at rome : 
 rie take the paines to keep you short, and call you nerer home. 
 I pray you whats your might when all are well beloved ? 
 
 Fortune. 
 The sweetest lovers in distres the sharper stormes have proved. 
 
 Venus. 
 Perhaps for want of wealth ; but if their riches slack ? 
 
 Fortune. 
 They are the very instrument wherby I worke their woe. 
 
 Venus. 
 What if their friends abound, then can they never lacke. 
 
 Fortune. 
 The deerest freends are scattered when Fortune turnes her toe. 
 
 Venus. 
 If they be noble borne, or of a princely blood. 
 
 Fortune. 
 When fortune frownes, that may procure more harme then doo 
 
 [them good. 
 Venus. 
 But wise men evermore upon a rocke are set. 
 
 Fortune. 
 Yet can they not escape a scourge, for Fortune hath a net. 
 
 Jupiter. 
 I will not in, till thinges be well discemde : 
 Affection shall not marre a lawfuU cause. 
 By examples this may best be learnde, 
 In elder ages led within your lawes. 
 Therfore, a while heer of I meane to pause ; 
 And bring in. Mercury, in open view 
 The ghosts of them that Love and Fortune slue. 
 
 M 
 
90 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Thy woord my will. 
 
 Thou triple headed Cerberas, give place ; 
 
 And I commaund thee, Caron, with thy ferry boate 
 
 Transporte the soules of such as may reporte 
 
 Fortune and Love, and not in open sorte. 
 
 Let them appeere to us in silent showe. 
 
 To manifest a trueth that we must know. 
 
 \Str'ike with his Rod three times. 
 
 Vulcan. 
 
 Are ye mad, my Maisters ? what a stirre have we heere. 
 
 Lord have mercy upon us ! must the devill appeare ? 
 
 Come away, wife ; when I pray thee, come away. 
 
 Downe on your knees, my Maisters, and pray. 
 
 [MvMcke. 
 
 Enter the show of Troylus and Cressida. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Beholde how Troylus and Cressida 
 
 Cryes out on Love that framed their decay. 
 
 Vulcan. 
 
 That was like the olde wife, when her ale would not come. 
 
 Thrust a fire brand in the groute, and scratcht her bum. 
 
 [MuMcke. 
 
 Enter to show of Alexander. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Alexander the Great, that all the world subdude, 
 
 Curseth fell Fortune that did him delude. 
 
 Vulcan. 
 
 Tis an honest grim sire at his first coming out, beleeve me ; 
 
 And ye had stood in the winde, ye might have smelt me. 
 
 [Musicke. 
 Enter the show of Queens Dydo. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Queene Dydo, that Aeneas could not move. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 91 
 
 Stabbed her selfe, and yeelded unto Love. 
 
 Vulean. 
 The more foole she, and she were my owne brother : 
 If my wife would not love me, must not I love an other ? 
 
 IMusicke. 
 Enter the show ofPompey and Ccesar, 
 Mercury. 
 Pompey and Caesar, the wonders of their time. 
 By froward Fortune spoyled in their prime. 
 
 Vulcan. 
 They were served well enough, why could not they be content 
 With a roche and a red hering in the holy time of Lent ? 
 
 [Musicke. 
 Enter the show of Leander and Hero. 
 Mercury. 
 Leander presentes them very lothe. 
 That felte the force of Love and Fortune both. 
 
 Fortune. 
 Upon him I my soveraintie did showe. 
 
 Venus. 
 And thinke you, dame, my power she did not knowe ? 
 
 Fortune. 
 But it was I that dashed their delight. 
 
 Venus. 
 After that I had proved my open might. 
 
 Vulcan. 
 What a scolding is heere ! shall it even thus be ? 
 You looke like an honest man in the parrishe, I pray you, make them 
 
 [agree. 
 Jupiter. 
 Content ye both : Pie heare no more of this. 
 And, Mercury, surcease ; call out no more. 
 1 have bethought me how to woorke their wishe, 
 As you have often proov'd it heertofore. 
 
92 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Heere in this land, within that princely bower. 
 There is a Prince beloved of his love. 
 On whom I meane your soverainties to prove. 
 Venus, for that th[e]y love thy sweet delight. 
 Thou shalt endure to encrease their joy : 
 And, Fortune, thou to manifest thy might, 
 Their pleasures, and their pastimes thou shalt destroye, 
 Overthwarting them with newes of freshe anoye ; 
 And she that most can please them, or dispight, 
 1 will confirme to be of greatest might. 
 
 Venus, 
 Your Godhead hath devisde as I desire, 
 And I am gladly therwithall content. 
 
 Fortune, 
 And I am prest to doo as you require ; 
 Now shall you see the proofe of my entent. 
 Take up your places heere to worke your will : 
 When you have doon, the rest I shall fulfill. 
 
 Vulcan. 
 They are set sunning like a crow in a gutter. What, are they gone ? 
 And you will be quiet, sirs, they will make you good sport with their 
 
 [scolding anon. 
 Are not these a sorte of good mannerly Gods to get them thus away ? 
 I must take the paines to overtake them, for I see they will not stay. 
 
 [Exit omnes. 
 The ende of the first Acte, 
 
 The second Acte. 
 
 Enter Hermione and Fidelia. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Why then, my deere, what is the greatest price in love ? 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 93 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Absence of other greefs, the gretest that loving harts can prove. 
 
 Hermione. 
 But absence can not minishe love, or make it lesse in ought. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Yet neverthelesse it leaves a doubt within the others thought. 
 
 Hermione. 
 And what is that ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Least change of ayre should change the absent minde. 
 
 Hertmone. 
 That fault is proper but to them whom jealousy makes bUnde. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Oj pardon it, for that the cause from whence it springes is such. 
 
 Hermione. 
 From whence is that ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 My mother says, from loving over much. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Your author I will not admit ; that restes as it to prove. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 But sure it is that jelousie proceedes of fervent love. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Can that be fervent love, wherin suspition leads the minde ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Most fervent love, where so much love doth make the fancy blind. 
 
 Hermione. 
 But faithfoll love can never be wherin suspect doth dwell. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 The faithfull lovers doo suspect, because they love so well. 
 
 Hermione. 
 My deere Fidelia, as I thinke, thy love is such to me. 
 So fervent, faithfull and unstained, as purer none can be. 
 Admit occasions fall out, then, that I must parte from thee, 
 
94 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Tell me, wilt thou meane space suspect inconstancie in me ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 If so I doo, impute it to the force of lovers lawes. 
 That oftentimes are toucht with feare, wheras there is no cause. 
 
 lArmenio listening, 
 Armenio. 
 
 What have I heard ? what doo mine eyes beholde ? 
 Dishonour to the house from whence I came ! 
 Unshamfast girle, forgetfull, all to bolde : 
 And thou, false traitour, author of the same. 
 Sufferest not, for guerdon of thy due. 
 The King my fathers gratious countenance, 
 But must thou clime, ungratefull and untrue. 
 These steps at first thine honour to advance ? 
 Hath Fortune promiste so much hope at firste. 
 To make thy conquest of a princes childe ? 
 And should I stand to question, how thou durst 
 To leave to thinke she might be so beguilde ? 
 But woords may not suffice to wreak this wrong. 
 Hid under cloake of over handy love. 
 Thou upstart fondhng, and foreborne too long, 
 To give such cause thy princes ire to move. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 Nay, my good brother, take it not so whot^* 
 The fault is mine, and I will beare the blame. 
 And to retume you an answer, well I wot 
 How to defend the honour of my name. 
 But for my love, I am resolved in this. 
 How ever you account of his defaultes. 
 With vowed affection wholy to be his, 
 As one in whome I spie more speciall partes 
 Then fall in fondlings of the baser kinde. 
 To have a woord not squaring with the place, 
 But measure men by their unstained mindes. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 95 
 
 Let fortune be to vertue no disgrace ; 
 For fortune, when and where it hkes her majestie. 
 With cloudes can cover birth and highest degree. 
 
 Armenia. 
 
 What dame, and are you shameless in your shame ? 
 No, mistresse, no : it will not be let past ; 
 But, wilfull wench, this new attempted game, 
 Eare it be wun, will ask another cast. 
 And, lady, cloake his vertues as you will. 
 Heebie be but as I saide, a fondhng still. 
 
 Hermione, 
 
 Earst had I thought, my lord, a man so wise as you, 
 Sonne to a prince, scholer to him that deepth of learning knewe, 
 Among many lessons none this rule could wisely finde. 
 To have the government of wrath and rancor of your minde. 
 What hye oiFence is given unto your fathers grace ? 
 I take it nothing needfull heer to reason of the case : 
 But stand he lesse content, or pleased heer withall, 
 My lord, that thus you should mislike the cause is very small. 
 The unremoved love I beare my lady heere. 
 Whose countenance my comfort is, that holdes my love as deare, 
 Commaunds me to disgest such hard and bitter woords. 
 As not with credit of your state, your honor heer afiFords. 
 Else, prince, perswade thy selfe, my minde were not so base 
 To pocket, but for such respects, so hard and foule disgrace. 
 And this, lady ; Hermione, for ought that men doo know. 
 By birth may be as nobly borne as Prince Armenio. 
 
 Armenio. 
 
 Traitour, thou shalt not joy that proud comparison. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 My good Hermione, come hence ; let him alone. 
 
 Armenio. 
 
 Nay, dame ; it likes me not that you should goe. 
 
96 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Whether thou wilt, Armenio, she shall, though thou say no. 
 
 Armenio. 
 What shall she, villaine ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Helpe, helpe ! alas ! 
 
 Enter Phizanties, a Lord, and Penulo. 
 Phyzanties. 
 What sturre is heere ? what meanes this broyle begun ? 
 Give me to know the occasion of this strife ? 
 How falles it out ? Armenio, my sonne. 
 Hath wound received by stroke of naked knife. 
 Say to me straight, what one hath doone this deed ? 
 His blowes are big that makes a prince to bleed. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 My soveraigne father, pardon his offence, 
 Whose greefe of minde is greater then his wound. 
 My rightfuU quarrell yeeldes me safe defence. 
 And heere they stand that guiltie must bee found. 
 
 Armenio. 
 Traytor (O King) unto your Majesty, 
 Whose proud attempt dooth touch your grace so neere, 
 As what may be the greatest villanye 
 Upon recitall shall be opened heere. 
 My sister, and your farre unworthy childe, 
 Forgetting love and feare of Gods and thee. 
 And honor of her name, is thus beguilde 
 To love this gentleman, whom heere you see, 
 Hermione ; whom for a Jewell of some price 
 Olde Hermet give your highnesse long agoe. 
 And for I gave rebuke to your devise, 
 In gallant thought he would not take it so ; 
 But, as it seemes, to doo my body good, 
 I thanke him, dainde him selfe to let me blood. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 97 
 
 Phyzanties. 
 
 Hermione, and hast thou doone this deed ? 
 And couldst thou shrine such treason in thy thought ? 
 Armenio, jest not with thy hurt, take heed. 
 And thou, fond girle, whose stained blood hath wrought, 
 How hath mine age and honor been abusde ? 
 My princely care, Hermione, of thee, 
 The fault so great it cannot be excusde, 
 And you inforst the shame therof to see. 
 But farre we feare some farther ill may fall, 
 Through love and hate of one and of the other : 
 Her foolish love, I meane ; and therwithall 
 The hot disdaine and stomacke of her brother. 
 Hermione, way what our pleasure is. 
 Whilome, thou knowest, we entertaine thee willingly ; 
 Now, seeing thou has done so farre a misse 
 To reach above thy reach unorderly. 
 In milder woordes, because we love thee well, 
 Loe, we discharge thee of our princely court : 
 Thou maist no longer with Fidelia dwell. 
 Forbidden to her presence to resorte. "^ 
 
 Holde my rewarde, that am no bitter judge. 
 And wend thy way where ere thou likest to goe : 
 This only way I take to ende the grudge, 
 And stop the love that cache to other owe. 
 Among such haps as might my minde content, 
 Wherof the gratious Gods have given me store, 
 I count this one, if thus I might prevent 
 The furthest outrage of this swelling sore. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 Alas ! now have I lived too long I see, ^ 
 
 Confounded so to yeeld to fortunes will : 
 My soveraigne prince offended thus with me, 
 And I adjudged to death, though living still. 
 
 N 
 
98 The Rare Triumplies of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Ah, ray good lord, whom I have honoured long, 
 Long may your highnesse joy this highest place : 
 Thy selfe the roote and cause of mine owne wrong. 
 But must I leave to viewe my ladies face. 
 And banisht from my princes royal court 
 To wander, as earst the unhappy Oedipus, 
 Whose paine my foes will make their cheefest sporte. 
 My most unhappy chaunce will have it thus. 
 
 Armenio. 
 
 No force, forsooth : unpitied might he dye, 
 That to his soveraigne meanes such villanye. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 Such villany ! who ever ment more good ? 
 
 Armenio. 
 
 The venome of thy villany withstood. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 Armenio, I forbeare thee heere for reverence ; 
 Yet, by my princes leave, in my defence 
 I may alleadge, I lov'd thy sister, heere ; 
 Which love though I am like to buye full deere, 
 Yet is her love more precious then the price. 
 But since hard hap prevents our late device, 
 Long live my lord, long Hve my ladies grace : 
 God send them freends as loyall in my place ; 
 And, trust me, then their fortune shalbe such. 
 As not thy love shaR ever prove so much. 
 
 Phyzanties. 
 
 Hermione, give me thy hand : adewe. 
 Thinke this is doone to avoide a further iU, 
 And double mischeife that might else insue. 
 For my sake cease to love Fidelia still : 
 Unequall love is enemie to rest. 
 She is too yong to love thee as she shoidd. 
 And thou, Hermione, canst conceive the rest. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 99 
 
 My meaning is, she loves not as we would. 
 Time may affoord, to both your hartes desires, 
 New choice to coole these newly kindled fiers. 
 
 Fidelia, 
 Never, alas ! never will be the day. 
 That I shall leave to love Hermione. 
 Sooner shall natures course quite altered be. 
 Then I shall leave, deere Knight, to honor thee. 
 Good father, let him stay, who, if he parte. 
 Gainst law is like to steale away my hart. 
 
 Armenio, 
 May it please your grace to keepe the body heere, 
 It's like enough the hart will honor neere. 
 
 Hermione. 
 My lord, laugh not oppressed soules to scome. 
 Loosers, they say, may easily be forborne. 
 
 Physsanties. 
 Forbeare these woordes ; and thou, Fidelia, 
 These misbeseeming fooUshe passions stay. 
 Let it suffice that thou shalt live in court. 
 Where, if among the jolly brave resorte ' 
 
 Of sundry knightes of noble personage, 
 Woorthy thy love for giftes and parentage. 
 Thou shalt espye some such as we doo like. 
 Our favours shall not be to farre to seeke. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Ah, my Hermione ! 
 
 Hermione, 
 Sweet lady mine, farewell. 
 Farewell, the courteoust dame that on the earth doth dwell. 
 
 Armenio, 
 Sir, now you are packing, let me know your walke. 
 For I have that may not be past without some talke : 
 Nor stands it with mine honour to let thee beare it cleere, 
 
100 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 But I will make thee know Armenios blood is deare. 
 
 Hermione. 
 My Lord, I make no chalenge with offence ; 
 But first I will prepare for my defence. 
 
 Armenio. 
 So sir, you are aforehand : keep you so, 
 And recken of Armenio for thy vowed foe. 
 Goe, wend thy wayes, obscurer then the night. 
 And fortune for revenge plague thee with spite. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 Farewell, my cruell foe ; not thou, nor fortune may 
 Ad more imto the miseries that I have felt to day ; 
 Nor but by safe restorde unto this happy place. 
 Can Gods or Fortune make amends in this distressed case. 
 Then cease, Hermione, to utter speech of this ; 
 Woords not suffice this endlesse woe, but death I wisse : 
 And part thou from the place a dead and livelesse man, 
 Robd of thy senses and thy joy since first this stur began. 
 
 Penulo. 
 
 Ah, good my lord, my good lord Hermione. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 I am, indeed, as thou doost say Hermione ; 
 For that I am Hermione, I am 
 The unhappiest wight that ever hither came. 
 
 Penulo. 
 
 Ah, my good lord, would Gods poore Penulo 
 Might any way but mitigate this woe. 
 And pleaseth it your honour to commaund 
 My service, or the helpe of head or hand, 
 Penulo, my worthy lord, would prove as just 
 As he whom best your honour likes to trust. 
 Say what it is wherin my secrecie 
 May ayde your Lordship in this extremitie. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 101 
 
 Hermione, 
 
 Penulo, since thou so freendly heere doost proffer me 
 The uttermost of ayde that lyes in thee, 
 I do remember that, which brought to passe, 
 Would make me halfe so happie as I was. 
 
 Penulo. 
 
 Say it, my lord, and constantly I vow it, 
 It shall goe hard but Penulo will doo it, 
 
 Hermione, 
 
 Gramercy, gentle freend : then, thus it is. 
 The lady of my life Fidelia is ; 
 Of whom I am, I knowe, beloVd no lesse 
 Then she of me, my grations mistresse, 
 
 Severde by Fortune ; and our cruell foe, ' 
 
 My lord her brother. Prince Armenio. 
 Now, couldst thou, Penulo, thy selfe behave 
 On trust to bring my lady to the cave. 
 Where whilome, lovers, we were wont to meete. 
 In secret sort eche other for to greete. 
 She wots it well, and every comer knowes, ^ 
 
 And every uncouth step that thether goes : 
 For what is not sharpe sighted lovers see ? 
 This is the summe of my desire to thee. 
 AccompUsh this, and this in silence doon. 
 My happinesse wilbe againe begun. 
 
 Penulo. 
 
 My lord, I see wherunto this talke dooth tend : 
 I have this lesson at my fingers end. 
 No more a doo ; betake you to your flight : 
 Wee'le make a plaister for the sore eare night. 
 But such a one as, if it be applied. 
 Shall doo more greefe then ease, when it is tried. 
 
 Hermione, 
 
 Penulo, I yeeld my life into thy handes. 
 
102 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Ye do, sir, as now the matters standes. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Holde, Penulo, and I will looke for thee. 
 
 Penulo. 
 You will not looke for them that come with me. 
 
 Hermione. 
 I wUl be gone, and live to see my deere. [EixAt. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Do so, sir, and perchaunce be never the neare. 
 This is a step that first we use to clime. 
 We that, forsooth, take holde on every time. 
 Men of aU. howers, whose credite such as spites. 
 In heate forsooth, hath calde us Parasites. 
 But let them spite, and we will bite as fast. 
 But, Penulo, thou spendest woordes in waste. 
 A foole, Hermione, that for hurting thee 
 One slender trust will give a knave his fee. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Strike up Fortunes triumphes with drvmmes and trumpets. 
 Fortune. 
 Beholde what Fortune, if she list, can doo. 
 High mastris of the rowling wheele of chaunce. 
 To overturne, and who can doo therto. 
 Or gratiously, when please her, to advance. 
 Loe, lordinges, this is Fortunes Imperie, 
 And in her pleasure to be changing still : 
 Heerin consisteth Fortunes soveraintie ; 
 That Fortune can on earth doo what she will. 
 When men have builded on the surest grounds, 
 Their strong devises Fortunes power confoundes. 
 
 Venu^. 
 Not all in haste ; you doo not so intend : 
 You have begun, but I must make an end. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 103 
 
 The thirde Acte. 
 Enter Bomelio, solus, like an Hermite. 
 Bomelio. 
 He that hath lost his hope, and yet desires to live, 
 He that is overwhelme with woe, and yet would counsell give ; 
 He that delightes to sigh, to walke abroad alone, 
 To drive away the weary time with his lamenting mone ; 
 He that in his distresse dispaireth of releefe. 
 Let him begin to tell his tale, to rip up aU his greefe, 
 And if that wretched man can more then I recite 
 Of fickle fortunes froward checke, and her continuall spite, 
 Of her inconstant change, of her discurtesie, 
 I will be partner with that man to live in miserie. 
 When first my flowring yeeres began to bud their prime. 
 Even in the Aprill of mine age, and May month of my time ; 
 When, like the tender kid new weaned from the teat. 
 In every pleasant springing mead I took my choice of meat ; 
 When simple youth devis'd to length his deUght, 
 Even then, not dreaming I on her, she poured out her spite : 
 Even then she tooke her keye, and turned all her stringes 
 To sing my woe : list, Lordinges, now my tragedie begins. 
 Beholde me, wretched man, that serv'd his prince with paine. 
 That in the honor of his praise esteemde my greatest gaine : 
 Beholde me, wretched man, that for his publike weale 
 Refused not with thousand foes in bloody warres to deale : 
 Beholde me, wretched man, whose travell, paine and toyle 
 Was ever prest to save my freends from force of forrain spoile. 
 And see my just rewarde, look on my recompence : 
 Beholde by this for labours past what guerdon commeth thence. 
 Not by my fearcest foes in doubtfull fight with us, 
 But by my fawning freendes I was confounded thus. 
 One woord of his dispite in question calde my name j 
 Two woordes of his untrusty tung brought me to open shame. 
 
104 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Then was I banished the citie, court and towne ; 
 
 Then every hand that held me up began to pull me downe. 
 
 O, that the righteous Gods should ever graunt the power. 
 
 That smoothest sandes and greenest bogs should soonest me devoure. 
 
 Yet that I might discry the better their devise, 
 
 Heere have I liv^d almost five yeeres, disguisde in secret wise : 
 
 And now somewhat it is, but what I cannot tell, 
 
 Provokes me forward more then wont to leave my darksome sell. 
 
 And in my crooked age, in steed of mirth and joy. 
 
 With broken sighes in dolefull tunes to sing of mine annoy. 
 
 [Song. 
 Goe walke the path of plaint, goe wander wretched now 
 In uncoth waies, blind corners fit for such a wretch as thou. 
 There feede upon thy woe, fresh thoughts shalbe thy fare. 
 Musing shalbe thy waiting maide, thy carver shalbe care ; 
 Thy dainty dishe shalbe of fretting melancholic. 
 And broken sobs with hollow sighes thy savery sauce shalbe. 
 But further ere I walke, my servant I will send 
 Into the towne, to buy such thinges as now he can intend. 
 What, Lentulo ! 
 
 [Lentulo within. 
 Lentulo. 
 Anon, forsooth. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 What, Lentulo, come foorth. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Anon, forsooth. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Why, when I say ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Anon, forsooth. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 You naughtye loute ; come out sir knave : come away. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 105 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Will you not give one leave to pull down his points ? what an a 
 should his breeches beray ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Get you to the market, and buy such thinges as needful! are for us. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Such things as needful! are for us ! and what are those, I pray ? 
 First, there is needful! for us a pot of porredg, for I had none this 
 
 [many a day ; 
 And, then, there are needful! for us a featherbed, for I lye on a bottle 
 
 [of have ; 
 And, then, there is most needful! for us a prittie proper wench for to 
 
 [laugh and play. 
 Bomelio. 
 Goe, buy us some victuailes, and hye thee home. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Lentulo. 
 Now, farwell maister mine, good gentle master mome. 
 Have you scene such a logger headded foole, to say 
 Goe, goe, good Lentulo, to buy my victuales so, and give me monie, no ? 
 But for the names salce, swoundes, I were as good serve a maister of 
 
 [clowtes. 
 Hee'le doo notliing all day long but sit on his arse, as my mother did 
 
 [when she made powtes : 
 And then a loolies a this fashion, and thus and thus againe; and 
 
 [then, what doo ye ? 
 By my troth, I stand even thus at him, and laugh at his simplismitie. 
 Hath the best manners in the world to bid a man fall to his meat, 
 And then I say, I thank you forsooth, maister, and I could tell what 
 
 [to eate. 
 Wee two, looke you, thats I and he, can lye a bed a whole night and 
 
 [a day. 
 And wee eate and wee had it : it vattons a man ; looke on my cheekes 
 
 [els, are they not falne awaye ? 
 o 
 
1 06 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Well, I must jogge to the towne, and He tell you what shift I make 
 
 [there. 
 Mary, ye shall promise me not to steale it away. 
 When I come to a rich mans gate, I make a low legge, and then I 
 
 [knocke there ; 
 And then I begin to crye in at the key-hole, that I may be sure they 
 
 [shall heare, 
 God save my good maister and my good mistresse, a poore boy, a peece 
 
 [of bread and meate for Gods sake. 
 Enter Penulo. 
 Heigh ! merely tricke ! am I not a knave for the nonce, 
 That can dispatch two arrandes at once ? 
 I have both tolde her even as I should doo, 
 And tolde my yong maister to meete with him too. 
 Now he, hke a gentleman, for the vallour of his minde 
 Hath sworne by his honour not to stay long behinde. 
 The desire of revenge pricketh him forward so. 
 That, I am sure, heele not let but to goe, 
 And that with all haste possible he may. 
 Then tantara, tara, we shall have good play. 
 I like such a knave so can tickle them all. 
 To set noble men at brabble and braule. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Save you, sir, yong maister, and you be a gentleman. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Horeson pesant, seest thou not what I am. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Troth, sir, I see you have a good dublet and a paire of hose ; 
 But now a dayes there is so many goes 
 So like gentlemen, that such a poore fellow as I 
 Know not how a gentleman from a knave to spye. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Thou maist perceive I am no such companion : 
 I am a gentleman, a courtier and a merry franke franion. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 107 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Then, thou merry companion, thou horson franke franion, 
 Why hast thou abused the law ? 
 What, goodman skipjack, in faith with thwick thwack your bones I 
 
 [will clawe. 
 Come about, sir knave. 
 
 Penulo, 
 Cots my passion, what a merry mate have we heere. 
 
 Lentulo, 
 Give me your hand, sir : faith, I was bolde to brushe the dust out 
 
 [of your geere. 
 Pray, sir, tell me : they say in the cuntry tis a common guise 
 That gentlemen now a daies cannot see with both eyes. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Its a lye, knave : I knew few gentlemen blinde. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 No, sir ? what will you lay and I can finde 
 One with a wet finger that is stark blinde ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 It may be so, but I thinke thou canst not. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Will you lay ? do wager on it ? 
 
 Penulo, 
 
 What should I lay ? 
 Thou hast no monye, I am sure, to pay. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 No, faith, sir ; but He tell you what our wager shalbe. 
 Because I am not able to lay any monye. 
 He lay three round rappes on the ribbes with my cudgell heere. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Soft, let me looke first if there be no blinde man neere. 
 Content, I faith : that bargaine shall stand. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Then, sir, I must be so bolde as to search your purse out of hand. 
 
108 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Penulo. 
 My purse, sir ; wherfore ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 By my troth, sir, no more but to trie. 
 If you be not as bhnde a gentleman in the purse as I. 
 
 Penulo. 
 I use not to carry my monye in a pursse. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 All in a pocket : well, never a whit the woorse ; 
 I must search your pocket. 
 
 Penulo.. 
 What if it be els where ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Where soever it is, I must seeke out this geere. 
 He not lose my wager, thats certaine. 
 Very well, sir ; will you put me to paine ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 Have I never a weapon ? — I'le looke — I pray thee, be content. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 You shall have your wager, sir, as it was ment. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Holde thy hands, good feUow : Fie doo any thing for thee. 
 I perceive a wise man of a foole overtaken may be. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Thou blinde gentleman ; unlesse it be for my commodiositie. 
 He teach thee to be blinde, and goe so bravely. 
 
 Penulo. 
 He doo any thing for thee, if thou strike me no more. 
 Because I perceive thou art almost as pore 
 As myselfe am, and yet there is somewhat in thee : 
 He preferre thee to a service in the Court presently. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Ha, wilt thou doo so ? 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 109 
 
 Penulo. 
 That I will. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Wilt thou doo so, indeed ? 
 Sweare to me by thy ten commaundements in thy Creed. 
 
 Penulo. 
 I doo so. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Troth, then, we are freendes : say nothing, I pray, 
 And you shall see me prove a rancke runaway. 
 Why, when a man may be a courtier, and live at ease. 
 Should a not leave his olde maister to please ? 
 Sirra, blinde gentleman, we too blinde gentlemen, and doo as thou 
 
 [promiste heere, 
 Perchaunce I may be as good to thee as two pots of beere. 
 He goe with thee, I faith ; gaw, lets be gone. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Soft ; tarry a while : He goe with thee anon. 
 Enter Armenio. 
 Armenio. 
 How thinkest thou, Penulo, am I not provided now ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 I warrant, sir, a shall have a colde pull of you. 
 And a begin to make an other brail. 
 
 Armenio. 
 Farwell, when thou wilt ; I trust I shall 
 Meete with him : am I not almost at the tree ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 That same is it, sir. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Sirra, whats he ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 What carst thou ? come, gaw thou with me. 
 Why, I shall have but an ill favoured courtier of yee. 
 
1 10 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 
 Now, for a runaway God send us good chaunce ; 
 Then, maides, at your mariage I meane me to daunce. 
 
 lExit. 
 Armenio. 
 
 Now serves the time to wreak me of my foe, 
 My bastard foe, that to dishonour me 
 In privie comers seekes to shame me so. 
 That my discredit might his credit be. 
 And hath my father from thy tender youth 
 Vouchsafe to bring thee up ? did I, therfore, 
 Beleeve so earnestly thy perjurde trueth, 
 Advauncing still thine honour evermore. 
 That not contented with a common wrack, 
 Thou shouldst intend the ruin of us all ; 
 And when thou seem'st afraide to turne thy back, 
 To make a glory of our greater fall ? 
 Before thou triumph in thy trechery. 
 Before thou scape untouched for thy sinne. 
 Let never fates nor fortune favour me. 
 But wretched let me Uve, and dye therin. 
 Few woordes shall serve, my deedes shall prove it now, 
 That ere I sleepe I meane to meete with you. 
 
 Enter Fidelia. 
 Fidelia. 
 
 Beholde the shiftes that faithfull love can make ; 
 See what I dare adventure for thy sake. 
 In case extreame make vertue of a neede. 
 But hence the greefe which maketh my hart to bleede. 
 My love and Ufe, where ever that thou be, 
 I am in dole constrainde to follow thee : 
 Hence sprung the hell of my tormented minde. 
 The feare of some misfortune yet behinde. 
 If thou escape the perrill of distresse. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. Ill 
 
 My feare and care is twenty times more lesse. 
 No reason tis that I should Uve in joy, 
 When thou art wrapt in fetters of annoy ; 
 Nor to that end I sware to be thy wife, 
 To live in peace with thee and state of life ; 
 But as to dwell at ease in pleasures lap. 
 Even so to beare some parte of thy mishap. 
 And so to draw in equall portion still 
 Of both our fortunes, either good or ill. 
 And sith the lots of our unconstant fate 
 Have tumde our former bhsse to wretched state, 
 I am content to tread the wofuU daunce 
 That soundes the measure of our haplesse chaunce. 
 He waite thy comming ; long thou wilt not stay : 
 Hye Jove defende and keepe thee in the way. 
 
 Enter Bomelio. 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Now, weary lay thee downe, thy fortune to fulfill : 
 Goe, yeeld thee captive to thy care, to save thy life or spill. 
 The pleasures of the feelde, the prospect of delight, 
 The bloming trees, the chirping birdes are greevous to thy sight. 
 The hollow craggy rocke, the shriking owle to see. 
 To heare the noyse of serpentes hisse, that is thy harmony. 
 For as unto the sicke all pleasure is in vaine. 
 So mirth unto the wounded minde encreaseth but his pain. 
 But heavens ! what doo I see ? thou Nymphe, or lady faire, 
 Or else thou goddes of the grove, what makst thee to repaire 
 To this unhaunted place, thy presence heere unfit ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 Ancient father, let it not oiFend thee any whit. 
 To finde me heere alone. I am no Goddesse I, 
 But a mortall maide subject to miserie. 
 And better that I might lament my heavy mone, 
 I secrete came abroad to recreate my selfe a while alone. 
 
1 1 2 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Take comfort, daughter mine, for thou hast found him than. 
 That is of others, all that live, the most accursedst man. 
 O, I have heard it saide, our sorrowes are the lesse. 
 If in our anguishe we may finde a partner in distresse. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 O, father, but my greefe releeved cannot be : 
 
 My hope is fled, my help in vaine, my hurt my death must be. 
 
 Yet not the common death of life that heere is led. 
 
 But such a death as ever killes, and yet is never dead. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Faire maide, I have been well acquainted with that fit : 
 
 Sometime injured with the like, I learne to comfort it. 
 
 Come rest thee heere with me, with [in] this hollow cave ; 
 
 There will I reckon up at large the horrors that I have. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 I thank you, father; but I must needs walke another way. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Nay, gentle damsell, be content a while with me to stay. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 The longer that I stay with you, the greater is my greef. 
 
 Bom£lio. 
 
 The longer that you stay with me, the sooner is releefe. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 I am provided other waies : good father, let me goe. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 To him that ofFreth thee no wrong be not uncourteous so. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 Perhaps another time He come and visit thee. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Both then and now, if so you please, you shall right welcome be. 
 
 Armenio. 
 
 Shall she be welcome unto thee, olde wretch, indeed ? 
 
 He welcome both of you : come, maid, away with speed. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 1 13 
 
 Fidelia, 
 
 brother ! 
 
 Armenio. 
 Brother ! peace. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Good father, helpe me now. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Have I no weapons, wretch that I am? well youth, He meete with you. 
 
 Armelio. 
 Must you be gone ? is this your meeting place ? 
 Come, get you home ; and pack you, sir, apace. 
 Weart not for reverence of thine age, I sweare. 
 Thou shouldst accursse the time I met thee heere. 
 But, I faith, sister, my father shall welcome you. 
 
 JBomelio. 
 Goe tell thine errand, if thou canst. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Hermione, adewe ; 
 Ten times adewe : farewell for ever now. 
 
 Armenio. 
 
 1 thanke thee, Fortune, that thou didst this deed allowe. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Bomelio. 
 Thou heaven and earth, and ye eternall lampes 
 That restles keepe his course in order due ; 
 Thou, Phoebo bright, that scaterest the damps 
 Of darksome night, I make my plaints to you. 
 And thou, Alecto, hearken to my call ; 
 Let fall a serpent from thy snakye haire : 
 Tisiphone, be swift to plague them all 
 That make a pastime of my care and feare. 
 And thou, O Jove, that by thy great foresight 
 Rulest the earth and raignst above the skies ; 
 That wreakst the wronges of them that maister right 
 
114 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Against the wretches that thy name despise. 
 And Rodomantes, thou Judge of hateful! hell, 
 Where damned ghostes continuall moning make, 
 Send foorth a fury that may further well 
 The just revenge that here I undertake. 
 Hence foorth accursed be thou evermore. 
 Accursed all thou tak'st in hand to doo, 
 The time, the day, accursed be the hower. 
 The earth, the ayre, and all that long theretoo. 
 Dole and dispare hencefoorth be thy delight. 
 Wrapped now in present and woes to come, 
 To waile the day and weepe the weary night ; 
 And from this timeliencefoorth I strike thee dumme. 
 Think'st thou I knew thee not ? Yes, well I wis, 
 And that thy sister, daughter to my prince. 
 Now brag abroad what thou hast got by this : 
 So live thou dumme, that be thy recompence ; 
 And when thy ghost forsakes thy body quite. 
 Vengeance I wish upon thy soule to light. 
 
 Enter Hermione. 
 Hermione. 
 Good even, good father : pardon my rudenes heere. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 joy, and greefe ! I will dissemble yet my cheare. 
 
 Hermione, 
 Good sir, me thought I heard you speak of one right now. 
 Daughter unto a Prince : that made me bold to trouble you. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 1 spake of such a one indeed. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Why, doo you know her name ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Fideha. Why doo you aske ? what, doo you know the same ? 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 115 
 
 Hermione. 
 Yea, father, that I doo : I know, and knew her well. 
 But did you wish those plagues to light on her, I pray you tell ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 On her ! the Gods forhid ; but on that wretched wight. 
 Her brother, that from hence right now perforce convayde her quite. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Alas ! what doo I heare ? good father, tell me true. 
 Hath shee beene heere ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 She was. 
 
 She was ! 
 Where is she now ? 
 
 Gone back againe. 
 
 Gone back ! with whome ? 
 
 Her brother. 
 
 Her brother ! how ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 He secret watched heere, and when she should have staide 
 A while with me, he rushed out and her from hence convaid. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Confounded in my greefe ! and can it suffred be ? 
 And shall he make a brag at home of his dispite to me ? 
 First let me dye a thousand deaths ; draw, runne and meete with him. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Tarry, my sonne ; it is in vaine : they are not at home, I win. 
 Let him alone ; he will not make great reckning of his gaine. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Wretch that thou art for lingering ! everlasting shalbe thy paine ; 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Hermione. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Hermione. 
 
116 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Continuall thy complaint, ay during still thy woe. 
 Why madst thou not more haste to come, and first of all to knowe ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Content thy self, my sonne ; torment not so thy minde : 
 Asswage the sorrowes of thy hart, in hope some help to finde. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Some helpe ! O father, no ; all helpe comes too late. 
 I am the only man ahve the most unfortunate. 
 I see thy loyaltie, I see thy faithfuU love. 
 Els never durst thou this attempte adventured to prove. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Take comfort therby, my sonne. 
 
 ^ Hermione. 
 
 I am the man, I say. 
 That Love and Fortune once advaunst, but now have cast away. 
 The joy, the sweet delight, the rest I had before 
 Fell to my lot, that now the losse, my plague, might be the more. 
 O Fortune, froward dame, wilt thou be never sure ? 
 Most constant in inconstancie I see thou wilt indure. 
 
 Bom£lio. 
 Accuse not Fortune, sonne, but blame thy love therfore ; 
 For I perceive thou art in love, and then thy trouble is more. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Father, if this be love, to lead a life in thrall. 
 To think the rankest poyson sweet, to feed on hunny gall ; 
 To be at warre and peace, to be in joy and greefe. 
 Then farthest from the hope of helpe where neerest is releefe ; 
 To live and dye, to freeze and sweat, to melt and not to move ; 
 If it be this to Uve in love, father, I am in love. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Why did you not possesse your lady then at home ? 
 
 Hermione. 
 At home ! where is it, sir ? alas, for I have none. 
 Brought up I know not how, and borne I know not where, 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 1 1 7 
 
 When I was in my childhood given unto my Prince, then heere ; 
 Of whom I cannot tell, wherfore I httle know, 
 But now cast out to seeke my fate, unhappy where I goe. 
 Then dare I not be seene ; heere must I not abide. 
 Did ever more calameties unto a man betide ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 My hart will burst, if I forbeare amidst this misery. 
 Beholde, thy father thou hast found, my sonne Hermione ! 
 Thy father thou hast found : thy father ; I am he. 
 
 Hermione. 
 But is it possible my father you should be ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Even from my first exile heere have I liv^d forlorne, 
 And once I gave thee to my prince, for thou was noble born ; 
 And now he gives me thee, and welcome home againe. 
 
 Hermione, 
 This is my recompence for all my former pahie. 
 Deer father, glad I am to finde you heere alive : 
 By your example I may learne with froward chance to strive. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Come, Sonne, content thee now within a cave to dwell. 
 I will provide for thy redresse, and all thinges shalbe well. 
 A darksome den must be thy lofty lodging now. 
 
 Hermione, 
 Father, I am well content to take such parte as you. 
 Here is a breathing pit, after hard mischance. 
 O, gratious Venus, once vouchsafe thy servants to advance ! 
 Strike up a noise of viols. Venus iriumphe. 
 Venus 
 Beholde what Love can work for their delight 
 That put affiance in her deitie. 
 
 Though heaven and earth against them bend their might. 
 Yet in the end theirs is the victorie : 
 I will in them, and they triumphe in me. 
 
118 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Let Fortune frowne, I will upholde their state ; 
 Yea, seeme they never so unfortunate. 
 
 Fortune. 
 Brag not too much : what, thinkst thou I have doon ? 
 Nay soft, not yet : ray sport is not begun. 
 
 [Musicke. Mustek. 
 
 The fourth Acte. 
 
 Enter Penulo and Lentulo. 
 
 Penulo. 
 
 Come away \^th thy basket, thou loggerheaded jacke. 
 
 I thinke thy basket be cloven to thy back. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 
 My backe and my basket ; looke, dost thou not see. 
 
 When my basket is on my backe, then my backe is under me ? 
 
 And, oh, this basket, wots thou wherfore I keepe it so close ? 
 
 For all the love of my heart within this basket goes. 
 
 Penulo. 
 
 Thy love, with a wannion ! are you in love, sir, then wdth your 
 
 [leave ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 
 What an asse art thou : couldst thou not all this time perceive. 
 
 That I never sleep but when I am not awake, 
 
 And I eate, and I eate till my belly would ake ? 
 
 And I faU away like a gammon of bacon. 
 
 Am I not in love, when I am in this tacon ? 
 
 Calst thou this the Court ? would I had nere come thether 
 
 To be caught in Cupido. I faint, I faint ! oh, gather me gather ! 
 
 Penolo. 
 
 Come up and be hangde. Alack, poore Lentulo ! 
 
 Tell me with whome thou art in love so. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 
 You kill me and you make me tell her name : no, no. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 119 
 
 Oh, terrible tormentes that trounce in my toe ! 
 Love, my maisters, is a parlous matter : how it runnes out of my 
 
 [nose ! 
 Its now in my back, now in my belly ; oh, now in the bottome of my 
 
 [hose. 
 Penulo. 
 The pestilence ! there ? what is she, my boy ? 
 He make her love thee againe, be she never so coye. 
 
 Leniulo. 
 Wilt thou so ? Oh Gods of love ! that woord pluckes up my 
 
 [hart. 
 He tell thee, sirra, even as we two at the Court gate did 
 
 [wait. 
 Didst thou not marke a goodly lady, oh lady, lady ! 
 Why should not I as well as he, my deare lady ? 
 Didst thou not see her come in with a golden locke ? 
 She had a£ne gown on her back, and a passing netherstock. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Well, sir, proceed : I remember her very well. 
 Its the Dukes daughter the sot meanes, I can tell. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Now, sirra, there was a little dappard asse with her, that went be- 
 
 [fore : 
 When I saw him I came in sneaking more and more. 
 To have heard them talke ! ah, croching on is good ; 
 For when he had talk a while I had come in, with I forsooth, no for- 
 
 [sooth, that I wood. 
 And she would have lookte upon me : then more quaintaunce we 
 
 [should have. 
 Penulo, 
 An excellent devise. Ah, sirra, you are an excellent knave. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Tu autem, turn autem : I have it in me. But, sirra, wots thou 
 
 [what now ? 
 
] 20 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 As god juggle me, when I came neere them, I tell thee true. 
 The same squall did nothing but thus : I know whats what ; 
 And I ran before him and did thus too. 
 
 Penulo. 
 A poxe upon you, what ment you by that ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 What meane I ? mary, sir, he ment to give her a box on the eare, 
 
 [if she spake to me, 
 And I ment to give him another box on the eare, sir, he should see. 
 
 Penulo. 
 You should have bestow'd it where you ment it, then. 
 Must you strilie me, and meane other men ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Twas nothing, fellowe, but for samples sake. 
 
 Pennlo. 
 Well, sir, I am content this once it to take. 
 But, sirra, you must know, that squall is the Dukes sonne, 
 That now by mischaunce is stroken starke dum. 
 In fetching home his sister that ran away from hence. 
 
 Lentulo, 
 Is she then a runaway ? oh, passing wench ! 
 I thought as much ; now, good Lord, to see 
 That she and I now a kin should be. 
 Oh cuckally lucke ! oh heavy chaunce, ho ! 
 I runaway, she runaway ; goe together, goe. 
 
 Pennulo. 
 But all the Court lamentes, and sore weepes for it. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 
 All the Court ? thou liest : the Court gate weepes not a whit. 
 
 Enter Bomelio, like a counterfeite Phisition. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Bien, venue chi diue ve mi nou intendite signeur, no. 
 
 I have a peece of woorke in hand now, that all the world must not 
 
 [know. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 121 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Cocks nownes, the devill ! a gods name what's he ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 Some Spaniard, or forraine stranger he seemes to be. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Dio, vou salvi, signiore, e voutre gratio pavero mouchato. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 I have no pleasm-e in thee : I pray thee, get thee gon. 
 
 Penulo. 
 What would you, sir ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Mounsieur, par ma/oy, am one have the grand knowledg in the 
 
 [skience of fiskicke. 
 Can make dem hole have been all life sicke ; 
 Can make to seco see, and te dura speake ; 
 Can make te lame goe and be neare so weake. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Can you so, sir ? what country man are you I pray ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Ye be Italiane, Neopolitane : ye come a Vedice a toder daye. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 And you can speak any Pedlers French, tell me what I say. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 No point intende, signiora. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 You are an asse. I can spose him, I. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Mounsieur, parle petite : ye heard now heerby, 
 Deere be a nobell man dum, dat made me stay : 
 If me no helpe him, me carry no head away. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Will you venture your head to helpe him, indeed ? 
 Well, sir. He tell the Duke with all possible speed. 
 Tarry me heere : He retume by and by. 
 
 Q 
 
1 22 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Excellent luck ! it falls out happely. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Lentulo. 
 Will you ventnre your head, sirra, blockhead you ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 You be de asse head, me can tell dats true. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Swoundes ! Oh, but that I am in love, thou shouldst know 
 What twere to move my vengeance so. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Come heter, sirra ; me speak with you : me can tell. 
 You are de Runaway from your matter ; ah, very well. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 You gods and devils eke, what doo you meane to doo ? 
 Shall I be knowne a runaway, for and to shame me too ? 
 I a runnaway, sirra ? goe with your uplandishe, goe : 
 I am no runaway, I would you should know. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 You no runaway from your mater in de wood. 
 When he send you to market ? Ah, no point good. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Oh fanes fell, and hagges of hell, with all that therin be ! 
 What doo ye mean to shame me clean, and tell him then of me ? 
 Heare you, sirra : you are no devill ; mas, and I wist you were, 
 I would lamback the devill out of you, for all your geare. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Diavolo ? ah, fie, me no diavolo, me very fury. 
 Letta mee see your basket : what meat you buye ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Looke in my basket ! oh villen, rascall, tarry, stay. 
 Hath opened it ? out alas ! my love is quite flowne away. 
 My love is gone, my love is gone out of the basket there. 
 Prepare, therfore, to kil thy self : farwell my freendes so deere. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 123 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Ah, fatta you do, man ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Uplandishe, hence away. 
 
 Bomelio, 
 Fatta you doo, man ? no point your selfe to slay. 
 Come de be hanga. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Alas ! oh my necke, alas ! 
 Oh, frying pan of my head ! uplandish, now, cham woorse then ever 
 was. Adewe ! farwell, farwell my love. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Your love ? if you be in love, den doo as I bid doo. 
 And you slave your love away wit you, too. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Uplandish, oh my freend ! if thou doo so for me, 
 Hold heer my hand, thy fellow, freend, and partner wiU I be. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Goe you, ten, and getta me some fine, fine fine colosse. 
 And wit te marigole leave all to mus your nose, 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Ah my nose, my nose ! oh God, is my nose in my hand ? 
 Uplandish, leave your signes ; without them I can understand. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 And come a me heter wit a gold ring in your mouth fast : 
 Ee make de lady goe wit you weter list at last. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 O, let me brace thy cursed corpes ! oh, now I live againe ! 
 I will goe get apparell straight, although be to my paine. 
 Tis th' apparell, a marigole, and a ring. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Noting els, and you tem bring. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Bring them ? yes, I warrant thee, He bring them by and by. 
 
1 24 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Nowj good man Venus, lend thy hand, and lady Vulcan hye. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Bomelio. 
 
 A good beginning. I am not discride : 
 They know not me, but I know them too well. 
 Disguised thus their counsells may be tride, 
 And I may safe returne unto my sell ; 
 Where I have left my solitarye sonne, 
 Twixt hope and feare, in doubt and danger too, 
 Till I returne to tell him what is doon, 
 Which for his sake I have devisde to doo. 
 Etemall Gods, that know my true intent. 
 And how unjustly wronged I have been. 
 Vouchsafe all secret dangers to prevent, 
 And further me as yet you doo begin. 
 Suffiseth you my travell heretofore. 
 My hunger, colde, and ali my former paine 
 Heere make an end, and plague me now no more : 
 Contented, then, at rest I will remaine. 
 But harke ; some comes : dissemble then againe. 
 
 Enter the Duke, his Sonne and Penulo. 
 Penulo. 
 
 My lord, yon is the man whom I have tolde to you. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 My freend, I am infourm^d that by thy woorthy skill 
 In phisick, thou art able to recover at thy will 
 The strangest cures that be : if this be true indeed, 
 As graunt the Gods it may, I pray thee then with speed 
 Provide for our releefe : recover this, my sonne. 
 Unto his speech, whom heere thou seest before us, to be dum. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 You no take care for dat, me nobell prince ; 
 Me make him speak againe, or me neere come hence. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 125 
 
 Duke. 
 Thrice welcome, then, to us : dispatch it out of hand. 
 And thou shalt blesse the time that ere thou cam'st unto our land. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Letta me see him. You heare me ? 
 Ah, dat vel : tume heter ; no like it truely. 
 
 Penulo. 
 By the masse, this phisick is an excellent arte ; 
 It pickes such a deale of golde out of every parte. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Veil, veil : me now see vat this matter meane. 
 Nobell prince, dis ting be done by mashick cleane. 
 Tis true dat me tell, me perceive it plaine : 
 No naturaU pediment, but cunshering certaine. 
 
 DuJce. 
 Oh dubble, trebble woe ! my sonne, how commeth this ? 
 He saith by magick it is wrought, unnaturall it is. 
 Doost thou remember ought that so it should appeere. 
 Or canst thou any reason make it should be true we heare ? 
 What meanes he by these signes ? can any one expresse ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 If you give me leave, sir, to say as I gesse, 
 Me thinkes he should meane, there was some olde man 
 That threatned to be revenged on him than. 
 Tis so you may see : he confirmes it againe. 
 
 Duke. 
 Condemned be that man to everlasting paine, 
 Perpetuall his annoy, continuaU his unrest ! 
 O, that I had him heere to plague as I thought best ! 
 But, learned sir, is there no way ? is there no remedy ? 
 Can there be found out no devise the charme to moUefie ? 
 Good sir, if any thing, what ever that it be, 
 Let spare no cost ; my will is such, I will allowe it thee. 
 
126 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Bomelio, 
 Indeed, and by my trot, dar is othing, 
 But me am vera lote de same to bring ; 
 Yit wit out dat me an seawer, me tell. 
 Your Sonne againe be never more well. 
 
 Duke. 
 Good father, tell it me : what ever should befall, 
 Mine be the danger, mine the losse, you shalbe pleased for al. 
 In any case express it, then. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Fat, then me will. 
 If you no have, your sonne be so dum still. 
 You musse getta de grand enemy dat he now have. 
 And in de tenderest part his deerest blood crave : 
 Derwit musse you wash his tung a string. 
 Noting but dat will his speach bring. 
 
 Duke. 
 The deerest blood in the tenderest parte 
 Of his great enemy ? Oh, greefe to my hart ! 
 Will nothing else cure his disease ? 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Noting, by my trot ; but doo as you please. 
 
 Duke. 
 My Sonne, my wretched sonne ! and whom dost thou suppose 
 Thy greatest enemy amongst thy fathers foes ? 
 It is Hermione : tis he, and none but he. 
 He hath now prov'd him selfe, indeed, thy greatest enemie. 
 Where lives the wretch, that he were tane, and we revenged be ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 And must his deerest blood, in his tenderest parte, 
 Helpe him in his speech ? thats an excellent arte. 
 But what parte is that, my maisters, now about a man 
 That is the tenderest ? gesse it and you can. 
 I can teU what parte a woman thinkes tenderest to be, 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 127 
 
 And there is deere blood in it, but benedicitie. 
 And doo you think, sir, there is none but he. 
 That can be thought his greatest enemie ? 
 I have heard it saide, there is no hate 
 Like to a brother or sisters, if they fall at debate. 
 I will not say, but you may think it as well as I, 
 If you marke since her comming home his sisters crueltie. 
 And the continuall rancor she beareth unto him. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Is ten maide his sister ? be Got, den, he say tim. 
 Bin mine fat and trot, ser, tis true dat he say : 
 His sister be his greatest enemy to day. 
 
 Duke. 
 And must I kill my daughter to help my sonne to speeche ? 
 He never doo it. 
 
 Penulo. 
 See how a dooth beseech. 
 I would all our daggers were of his qualitie. 
 They should not brail with a man, then, so for his monye. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 You kill your daughter ! fie, no point suo. 
 Her deerest blood in tenderest part me will showe : 
 Tis in her pappes, her dugges, for der be de tenderest parte, 
 And de blood de deerest ; it comes from de hart. 
 So she be prickt a little under de brest, 
 And wash his tunga, he speak wit de best. 
 
 Duke. 
 This thing is somwhat easier, if she consent therto ; 
 If not, I can inforce and make her it to doo. 
 Penulo, dispatch, and to my marshall beare 
 This sinet for a token that he send her to us heere. 
 
 Penulo. 
 I will my lord. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
128 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Duke. 
 He that hath felt the zeale, the tender love and care, 
 The feare, the greef that parents deer unto their children bare, 
 He may, and only he, eonceive mine inward woe, 
 Distracted thus twixte two extreames that hale me to and fro. 
 Sometime mistrusting that, and then misliking this. 
 Have parents such a cause of joy, or is it such a bhsse 
 To see the offspring of their seed in health before them now ? 
 O, little know they what mishap awaites the death for you. 
 But Sonne, my deerest sonne, recomfort thou thy minde ; 
 Fight against fortune and thy fates when they be most unkinde. 
 And since I understand what may recover thee. 
 Make sure account of it, my selfe will doo it presently. 
 But, sir, I pray you, least my daughter should by feare. 
 Or flight of it be sore abasht, be alwaies ready heere 
 To stench her wound when you see good. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Awe, awe, she lose but Uttle blood : 
 Two or tree ounces sha be de very most. 
 Yonder she come, is no she ? 
 
 Duke. 
 The same is she. 
 
 Enter Fidelia with Penulo. 
 Fidelia. 
 Father, they say you sent for me. 
 
 Duke. 
 Yea, daughter, I did so ; 
 And mark what I shall say to thee, the cause therof to show. 
 Thou seest thy brother heere. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 In name, but not in kinde. 
 
 Duke. 
 Well, holde thy peace, I say, and let me tell my minde. 
 Thy brother heere, I say, thou seest him striken dumbe. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 129 
 
 And, as this learned man declares, by magick it is doon. 
 But yet there is a way, one thing, he telleth me. 
 That will restore him to his speech that resteth inwardly ; 
 Which, though I might commaund, yet I intreat to know, 
 Be not so stubborne or unkinde thy furtherance to showe. 
 
 JFldelia. 
 Noble father, you can not say, but hitherto I have 
 Bin most obedient to your will in all things that you crave ; 
 But herin pardon me, if this I do deny : 
 I never can be made to graunt helpe to mine enemye. 
 My deadly enemy, woorse then my mortall foe. 
 And such a one is he to me, for I have found him so ; 
 That laboured evermore to crosse me with despite, 
 But I am glad I may so well his curtesie requite. 
 
 Penulo. 
 A right woman : either love like an angell. 
 Or hate like a devill, in extreames so to dwell. 
 
 Duke. 
 But daughter I commaund, and I thy father too. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 And I, your daughter, any thing that lawfull is to doo. 
 
 Duke. 
 Is it not right and lawfull both to helpe thy brothers woe ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Its neither right nor lawfull, sir, to helpe my deadly foe. 
 
 Duke. 
 If he have beene thy foe, he may become thy freend. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 And when I see that come to pass, I may some succour send. 
 
 Duke. 
 But wherfore shouldst thou be so cruell unto him ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Because unto my deerest freend so spitefull he hath been. 
 
 B 
 
130 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Duke, 
 Nay, stubbome girle, but then I will constraine thee, I. 
 Lay holde on her : my selfe will, then, sith she dooth it deny. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Assist me, righteous Gods, in this extreamitie. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Ah, pardona, pardona : please you, let me a while wit her alone. 
 And me warrant me make her consent to you anon ; 
 Els me give her a powder, with a little drinke. 
 Wish make her sleepe ; and den, when she noting tinke. 
 Wit de sharp rasher me prick her by and by. 
 And stop it againe, and she no feele why. 
 Please you be gone, and let us two alone heere. 
 Me make her consent you no point feare. 
 
 Duke. 
 Doo it, Maister Doctor, and I am bound to you for aye. 
 Ungratious girle, that doost deny the father to obay. 
 Look to her, sir, and send me woord when thou hast doon the deed. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Bomelio. 
 Awe, awe ; I fat, I fat, me make her bleed. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Oh wretched girle, what hope remaines behinde ? 
 What comfort can recomfort now thy minde ? 
 Forsaken thus of father and of freend, 
 Why seekst thou not to bring thy life to end ? 
 Can greater woes befall unto thy share ? 
 Come, gentleman, dispatch, and doo not spare. 
 If it be so his pleasure and thy will, 
 I am content my deerest blood to spill. 
 Deferre not then : holde, take thine ayme at mee. 
 And strike me tlirough, for I desire to dye. 
 
 Bomelio, 
 The heavens forbid, faire mayden ; no, not I: 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 131 
 
 I am thy freend, I am no enemye. 
 Feare not, stand up : it is only for thy sake 
 That I this toyle and travell undertake. 
 Thy love, my sonne, is at my cave with me. 
 Safe and in health, long looking there for thee. 
 Trust to my woordes, faire maide, for I am he. 
 That overtook thee in the wood last day ; 
 And tiU thy comming, Hermione, I say. 
 Is in my cave. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 What joyfull woordes be these ! 
 And is Hermione your sonne ? doo, then, as you shall please. 
 Beholde me ready, prest to followe any way : 
 Good father, doo not thus delude a simple maide, I pray. 
 I trust unto your woordes : my life is in your power, 
 And till I see Hermione each minute is an hower. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Daughter, dismay no whit, but trust to me. 
 What I have saide perfourmed thou shalt see. 
 I have dissembled with thy father heere, 
 The better that I might with thee conferre. 
 And since thou art so faithfuU to thy love, 
 As I may well reporte I did thee prove, 
 Let us be gon now, closely as we may. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 Yea, my good father, even when you will, I pray. 
 Thrice blessed be the hower I met with you. 
 My father, now, and brother both adewe : 
 Unkinde to her, most kinde that you should be, 
 I leave them aU, my deere, to come to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Hermione, ivith bookes under his arme. 
 Hermione. 
 
 O Gods, that deepest greefes are felt in closest smart ; 
 
132 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 That in the smiling countenance may lurk the wounded hart. 
 
 I see the noble minde can counterfaite a blisse. 
 
 When overwhelmed with a care his soule perplexed is. 
 
 It is for dastard knightes, that stretch on feather beds, 
 
 Dispairing in adversitie, so lowe to hang their heads. 
 
 The better borne, the more his magnanimitie, 
 
 The fearcer fight, the deeper wound, the more undaunted he. 
 
 So I perceive it now ; I well perceive it heere : 
 
 What I my selfe could not, I learne by thee, my father deere. 
 
 He that in golden age, I meane his lusty youth. 
 
 Was thought to spend in pleasures lap, without regarde of ruth ; 
 
 He that had lost his time as bravely as the best, 
 
 Onely devising how to make his joyes surmount the rest : 
 
 Not in that wanton youth, not in that pleasant mate. 
 
 Could fortune with her ficklenesse his wonted minde abate. 
 
 He rather challengeth to doo her very woorst. 
 
 And makes a semblance of delight, although indeede accurst. 
 
 My father therupon devised how he might 
 
 Revenge and wreak him self on her, that wrought him such dispite 
 
 And therfore, I perceive, he strangely useth it, 
 
 Inchaunting and transfourming that his fancy did not fit. 
 
 As I may see by these his vile blasphemous bookes ; 
 
 My soule abhorres as often as mine eye upon them lookes. 
 
 What gaine can countervaile the danger that they bring. 
 
 For man to sell his soule to sinne, ist not a greevous thing ? 
 
 To captivate his minde, and all the giftes therin. 
 
 To that which is of others all the most ungratious sinne ; 
 
 Which so intangleth them that therunto apply. 
 
 As at the last forsaketh them in their extremety. 
 
 Such is this art, such is the studie of this skill. 
 
 This supernaturaU devise, this magicke, such it will. 
 
 In ransacking his cave these bookes I lighted on. 
 
 And with his leave He be so bolde, while he abroad is gon. 
 
 To bum them all ; for best that serveth for this stuffe. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 133 
 
 I doubt not but at his retume to please him well enough. 
 
 And, gentlemen, I pray, and so desire I shall, 
 
 You would abhor this study, for it will confound you all. 
 
 [Eicit. 
 Enter Lentulo with a ring in his mouth, a marigolde in his hand, 
 a /aire shute of apparell on his backe ; after he hath a ivhile 
 made dum shew, Penulo commeth, running in with two or three 
 other. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Runne, for the love of God ! search, villaines, out of hand : 
 Runne, I say, rascalles : looke about ye ; how doo you stand. 
 The Dukes daughter is gone againe, and all the Courte is in an uprore. 
 A poxe on such a Phisition ; he shall counsell her no more. 
 
 Serjeant. 
 See you, maister Penulo, who is that yonder so brave ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 Cocks blood, you villaine ! what doo you heere, you slave ? 
 Swoundes ! hath rob'd the Duke of a Shute of apparell. 
 Why speak you not, sirra ? yea, will you not tell ? 
 Lay him on, my maisters : spare him not I say. 
 Speak you by signes ? One of you pull the ring away. 
 
 Serjeant. 
 Cocks blood, my finger ! a bites, as pestilence there. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 What meane you, my maisters ; what meane ye heere ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 Have you found your tung, sir ? oh, very well. 
 I pray you, sir, where had you this shute of apparell ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 This parell ? what and I stole it, whats that to thee ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 Mary, sir, no more but that hang'd you shall be. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Then, all the world shall see there is somwhat in me. 
 
134 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 When I am hanged, O, I shall swing lustelye. 
 Mas, I shall doo him great credit that hanges me. 
 But if I may be hanged by an attumye, 
 I \^-ill desire thee the place to supplie. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Yes, marry will I, for curtesie sake. 
 Come on your way, sir : the paines I will take 
 To bring you before the Duke, that he may see 
 What a proper man in his apparell you be. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Wilt thou, faith ? mas, I thank thee hartely ; 
 But I must talke a little with our uplandishe heere, 
 And then He goe with thee, faith, any where. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Uplandish, you rascall ! where is he now ? 
 Hee's gone, and stole away the Dukes daughter with him too. 
 
 Lentido. 
 
 my hart ! what doo you say ? 
 
 Penulo. 
 Mary, that togeather they be both run away. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Nay, then, have after yee ; behinde He not stay. 
 
 Penulo. 
 What ! no such haste with you, sir, I pray. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 And is my lady gone and fled ? O, take me up, for I am dead. 
 Farwell, my marigolde ; Oh villain e, caitife, he ! 
 By bones and stones and all the Moones, I will avenged be. 
 
 Penulo. 
 You shall be revenged, sir, that shall you presently. 
 Away, away with him, to the Duke by and by. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 
 1 can goe by my selfe, and you will let me alone. 
 Now as I walke, alas, I make to me my mone. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 135 
 
 When I in prison slrangy poore aoule^ aiiaK fife and ^c^ 
 Then win I make my kmi^ song opon mine own p ^ gany e. 
 
 Pemmio, 
 Away widi him, sin : why doo ye tany } 
 
 LmimkK 
 And &oa wert in my caae, tiboa wonldat not he ao hastye. 
 
 [£nf. 
 Pemmh. 
 Tie upon it ! what a atone hare we heere ? 
 Never was nobkmans honae in sodk Ibare. 
 Sodi huning and stxnrii^ sach nmnin^ every way; 
 Sodi ho^riin^ sodi onrii^ such a ecj ar.si ng the day. 
 Hiat ever the ^Daine coold coonteifrifee ao^ 
 When we least thought of i^ away with her to goe. 
 Bat die worid is so fioU of ImaToy now, 
 Ihat we know not whom to trast, I may say to yoo. 
 If my wife &n sidce, as slie may, De make a condition 
 She shall nerer take coonsdl of an aplandish {Position. 
 Hai^ them, knaTes. But what a prating keepe I, 
 When I shoold have heen seven nuks of mine cnand ; for why ? 
 I must goe set all the comitry iq> in a watdi. 
 If it be possible, this phvsition to catch. 
 
 {Rni. 
 Bmier BomeSo mmdIUeBm, 
 Stay, daughter, stay : foibeare thy postii^ haste. 
 Thou needst not feare ; all perils now are past. 
 Hiankes to the Gods that such soccesse they gavei. 
 Thus happely to bring us to my cave. 
 
 Oh father, still I feare mishap b^iinde : 
 Suspect is natural unto our kinde. 
 And perils that import a mans decay 
 Can never be estewed too soone, they say. 
 Had I sight of mine Hermione, 
 
136 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 I care not, then, what did become of me. 
 
 Bomelio, 
 I will heerin accomplishe thy desire. 
 So graunt the Gods the rest that I require. 
 Hermione ! Hermione ! my sonne, I say. 
 Come foorth and see thy freendes that for thee stay. 
 
 Enter Hermione. 
 Hermione. 
 Welcome, my father ; but ten times welcome thou, 
 The constant lady mine, that liveth now. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 And lives Hermione ? lives my Hermione ? 
 What can be added more to my felicitie ? 
 
 Hermione. 
 Thy life, my life ; such comfort doost thou give : 
 Happy my life, because I see thee live. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Whilste they recorde the sweetnesse of their blisse, 
 I will apply to further, as they wish. 
 Then sweet dehght by magickes cunning^ so. 
 That happy they shall live in spite of foe. 
 
 Hermione. 
 How doubtful are the lets of loyall love ! 
 Great be the dangers that true lovers prove ; 
 But when the sunne, after a shower of raine, 
 Breakes through the clowdes and shoes his might againe. 
 More comfortable to his glory then. 
 Because it was a while withheld of men. 
 Peace after warre is pleasanter we finde ; 
 A joy differd is sweeter to the minde : 
 Sol. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 It hath been saide that when Ulisses was 
 Ten yeeres at Troy, and ten yeeres more, alas. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 1 37 
 
 Wandering abroad as chaunce and fortune lead, 
 
 Penelope supposing him for dead : 
 
 But he, providing still for afterclaps, 
 
 When he had scapte a thousand hard mishaps. 
 
 It did him good to recken up at last. 
 
 Unto his wife his travelles he had past. 
 
 And sweetly then recording his distresse 
 
 To make the more account of happines. 
 
 Sol. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 Then, as the turtle that hath found her mate 
 Forgets her former woes and wretched state. 
 Renewing now her drooping hart againe, 
 Because her pleasure overcomes her paine ; 
 The same of thy desired sight I make. 
 Whereon thy faith, thy hart and hand I take. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 And so I sweare to thee unfeinedly 
 To hve thine owne, and eke thine owne to dye. 
 
 Enter Bomelio. 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Gogs blood ! villins ! the devill is in the bed of straw ! Wounds ! I 
 have been rob'd, rob'd rob'd! where be the theeves? my books, 
 bookes ! did I not leave thee with my bookes ? where are my bookes ? 
 my bookes ! where be my bookes, villin ? arrant villen ! 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 O, father ! my deere father, harke. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Father, my deere father ? Soule ! give me my bookes. Lets have 
 no more tarrying : the daye begins to be darke ; it raines : it begins 
 with tempestes. Thunder and lightning ! fire and brimstone ! And 
 all my bookes are gone, and I cannot helpe my selfe, nor my freendes. 
 What a pestilence ! who came there ? 
 
138 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Hermione. 
 He tell you, father, if you please to heare. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 What canst thou tel me ? tel me of a turd. What, and a come ? 
 I conjure thee, foule spirit, down to hell ! Ho, ho, ho, the devil, the 
 devill! A coms, a corns, a corns upon me, and I lack my books. 
 Help ! help ! help ! Lend me a swoord, a swoord ! Oh, I am 
 gone! 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Alas ! how fell he to this madding mood I 
 
 Hermione, 
 The heavens and earth deny to doo us good ! 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 father ! my good father, look on me. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 What ment I not to shut up the dore, and take the keies with me, 
 and put the books under the bed straw ? Out, you hore ! a hore, 
 a hore ! Gogs blood ! He dresse you for a hore. I have a cause to 
 curse hores as long as I live. Come away, come away ! Give me my 
 bookes, my bookes : give me, give me, give. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 Help, help me, good Hermione ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Hermione. 
 
 1 come of worldes of miserie. 
 Confounded on the top of my deUght, 
 
 The Fates and Fortune thus against me fight. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Fortunes Triumph : sound trumpets, drumm^, cornets and yunnes. 
 
 Fortune. 
 See, madam, who can dash your bravery. 
 Even at the pitch of your felicitie. 
 When you assure that they shaU stedfast stand. 
 Even then my power I suddeinly can showe. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 139 
 
 Transposing it, as it had never been so. 
 Heerin I triumph — heerin I delight. 
 Thus have I manifested now my might. 
 Heere, ladies, leame to hke of Venus lure. 
 And me love long your pleasures shall indure. 
 
 Now thou hast doon even what thou canst, I see, 
 They shall be once againe releev^d by me. 
 
 [Musicke. Mustek, 
 
 The fifth Acte. 
 Mercury. 
 
 Ye goddesses of this etemitie. 
 To whom of right belonges each earthly thing. 
 The King of Gods salutes ye both by me ; 
 And, I beseech you, marke the newes I bring. 
 My father, Jupiter, perceiving well 
 What hath heerin oft been doon by each of you, 
 O, how ye still indevour to excell. 
 Maintaining that wheron the quarrell grewe, 
 That is the government of this estate. 
 And unto whom the soveraintye shall fall ; 
 Heere, therfore, to conclude your long debate. 
 Least your contention may be counted generall. 
 Desires ye both, and so commaundes by me. 
 Ye stand to his conclusion of the cause. 
 How say you, therfore ? will you now agree 
 That mahce may no longer right delude ? 
 
 Venus. 
 
 Brother Mercury, as I have never been 
 So obstinate, or bent so frowardly, 
 But that I could some time relent the ill, 
 A woman must a little have her will ; 
 
140 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 So am I now resolved for to doo 
 What so my father shall intreate me too. 
 
 Fortune. 
 
 And all the world by me perceiveth well 
 Of course my fancy, my favour and my skill : 
 And when my cause a Uttle course hath had, 
 I am well pleased, and no longer sad. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Then thus our father, Jupiter, concludes 
 To lay the stroake of your imceasing strife. 
 As heeretofore betwixt these lovers twaine 
 Ye have exprest your powers upon their life. 
 So now he willes you to withholde your handes. 
 Enough suflfiseth to confirme your might ; 
 And to conjoyne ye both in freendly bandes. 
 Of faithfull love, wherin the Gods dehght. 
 His pleasure is, that lady Venus, you 
 Shall be content never to hinder them 
 To whom dame Fortune shall for freendship showe. 
 Of wretched to procure them happy men. 
 Ne shall you. Fortune, once presume to take 
 The credit of the honor in your hand : 
 If lady Venus doo them quite forsake, 
 You shall not seeme in her defence to stand ; 
 But whome soever one of you preferre. 
 The other shall be subject unto her ; 
 For thus hath Jupiter determined now. 
 
 Venus. 
 
 I must and will subscribe my will to you. 
 
 Fortune. 
 
 And I most gladly therof doo allow. 
 
 Verms. 
 
 Whom Fortune favours I wiU not dispise. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 141 
 
 Fortune. 
 Whom Love rejectes by me shall never rise. 
 
 Mercury. 
 To this conclusion doo you both agree ? 
 
 Venus. 
 For my parte. 
 
 Fortune. 
 And I, most willingly. 
 
 Mercury. 
 Then, let your union be confirmed againe 
 By proper course, eche one in his discent 
 Over mortall men and worldly thinges to raine, 
 By enterchange as Jupiter hath ment. 
 
 Mercury. 
 And, freendly Fortune, let me intreate alone, 
 Sith by your meanes these lovers hindred were. 
 And now ye two are reconcilde in one, 
 You graimt the grace their honour up to reare. 
 
 Venus. 
 Sweet Mercury, I give thee my consent. 
 I will forthwith advaunce them to renowne : 
 And their destruction better to prevent. 
 They shall releeve them that did throw them downe. 
 
 Fortune. 
 And I my gracious favour will bestowe 
 Upon them all according to desarte ; 
 And I will helpe his fransie ere I goe. 
 
 Mercury. 
 That Beadlom up and down he replaies his parte. 
 
 Enter Bomelio with Hermione and Fidelia, with a cope and 
 
 dagger. 
 Bomelio. 
 Hots wounds ! ye hore, I am not for your diet. Hang rascall, make 
 a leg to me. By Gogs blood. He stab thee through. What the 
 
] 42 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 devill, the devill, and all my bookes be gon ! O, most accursed man, 
 
 Bomelio ! Goe hide thy selfe : goe hide thy selfe : goe hang thy 
 
 selfe, goe hang. He hang the hore out of hand ; and as for you, 
 
 villin, — stand, rascall, stand ! 
 
 Fidelia, 
 
 Good father, heare me. Come take a little rest : 
 
 Yea, my sweet father, come sleepe upon my brest. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Hark the hore ! See what an impudent hore it is. Sleep, you 
 
 hore? lie sleep with you anon. Gogs blood, you hore. He hang 
 
 you up. 
 
 Fidelia, 
 
 Helpe, helpe, Hermione ! 
 
 Hermione, 
 
 Good father, let her alone. Come let us goe. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Now, with my musick He recure his woe. 
 
 [Play. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 
 Hark, harke, my hartes ! Pipes, Fiddels ! Oh brave I I shall have 
 my bookes againe. Daunce about. Robin Hood is a good knave. 
 Come, Besse, lets goe sleep. Come, Besse ; together, together. 
 
 Mercury. 
 
 Now will I charme him that he shall not wake, 
 Untill he be releeved in this place. 
 Then take her blood, and cast it on this brake. 
 And therwithall besprinkle all his face, 
 And he shall be restored to his sence. 
 His health, and memory as heeretofore. 
 Doo this, for I must now departe from hence, 
 And so your sorrowes shall increase no more. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 Fidelia, what hast thou heard my deere ? 
 O comfortable woordes, were they but true ! 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 143 
 
 If any God or Goddesse be so neere, 
 Vouchsafe of pitie on our paines to rue. 
 Delude not with a fained plantasie 
 The wretched mmde of men in miserie. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 Alas ! Hermione, let us not feede. 
 And flatter our selves with ray good surmise : 
 We are too much accursed so to speed. 
 Or any hope therof for to devise. 
 Resolve your selfe, deere freend, another way, 
 And let us never looke for happy day. 
 
 Enter Phizantius, Armenio, Penulo and Lentulo, 
 Phyzantius. 
 
 When thirst of hot revenge inflameth high desire. 
 When mahce kindleth so the minds of them that would aspire, 
 That to inlarge their names they wreak not his dispite, 
 That overseeth all their woorkes their dooinges to requite : 
 Marke, then, what folio weth when princes ye provoke ; 
 The deeper and the larger wound when longest is the stroake. 
 And this hath moved me to leave my court a while, 
 To be content in sweat of browes, in trouble, paine and toyle. 
 To seeke out wretches them that have abusd me so, 
 And to reward their villany according ere we goe. 
 
 Penulo. 
 
 May it please your honour, it is excellent doon. 
 Gogs blood ! and I were a Prince and had such a noble sonne. 
 That should be so highly abused as he hath been, 
 Would I put it up ? no ; by his wounds I would never Un, 
 Till I had made such a mingle mangle upon their nose. 
 That their skin should serve to make me a doublet, and a paire of 
 
 [hose. 
 Lentulo. 
 
 What, you would not ? I faith, you look not with the face : 
 When you have the skin, sir, what wil you doo with the case ? 
 
144 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 But, maister Prince, since you are come to this travelatiOn, 
 He bring you to my olde maisters convoculation. 
 Where he hides him selfe when I ran away : 
 Its not farre within these woods. How thinke you, sir, I pray ? 
 
 Phyzantius. 
 Lead on the way, and I will follow thee, 
 
 Lentulo, 
 Why, then, come on my valiant harts, march on and follow me. 
 But lie make this bargaine first : heare you me what I say ? 
 When I come home you shall not let my maister beate me for nmning 
 
 away. 
 Phyzantius. ,j 
 
 He shall not, I warrant thee. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Why then, my noble youths of oke, pluck up your harts with me. 
 Will you come, sir ? come on, I faith : keep in order you thereby. 
 We shall finde her, I faith, maister Prince, anon I know. 
 And then He trounce him for running away with an other mans wife, 
 
 [I trowe. 
 Penulo. 
 Stand, sir. Who lyes a sunning yonder ? can you tell ? 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Its a begger with a roge. 
 
 Phyzantius. 
 It is my daughter, I see fuU well. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Fidelia, be content : shrinke not at all. 
 
 Physsantius. 
 Strike not a stroke, my sonne. 
 
 Penulo. 
 For helpe I shall goe run and call. 
 
 Phyzantius. 
 And art thou found, false traitour and untrue ? 
 Traitour to him that delte so well with thee. 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 1 45 
 
 Did I devise to stop that would insue, 
 And found my cares such issue as I see ? 
 I see I am abused too too much, 
 And too much sufferance is cause of this abuse : 
 This high abuse of yours, as being such, 
 Alfoordes no cloke nor colour of excuse. 
 O, where is thankfulnesse and love become ? 
 Where is the feare of princes wrath exilde ? 
 Even this is the unhappinesse of some. 
 To be of them they trusted most beguilde ; 
 But sometime pardon breedes a second ill. 
 Thou shamelesse wench, and thou false harted knight. 
 By your unhappy deedes I learne this skill ; 
 But yet I list not kill thee, as I might. 
 Her will I have, and keepe her as I may. 
 On paine of death I charge thee hence away. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 O Prince, this sentence hath his force and strength, 
 And dead I am that heere appeer to live ; 
 For how, alas, can this my life have length, 
 When she is hence that life and sence dooth give ? 
 But since, alas, I must be only he 
 Whom Fortune vowes to make a common game, 
 Armenio, my foe, doo this for me, 
 With thy revenge to end my open shame. 
 To helpe thee to digest thine injurie. 
 Appease thee with Hermiones tragedie. 
 
 Tldelia. 
 
 Farre be the thought of that accursed deede. 
 O sweete Hermione, my sweet Hermione ! 
 Foule be his fall that makes thy body bleede, 
 
 sweete Hermione, my sweete Hermione ! 
 And, father, this 1 vow : forgive it me, 
 
 1 will be sacrifice for this offence, 
 
 T 
 
146 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 And or I will have my Hermione, 
 My chosen love, or never parte from hence. 
 Him have the destinies ordained mine. 
 Most woorthy me, your daughter, every way ; 
 Nor he to any will his choice resigne. 
 No more my troubled thoughts will let me say. 
 
 Phyzantms. 
 What wilt thou, fooUshe girle and obstinate ? 
 Saist thou this treason is devisde by fate ? 
 That shall we trie. Dispatch her hence away. 
 Lets see who dares our princely will gainsay. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Sir, and youle have us carry her, heere be them come of the carriers. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 And youle have us marry her, heere be them come of the marriers. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Lord ! I marvell to whose share this lady will fall : 
 I am sure my parte in her wilbe least of all. 
 
 Venus and Fortune shew themselves , and speak to Phizantim, while 
 Hermione standeth in a maze. 
 Venus, 
 Hye time it is that now we did appeare. 
 If we desire to end their miserie. 
 
 Fortune. 
 Phizantius, stay, and unto us give eare. 
 What thou determine§t perfourmed cannot be. 
 
 Phizantius. 
 Dread goddesse whatsoever of this place. 
 If I heerin have disobaied thy grace. 
 Of favour graunt for to remit the same : 
 Let me not suflfer undeserved blame. 
 
 Venus. 
 Phizantius, stand up ; be of good cheere. 
 None but thy freendes are met together heere : 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 147 
 
 Thy freends though goddesses in other thinges. 
 Yet enterchange an alteration bringes. 
 And now, wheras you seeke in what you can 
 To let your childe to marry with this man, 
 Knowe that it is the pleasure of our will. 
 That they together be conjoyned still. 
 For tis not so : he is not borne so base 
 As you esteeme, but of a noble race. 
 His father is the good Bomelio, 
 That sleepeth heere opprest with woe. 
 Whom Phalaris, thy father, on a false reporte, 
 In wrath and anger banished his court : 
 But this is he to whom thou wishest oft good, 
 And this his sonne, borne of a noble blood. 
 Thinke it no scome to thee or thine heerafter 
 To have his sonne espoused to thy daughter. 
 
 Phizantms. 
 
 Right gracious Goddess, if this be true indeed. 
 As I beleeve, because from you it dooth proceed, 
 Then pardon me, for had I knowne it so. 
 His sonne had never tasted of this woe. 
 Unwitting of his linage tiU this time. 
 But, I presumed, sprung of a noble line. 
 But hence, and please your deities, my greefe. 
 Because my sonne is dumbe without releefe. 
 
 Penulo, 
 
 I faith, sirra, thou and I may holde our peace, with their leave. 
 For none but wise men speak heere, I perceive. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 
 In some respectes so, in some respectes not ; 
 For a fooles bolte is soone enough shot. 
 
 Fortune, 
 
 Phizantius, feare no longer his distresse : 
 The gratious Gods provide for his redresse. 
 
148 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 The shedding of thy daughters deerest blood 
 
 Shall both to him, and to this man doo good ; 
 
 For let this feame be dipt in many a place. 
 
 And, as he sleepeth, cast it in his face. 
 
 And let his tung be washed there withall, 
 
 And both of them releeved see you shall. 
 
 Phizantius. 
 
 How say you, daughter, will you graunt therto ? 
 
 Fidelia. 
 
 Most willing, sir, if you vouchsafe to doo ; 
 
 But this request, which I most humbly pray, 
 
 Then I may be Hermiones for aye. 
 
 Phizantius. 
 
 With all my hart : heeron I give my hand. 
 
 Fidelia. 
 I take it, sir ; and to your word I stand. 
 
 And for thy sake, Hermione, my deare, 
 
 See what I doo, although it touch me neere. 
 
 Now take thy fill, and for his madnesse prove. 
 
 Hermione. 
 
 sweet and fearefuU sight, the signe of love ! 
 
 Lentulo. 
 If it be any sweeter, masters, that runnes from you so, 
 I pray you give me some of your blessinges ere you goe. 
 
 Armenio, 
 
 1 strive to speak, and glad to find my speeche. 
 Forgive, Hermione, forgive me, I beseech. 
 
 And you, good sister, pardon, my freends, too ; 
 Too rash in all I ventured to doo. 
 See what proceedeth from unstable youth ; 
 Shame to himselfe, and to his freendes a cause of ruthe. 
 
 Hermione. 
 Armenio, long hath my end desired 
 To heare the proffer of this pleasant peace ; 
 
The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 149 
 
 Which, sith the Gods doo graunt as we require. 
 Hence foorth let rancor and contention cease, 
 And in our brest be knit for ever sure 
 The Hnkes of love perpetuaU to indure. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 What have I heard ? what is it that they say ? 
 Amazed quite ! confounded every way ! 
 My Sonne Hermione, I know that is the same, 
 And thats my Prince : now comes greefe and shame. 
 
 Phizantius. 
 My lord Bomelio, shun not : I know you now. 
 Forgive the fact my father did to you ; 
 And what he did impute it not to me. 
 Thy former place I will restore to thee. 
 In token of our faithfuU ami tie, 
 We will be jojmed in neere affinitie. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Long live Phizantius ; long hve in happy ease. 
 The Gods be blest I live this day to see ! 
 What please the one shall never me displease : 
 Thrise happy now for all my misery. 
 
 Penulo. 
 Why then, sir, sith every thing is come to so good an end, 
 I hope, my good maister, youle stand my good freend. 
 And give me but two or three thousand pound a yeere to live on. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Much in my nock, Nicols : you ancj I shall slave it anon. 
 
 Armenia. 
 Assure thee, Penulo, thou shalt not want as long as I Uve. 
 
 Lentulo. 
 Why then, maister, mine olde maister, I pray you forgive 
 Your old nmaway. Twas for fashion sake : lie doo so no more. 
 
 Bomelio. 
 Look you do not, sirra, and then I pardon you therfore. 
 
150 The Rare Triumphes of Loue and Fortune. 
 
 Venus. 
 
 Thus every thing united is by love. 
 Now Gods and men are reconcilde againe ; 
 On whome, because I did my pleasure prove, 
 I wiU reward you for your former paine. 
 Receive the favours of our deitie, 
 And sing the praise of Venus soveraintie. 
 
 Fortune. 
 
 And for I plaid my parte with lady Love, 
 While eche did strive for cheefe authorities 
 Your good deserts dame Fortune so dooth move 
 To give these signes of liberalitie. 
 Thus, for amendes of this your late unrest, 
 By Love and Fortune you shall all be blest. 
 And thus heerof this inward care I have, 
 That wisdome ruleth Love and Fortune both : 
 Though riches faile, and beauty seeme to save, 
 Yet wisdome forward still unconquered goeth. 
 This, we beseech you, take freendly in woorth ; 
 And sith by Love and Fortune our troubles all doo cease, 
 God save her Majestic that keepes us all in peace. 
 Now they and wee doo all triumphe in joy, 
 And Love and Fortune are hnked sure freendes : 
 All greefe is fled for your annoy ; 
 Fortune and Love makes all amendes. 
 Let us rejoyce, then, in the same, 
 And sing hye praises of their name. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
NOTES TO THE RARE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE 
 AND FORTUNE. 
 
 P. 84, 1. 26. Breaking her anckers downe.] For " anckers " we ought most 
 likely to read altars, or as it was then sometimes spelt, aulters, which 
 will shew that the misprint was an easy one. Four lines lower, we may 
 be pretty sure that a corruption has been introduced : for " Her honour 
 still impire she may maintaine" we ought perhaps to read " Her honour 
 still entire" &c. 
 
 P. 86. 1. 20. Whilome a goe to hell condemning hate.] For " Whilome a 
 goe," possibly we ought to read "Whilome againe," but this would 
 not remove the whole difficulty. Eight lines further on the word 
 "arayes" seems wrong, but it is difficult to find a substitute: es- 
 sayes would not answer the purpose. 
 
 P. 85. 1. 26. That restles rules] For " rules" read rolls. 
 
 P. 87. 1. 23. To quit thy daughter thus.] i. e. to requite thy daughter thus : the 
 word is common in Shakespeare and his contemporaries in this sense. 
 
 P. 87- 1. 32. Fortune] The entrance of Fortune ought, like that of Tysiphone 
 (p. 83) to have been marked here : we only note the omission, because 
 we reprint the old copy as it stands. 
 
 P. 88. 1. 23. That changeth and supporteth realms in twinkling of an hower.] 
 Possibly for "supporteth" we ought to read supplanteth : " in twink- 
 ling of an hour " is not by any means a usual expression, though it 
 may be understood. 
 
 P. 88. 1. 33. If every yeere] Consistently with the preceding line, and the 
 sense we must read " If ever yeere," &c. 
 
 P. 90. 1. 24. Enter to show of Alexander.] Sic in orig. but no doubt a misprint 
 for " Enter the show," &c. 
 
 P. 91. 1. 16. Leander presentes them very lothej This line is obviously defec- 
 tive : probably " and Hero " were the words omitted : that " pre- 
 
152 
 
 sentes" is in the singular forms no objection, for we have just before 
 had Troilus and Cressida " crye?, out on Love ;" and the printers, as 
 well as some of the writers of that time, were not particular in their 
 concords. 
 
 P. 92. 1, 4. Venus, for that th[e]y love, &c.] The sense requires us to read 
 they for " thy" of the old copy. 
 
 P. 92. 1. 5. Thou shalt endure'] Endeavour makes out the meaning and the mea- 
 sure, and was no doubt the author's word. In the next line but two 
 " thou " is decidedly surplusage on every account. 
 
 P. 92. 1. 17. Take up your places &c.] This and the following line seem to 
 belong to Jupiter, and ought therefore to have the prefix of his name ; 
 but we prefer to reprint the original. 
 
 P. 92. 1. 25. Exit omnes.] It is not necessary to do more than point generally 
 to mistakes of this kind, which in fact correct themselves. 
 
 P. 93. 1. 20. That rests as it to prove] Perhaps we ought to read doiox " to." 
 
 P. 94. 1. 5. {^Armenio listening] His entrance here is marked in no other way 
 in the old copy. 
 
 P 94. 1. 20. Of over handy love] Probably, " over hardy love." 
 
 P. 94. 1. 21. Thou upstart fondling] Here Armenio comes forward, and dis- 
 covers himself. 
 
 P. 95. 1. 14. Among many lessons none] We should rather be disposed to read 
 one for " none :" possibly, the right word is now. 
 
 P. 95. 1. 26. And this, lady; Hermione &c.] Hermione here seems to turn to 
 Fidelia, and to tell her that possibly he may be as well born as Prince 
 Armenio — " And, let me tell you this, lady;" &c. 
 
 P. 96. 1. 15. Fidelia.] Her meaning is that the King her father should par- 
 don the offence of Hermione, whose grief of mind is more severe 
 than the wound he has just inflicted on Armenio. The two last lines 
 of this speech appear to belong to Hermione. 
 
 P. 97. 1. 22. Holde my rewarde] Query awarde ? 
 
 P. 98. 1. 10. No force, forsooth] i. e. It is no matter — or there is no remedy : 
 the expression was common. 
 
 P. 99. 1. 13. It's like enough the hart will honor neere] For " honor neere " 
 we ought doubtless to read hover near ; the prince meaning that, if Phi- 
 zanties take care to keep the body of Fidelia, her heart will not be far 
 distant. 
 
 P. 99. 1. 29. Sweet lady mine, farewell] We must suppose that Fidelia makes 
 • her ewit here, her father having gone out at the end of his last speech. 
 
 P. 99. 1 30. Farewell, the courteoust dame &c.] The courteousest, or most 
 courteous dame, then an ordinary mode of forming the superlative. 
 
153 
 
 p. 100. 1. 14. Nor but by safe restorde] For " restorde,*' it seems uecessary to 
 read return, which would make the meaning quite clear. 
 
 P. 101. 1. 31. But such a one &c.] These two lines and others are supposed to 
 be spoken aside, but it was then most unusual to introduce any stage- 
 direction to that eiFect. 
 
 P. 102. 1. 18. One slender trust] Perhaps, " On slender trust." 
 
 P. 102. 1. 23. High mastris] Misprinted for mistres in the original. 
 
 P. 103. 1. 18. When simple youth devis'd to length his delight.] The measure 
 would be completed by reading lengthen for "length;" but no such 
 liberty with the text was allowable here, and in many other places, 
 where the printer, or the defective manuscript he followed, must 
 have been in fault. In the next line but one, we should read tuned 
 for " turned." 
 
 P. 105. 1. 2. Will you not give one leave &c.] Here we may conclude that 
 Lentulo makes his appearance on the stage. 
 
 P. 106. 1. 33. I am no such companion'] " Companion" was often used deroga- 
 torily by our old writers. See Shakespeare's Coriolanus, Edit. Collier, 
 Vol. VI. p. 230. 
 
 P. 106. 1. 34. A merry franke J¥anion'\ " Franion " was often used for an idle 
 fellow. (See Peek's Old Wives Tale, edit. Dyce, Vol. I. p. 207), but 
 here it is rather to be taken as meaning a gentleman who has nothing 
 to do, but to amuse himself. In Heywood's Edward IV. Part I. Hobbs 
 tells the King that he is " a frank franion, a merry companion, and 
 loves a wench well." See Shakespeare Society's Edit. p. 45. The 
 word occurs several times in Spencer ; and the following lines are from 
 *' The Contention between Liberality and Prodigality," 1602, Sign. F. 
 " This gallant, I tell you, with other lewd franions 
 Such as himselfe, unthrifty companions. 
 In most cruell sort, by the high way side. 
 Assaulted a countryeman." 
 
 P. 107. 1. 18. One with a wet finger] This expression is of frequent occurrence, 
 to denote the facility with which a thing may be done. 
 
 P. 110.1. 23. That ere I sleepe I meane to meete with you.] Here Armenio 
 must quit the stage, before the entrance of his sister ; but the old copy 
 is not so marked. 
 
 P. 112. 1. 32. Armenio.] He enters at the moment. 
 
 P. 113. 1. 22. Exit.] i. e. Exeunt, viz. Armenio and Fidelia. 
 
 P. 114. 1. 2. And Rodomantes.] It is scarcely necessary to allude to corrup- 
 tions of this kind, which might arise out of the ignorance of the 
 printer or of the transcriber. 
 
 U 
 
154 
 
 p. 115. 1. 31. They are not at home, I wm] i. e. I ween, or think. 
 
 P. 117. 1. 26. Here is a breathing jo?7] Perhaps we ought to read_/f^ for "pit." 
 
 P. 118. 1. 18. Thy love, with a wannion'] "With a wannion" seems to have 
 been equivalent to " With a witness," or sometimes to "With a curse," 
 but the origin of it is uncertain. It was usually put into the mouths of 
 persons in the lower orders, and it is used by one of the Fishermen in 
 Act 11. so. 1 of Shakespeare's Pericles : Edit. Collier Vol. VIII. p. 292. 
 
 P. 119. 1. 2. Love, my maisters, is & parlous matter] " Parlous " here is jom/ow*, 
 although it seems sometimes to have been used for talkative. 
 
 P. 119. 1. 25. Ah, croching on is good] Perhaps crouching on : Lentulo in the 
 preceding line spoke of coming in " sneaking more and more." 
 
 P. 120. 1. 2. The same squair\ Middleton uses squall for a wench in his " Mi- 
 chaelmas Term" and in "The honest Whore," Edit. Dyce I. 431 and 
 III. 55. Here it evidently means a person of the male sex. 
 
 P. 120. 1. 32. Bien, venue &c.] We print this part of the dialogue, meant for 
 Italian, precisely as it stands in the old copy. 
 
 P. 121. 1. 22. And you can speak any Pedler's French, &c.] Pedlar's French, 
 often mentioned in our old writers, was the cant language of thieves 
 and vagabonds. 
 
 "When every peasant, each Plebeian, 
 Sits in the throne of undeserv'd repute : 
 When every Pedlers-French is term'd Monsigneur." 
 
 Histriomastix, 1610. Sign. E. 2. 
 
 P. 122. 1. 12. You are de runaway from your matter, &c.] Misprinted for 
 master, or maitre. 
 
 P. 122. 1. 25. I would lamhack the devill out of you] To "lamback" is to heat. 
 See "The Death of Huntington " in the Suppl. Vol. to Dodsley's Old 
 Plays, p. 80. Gabriel Harvey uses it in " Pierce's Supererogation " 
 1593, and Dekker in " Vox Graculi " 1623. It is sometimes spelt 
 lamheak. 
 
 P. 123. 1. 14. And you slave your love away wit you] i. e. And you shall have 
 your love away with you. 
 
 P. 126. 1. 4. Yit wit out dat me an seawer, me tell] The meaning probably is 
 " Yet without that, me am sure, me tell." 
 
 P. 128. 1. 16. Or flight of it] Ought we not to read " Or sight of it ? " 
 
 P. 130. 1. 19. Exeunt^ This stage-direction is absolutely necessary for the in- 
 telligibility of the scene. It applies, of course, to the Duke, Penulo 
 and attendants, Bomelio and Fidelia being left together. 
 
 P. 134. 1. 23. Penulo.'] This speech has the prefix of Lentulo in the old copy, 
 but the error is obvious, and the correction necessary. 
 
155 
 
 p. 135. 1. 1. Upon mine own pigsnye] A common term of endearment, meaning, 
 literally, a little pig. 
 
 P. 135. 1. 7. Exit] Of course in custody of the Serjeant, &c. 
 
 P. 135. 1. 23. Exif] Penulo makes his eant^ (though not marked in the old 
 copy) and the stage then represents some place near the cave of Bome- 
 lio, who enters with Fidelia. 
 
 P. 135. 1. 33. Can never be estewed] i. e. eschewed — avoided. 
 
 P. 140. 1. 19. To whom dame Fortune shall for freendship showe] The sense 
 requires us to read her instead of "for; " but it is vain to attempt to 
 correct many similar corruptions of the original. Five lines lower, for 
 "her" we should perhaps substitute their. 
 
 P. 141. 1. 14. Mercury] The prefix is here repeated in the old copy : possibly, 
 some speech by Venus or Fortune intervened, which was accidentally 
 omitted by the transcriber or by the printer. The next speech seems 
 to belong rather to Fortune than to Venus. If the line " That Beadlom 
 up and down he replaies his part " be properly assigned to Mercury, 
 its application belongs to Bomelio, who instantly enters, playing his 
 part like a " Bedlam " for the loss of his books of magic. 
 
 P. 142. 1. 26. On this brake] i. e. on this/(?r«, as appears on p. 148. 
 
 P. 143. 1. 7. With my good surmise] Misprinted in the old copy for " with any 
 good surmise." 
 
 P. 143. 1. 12. Enter Phizantius &c.] Phizantius may be the right name, but 
 hitherto it has been printed Phizantiesj and whenever no name is 
 given he has been called the Duke. 
 
 P. 143. 1. 16. They wreak not his dispite] i. e. reck not, or care not for. 
 
 P. 143. 1. 28. I would never lin] i. e. I would never cease. 
 
 P. 148. 1. 33. Armenio, long hath my end desired] We should rather read ear 
 than " end," which seems nonsense. 
 
A right excellent 
 
 and famous Comoedy called 
 
 the three Ladies of London * 
 
 WHEREIN IS NOTA- 
 BLIE DECLARED AND SET 
 foorth, how by the meanes of Lucar, Loue 
 anD Conscience l^ 00 COTtUpteD, tl^at 
 the one is married to Dissi- 
 mulation, the other fraught 
 with all abhomina- 
 tion. 
 
 A PERFECT PATTERNE FOR ALL 
 
 Estates to looke into, and a worke right wor- 
 
 thie to be marked. Written by R. W. 
 
 as it hath beene publiquely 
 
 played. 
 
 AT LONDON, 
 
 f Printed by Ro-^ 
 ger Warde, dwelling neere 
 
 Holburne Conduit, at the signe 
 of the Talbot. 1584. 
 
The Prologue. 
 
 To sit on honors seate it is a loftie reach. 
 
 To seeke for praise by making brags ofttimes doth get a breach. 
 We list not ride the rowling Rackes that dims the christall skies, 
 We mean to set no glimmering glaunce before yoiir curteous eies : 
 We search not Plutos pensiue pit, nor tast of Limbo lake ; 
 We doo not shew of warlike fight, as sword and shield to shake : 
 We speake not of the powers deuine, ne yet of furious sprites ; 
 We do not seeke high hilles to climbe, nor talke of loues delights. 
 We doo not heere present to you the threshar with his flayle, 
 Ne doo we here present to you the milke maide with her payle : 
 We shew not you of countrey toile, as hedger with his bill ; 
 We doo not bring the husbandman to loppe and toppe with skill : 
 We play not heere the Gardiners part, to plant to set and sowe : 
 You maruell, then, what stuiFe we haue to furnish out our showe. 
 Your patience yet we craue a while, till we haue trimd our stall ; 
 Then yong and olde come and behold our wares, and buy them all. 
 Then, if our wares shaU seeme to you well woven, good and fine, 
 We hope we shall your custome haue againe an other time. 
 
The first Acte. 
 
 Enter Fame, sounding before Loue and Conscience. 
 Loue. 
 Lady Conscience, what shall we say to our estates ? to whome shall 
 
 [we complaine ? 
 Or how shall we abridge such fates as heapeth vp our paine ? 
 Tis Lucar now that rules the rout, tis she is all in all : 
 Tis she that holds her head so stout ; in fine, tis she that workes our 
 
 [fall. 
 O Conscience, I feare, I feare a day, 
 That we by her and Usurie shall quite be cast away. 
 
 Conscience. 
 In deed, I feare the worst, for euerie man doth sewe 
 And comes from countreyes straunge and farre of her to haue a vewe. 
 Although they ought to seeke true Loue and Conscience cleare ; 
 But Loue and Conscience few do Hke that leane on Lucars chaire. 
 Men ought be ruld by us ; we ought in them beare sway. 
 So should ech neighbour Hue by other in good estate alway, 
 
 Loue. 
 For Lucar men come from Italy, Barbary, Turky, 
 From Jury ; nay, the Pagan himselfe 
 Indaungers his bodie to gape for her pelfe. 
 
 They forsake mother. Prince, Countrey, Religion, kiflfe and kinne ; 
 Nay, men care not what they forsake, so Lady Lucar they winne. 
 That we poore Ladies may sigh to see our states thus turned and tost, 
 And worse and worse is like to be, where Lucar rules the rost. 
 
 Conscience, 
 You say the truth, yet God, I trust, will not admit it so, 
 
 X 
 
162 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 That Loue and Conscience by Lucars lust shall catch an overthrow. 
 
 Fame. 
 Good Ladies, rest content, and you, no doubt, shall see 
 Them plagued with painfull punishment for such their crueltie : 
 And if true Loue and Conscience liue from Lucars lust lasciuious. 
 Then Fame a triple crowne will giue, which lasteth aye victorious. 
 
 Conscience. 
 God graunt that Conscience keepe within the bounds of right. 
 And that vile Lucar doo not daunt her heart with deadly spight. 
 
 Lov£. 
 And graunt, O God, that Loue be found in Citie, Towne and 
 
 [Country, 
 Which causeth wealth and peace abound, and pleaseth God almightie. 
 
 Fame. 
 But, Ladies, ist your pleasure to walke abroad a while, 
 And recreate your selues with measure, your sorrowes to beguile ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 Passe on, good Fame, your steppes do frame, on you we will attend. 
 And pray to God that holds the rod our states for to defend. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 The Second Acte. 
 Enter Dissimulation, hauing on a Farmers long coat and a cappe, 
 and his powle and beard painted motley. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Nay, no lesse than a Farmer, a right honest man. 
 But my toong cannot stay me to tell what I am : 
 Nay, who is it that knowes me not by my partie coloured head ? 
 They may well thinke, that see me, my honestie is fled. 
 Tush, a figge for honestie : tut, let that goe, 
 Sith men, women and children my name and doinges do know. 
 My name is Dissimulation, and no base minde I beare, . 
 For my outwarde effectes my inward zeale doe declare ; 
 
The three Ladies of London. 163 
 
 For men doe dissemble with their wiues, and their wiues with them 
 
 [again, 
 So that in the heartes of them I alwayes remayne. 
 The childe dissembles with his father, the sister with his brother, 
 The mayden with her mistres, and the yongman with his louer. 
 There is Dissimulation betweene neighbour and neighbour, Friend 
 
 [and Friend, one with an other, 
 Betweene the seruaunt and his Maister, betweene brother and brother. 
 Then, why make you it straunge that ever you knew me. 
 Seeing so often I raunge thorowout euery degree ? 
 But I forget my businesse : ile towardes London as fast I can. 
 To get entertainment of one of the three Ladies, like an honest man. 
 
 Enter Simplicitie lyke a Miller, all mealy, with a wande in his hand. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 They say there is preferment in London to haue : 
 Mas, and there be ile be passing and braue. 
 
 Why, Ile be no more a miller, because the maydens call me dusty pole ; 
 One thumpes me on the necke, and an other strikes me on the nole : 
 And you see I am a hansome fellow : marke the comporknaunce of 
 
 [my stature. 
 Faith, ile go seek peraduentures, and be a seruing-creature. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Whither away, good fellow ? I pray thee declare. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Mary, ile clare thee : to London ; would thou didst go there. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 What if I did ? ^ould it be better for thee ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 I, mary should it, for I loue honest company. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Agreed ; there is a bargen : but what shall I call thee ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Cause thou arte an honest man, ile tell thee : my name is Simplicitie. 
 
164 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 A name agreeing to thy nature : but stay ; here comes more 
 
 [companie. 
 Enter Fraud with a Sword and Buckler, like a Ruffian. 
 Fraud. 
 HufFe ! once alofte, and I may hit in the right vayne. 
 Where I may beguile easely without any great payne. 
 I will flaunt it and braue it after the lusty swash : 
 He deceiue thousandes. What care I who lye in the lashe ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 What, Fraud ; well met. Whither travellest thou this way ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 To London, to get entertainement there, if I may, 
 Of the three Ladies Lucar, Loue and Conscience. 
 I care not whome I serue (the Deuill), so I may get pence. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 O, Fraud, I know thee for a deceitfull knaue ; 
 And art thou gotten so baniacion and braue ? 
 I. knew thee when thou dwelledst at a place called Grauesend, 
 And the guestes knew thee, too, because thou wast not their friend ; 
 For when thou shouldst bring reckoning to the guestes. 
 Thou would but twise so much, and sweare it cost thy dame no lesse. 
 So thou didst deceiue them, and thy dame too ; 
 And because they spied thy knauery, away thou didst go. 
 Then thou didst go into Hartforshyre, to a place called Ware, 
 And because horses stood at hay for a peny a night there. 
 So that thou couldst get nothing that kind of way. 
 Thou didst grease the horses teeth, that they should not eate hay : 
 Then thou wovJdst tell the rider his horse no haie would eate 3 
 Then the man would say, giue him some other kind of meate. 
 Sir, shall I giue him Otes, Fitches, Pease, Barley, or Bread ? 
 But what ere thou gauest him, thou stolest three quarters when he 
 
 [was in bed. 
 And now thou art so proud with thy filching and coosening art ; 
 
The three Ladies of London. 165 
 
 But, I thinke, one day thou wilt not be proude of the Rope and the 
 
 [Cart. 
 Take a wise fellowes counsell : Fraud, leave thy coosening and filch- 
 
 [ing. 
 Fraude. 
 Thou horson rascall swad, avaunt ! ile bang thee for thy brauling. 
 How darest thou defame a Gentleman, that hath so large a Uuing ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 A goodly Gentleman Ostler. I thinke none of all you wil beleue 
 
 Piim. 
 Fraude. 
 What a clinchpoope drudge is this ? I can forbeare him no more. 
 [Let Fraud make as though he would strike him, but 
 let Dissimulation step betwene them. 
 Dissimulation. 
 My good freind, Fraud, refraine and care not therefore. 
 Tis Simphcitie, that patch ; he knoweth not good from bad. 
 And to stand in contention with him I would thinke you were mad. 
 But tell me, Fraud, tell me, hast thou beene an Ostler in thy dales ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Tut, I haue proued an hundred such waies ; 
 For when I could not thriue by all other trades, 
 I became a Squire to waite upon Jades. 
 But then was then, and now is now ; but let that passe : 
 I am as thou seest me ; what care I the diuell what I was ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 You say, you go to London : in faith, haue with you then. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Nay, come and go with me, good honest man ; 
 For if thou go with him, he will teach thee all his knauery. 
 There is none will go with him that hath any honestie. 
 A bottes on thy motley beard ! I knowe thee ; thou art Dissimulation : 
 And hast thou got an honest mans coate to semble this fashion ? 
 Ile tell thee what, thou wilt even semble and cog with thine own father : 
 
'i66 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 A couple of false knaues togither, a Theefe and a Broker. 
 Thou makes townes folkes beleue thou art an honest man : in the 
 
 [cuntry 
 Thou doest nothing but cog, lie^ and foist with hypocrisie. 
 You shall be hanged togither, and go alone togither for me, 
 For if I should go the folkes would say, we were knaues all three. 
 Enter Symonie and Userie, hand in hand. 
 Symonie. 
 Freend Userie, I thinke we are well neare at our journeies end. 
 But knowest thou whome I haue espied ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 No. 
 
 Symonie. 
 Fraud, our great freend. 
 
 Usury. 
 And I see an other, that is now come into my remembrance. 
 
 Symonie. 
 Who is that ? 
 
 Usury. 
 Mary, M. Dauy Dissimulation, a good helper, and our olde ac- 
 
 [quaintance. 
 Simplicitie. 
 Now all the Gardes in the stock are delte about, 
 The foure knaues in a cluster comes ruffling out. 
 
 Symonie. 
 What, Fraud and Dissimulation ! happily found "out. 
 I meruaUe what peece of worke you two goe about. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Faith, sir, we met by chaunce, and towardes London are bent. 
 
 Usurie. 
 And to London we hye : it is our chiefest intent. 
 To see if we can get entertainment of the Ladies or no. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 And for the selfe same matter euen thither we goe. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 167 
 
 Symonie. 
 Then, we are luckely well met ; and, seing we wishe all for one 
 
 [thing, 
 I would we our willes and wishing might winne. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Yes, they will be sure to winne the Diuell and all. 
 Or else theyle make a man to spue out his gall. 
 O, that vilde Usery ! he lent my father a little mony, and for breaking 
 
 [one day 
 He tooke the fee-simple of his house and mill quite away : 
 And yet he borrowed not halfe a quarter as much as it cost ; 
 But, I thinke, if it had been a shilling it had bene lost. 
 So he kild my father with sorrow, and undoed me quite. 
 And you deale with him, sirs, you shall finde him a knaue full of 
 
 [spight. 
 And Simony, I per se I Symony, too, he is a knaue for the nonce : 
 He loues to haue twenty liuinges at once ; 
 And if he let an honest man, as I am, to haue one, 
 Hele let it so deare that he shalbe vndone. 
 And he seekes to get Parsons liuinges into his hand. 
 And puts in some odd dunce that to hys payment will stand : 
 So, if the parsonage be worth forty or fifty pound a yeare. 
 He will geue one twentie nobles to mumble seruice once a month 
 
 [there. 
 Symonie and Usurie both. 
 What rascall is he, that speaketh by us such villony ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Sirs, he was at vs earewhile, too ; it is no matter : it is a simple 
 
 [soule, called Simplicitie. 
 Enter Loue and Conscience. 
 But here come two of the Ladyes ; therefore, make readie. 
 
 Fraud. 
 But which of us all shall first breake the matter ? 
 
168 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Mary, let Syraony do it, for he finely can flatter. 
 
 Usery. 
 Nay, sirs, because none of us shall haue preheminence aboue other, 
 We will sing in fellowship together, like brother and brother. 
 
 Symony. 
 Of troth, agreed, my masters : let it be so. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Nay, and they sing, ile sing too. 
 
 The Song. 
 Good Ladies, take pittie and graunt our desire. 
 
 Conscience reply. 
 Speake boldly, and tell me what ist you require. 
 
 Their reply. 
 Your seruice, good Ladyes, is what we doe craue. 
 
 Her reply. 
 We like not, nor list not such seruauntes to haue. 
 
 Their replie. 
 If you entertaine us, we trustye will be. 
 But if you refraine us, then most unhapye. 
 We will come, we will runne, we will bend at your beck. 
 We will plye, we will hye, for feare of your check. 
 
 Her replie. 
 You doe fayne, you doe flatter, you doe lye, you doe prate : 
 You will steale, you will Robbe, you will kill in your hate. 
 I denie you, I defie you ; then, cease of your talking : 
 1 refraine you, I disdaine 3^ou ; therefore, get you walking. 
 
 Conscience. 
 What, Fraud, Dissimulation, Usery and Symony, 
 How dare you for shame presume so bouldly, 
 As once to shew your selues before Loue and Conscience, 
 Not yea! ding your lewd liues first to repentaimce ? 
 Thinke you not, that God will plague you for your wicked practises. 
 If you intend not to amend your vilde liues so amisse ? 
 
The three Ladies of London. 169 
 
 Thinke you not, God knowes your thoughtes words and workes. 
 And what secret mischiefes in the heartes of you lurkes ? 
 Then, how dare you offend his heauenly maiestie 
 With your dissembhng deceite, your flatterie and your usery ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Tut, sirs, seeing Lady Conscience is so scrippolous. 
 Let vs not speake to her, for I see it is friuolous. 
 But what say you. Lady Loue ? Will you graunt us fauour. 
 
 Loue. 
 He no suche servauntes, so ill of behauiour, 
 Seruauntes more fitter for Lucar then loue. 
 And happie are they which refrain e for to proue, 
 Shamelesse, pittilesse, gracelesse, and quite past honestie ; 
 Then, who of good conscience but will hate your companie ? 
 
 Usery. 
 Here is scripolous Conscience, and nice Loue in deed. 
 Tush ; if they will not, others will : I know we shall speede. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 But, Lady, I stand still behinde, for I am none of their companie. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Why, what art thou ? Oh, I know : thou art Simplicitie. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 I fayth, I am Simplicitie, and would fayne seme yee. 
 
 Conscience. 
 No : I may haue no fooles to dwell with me. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why then. Lady Loue, will you haue me, than ? 
 
 Love. 
 I, Simphcitie ; thou shalt be my man. 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 But shall I be your good man ? 
 
 Love, 
 I, my good man, indeede. 
 
 Y 
 
170 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Simplicities 
 I, but I would be your good man, and swap vp a wedding with 
 
 [good speed. 
 Love. 
 No : Loue may not marrie in any case with SimpUcitie ; 
 But if thou wilt serue me. He receaue it wilUngly : 
 And if thou wilt not, what remedie ? 
 
 SimpUcitie, 
 Yes, I will serue ye : but will ye goe into dinner, for I am hungry ? 
 
 Love. 
 Come, Ladie Conscience : pleaseth you to walke home from this 
 
 company ? 
 Conscience. 
 With right good will, for their sightes pleaseth not me. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Loue and Conscience. 
 Fraud. 
 Fraud is the cloubish knaue, and Usery the hard harted knaue, 
 And Symony the dyamon daintie knaue, 
 And Dissimulation the spiteful knaue of Spade. 
 Come there any moe knaues ? Come there any moe ? 
 I see foure knaues stand in a rowe. 
 
 [Let Fraud nmne at him, and let SimpUcitie 
 runne in, and come out againe straight. 
 Fraud. 
 Away, drudge ! begone quickely. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 I wous : doe thrust out my eyes with a Lady. 
 
 [Exit SimpUcitie. 
 Usery. 
 Did you ever see Gentlemen so rated at before ? 
 But it skilles not : I hope one day to turne them both out of dore. 
 
 Si/monye, 
 We were arrantly flowted, rayled at, and skoft in our kinde. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 171 
 
 That same Conscience is a vild terrour to mans mind. 
 Yet, faith, I care not, for I have borne many more then these. 
 When I was conversaunt with the Clergy beyond the Seas ; 
 And he that will Hue in this world must not care what such say. 
 For they are blossomes blown down, not to be found after May. 
 
 Fraud, 
 Faith, care that care will, for I care not a poynt. 
 I have shift it hitherto and whilest I liue I will jeopard a joynt ; 
 And at my death I will leaue my inheritour behinde. 
 That shalbe of the right stampe to follow my minde. 
 Therefore, let them prate till their heartes ake, and spit out their evill : 
 She cannot quaile me, if she came in hkenesse of the great devill. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Masse, Fraud, thou hast a doughtie heart to make a hangman off, 
 For thou hast good skill to helpe men from the coffe. 
 But we were arrantly flowted, yet I thought she had not known me ; 
 But I perceiue, though Dissimulation do disguise him, Conscience 
 
 [can see. 
 What though Conscience perceiue it, all the worlde cannot beside. 
 Tush, there be a thousand places where we our selues may prouide. 
 But looke. Sirs ; here commeth a lustie Lady towardes vs in haste ; 
 But speake to her, if you will, that we may be all plaste. 
 Enter Lady Jjucar. 
 Usery. 
 I pray thee doe, for thou art the likeliest to speede. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Why then, ile tout with a stomacke in hope of good speede. 
 Faire Lady, al the Gods of good fellowship kisse ye (I would say 
 
 [blisse ye). 
 Lucar, 
 Thou art very pleasant, and ful of thy roperipe, I would say Re- 
 
 [torick. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Ladie, you tooke me at the worste : I beseeche you, therefore. 
 
1 72 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 To pardon my bouldnesse, oflFending no more. 
 
 Lucar. 
 We do ; the matter is not great, but what wouldest thou haue ? 
 How shall I call thee, and what ist thou doest craue ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 I am called Dissimulation, and my earnest request 
 Is to craue entertainment for me and the rest, 
 Whose names are Fraud, Usery and Symonie, 
 Great carers for your health, wealth and prosperity. 
 
 Jjucar. 
 Fraud, Dissimilation, Usery and Symonie, 
 Now, truely I thanke you for profering your service to me ; 
 You are all hartily welcome, and I will appoint straightway 
 Where eche one in his office in great honour shall stay. 
 But, Usery, didst thou neuer knowe my graundmother, the olde 
 
 [Lady Lucar of Venice ? 
 Usurie. 
 Yes, Madam ; I was seruaunt unto her, and lined there in blisse. 
 
 Lucar. 
 But why camest thou into England, seeing Venise is a Cittie 
 Where Usery by Lucar may Hue in great glory. 
 
 Usery. 
 I haue often heard your good graundmother tell. 
 That she had in England a daughter, which her farre did excell ; 
 And that England was suche a place for Lucar to bide, 
 As was not in Europe and the whole world beside. 
 Then, lusting greatly to see you, the countrey, and she being dead, 
 I made haste to come ouer to seme you in her stead. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Gramercie, Userie ; and I doubt not but that you shal liue here as 
 
 [plesantly, 
 I, and pleasaunter too, if it may be. But, Simonie, from whence came 
 
 [ye, tell me ? 
 
The three Ladies of London. 173 
 
 Symonie, 
 My birth, nurserie and bringing vp hitherto hath bene in Rome, 
 
 [that auncient Religious Cittie. 
 On a time the Monkes and Fryers made a banquet, whereunto they 
 
 [inuited me, 
 With certaine other some English merchauntes, whiche behke were 
 
 [of their famiharitie ; 
 So, talking of many matters, amongst others one began to debate 
 Of the aboundant substaunce still brought to that state. 
 Some said the encrease of their substaunce and wealth 
 Came from other Princes, and was brought thether by stealth : 
 But the Friars and Monkes, with all the ancient company. 
 Said that it first came, and is now vpholden by me Symony ; 
 Whiche the Englishe Merchantes gaue eare too : then they flattered 
 
 [a little to much. 
 As English men can do for advantage, when increase it doth tutch ; 
 And being a shipbourd mery, and ouercome with drinke on a day, 
 The winde serued, they hoyst sayle and so brought me away : 
 And landing here, I heard in what great estimation you were. 
 Made bold to your honour to make my repayre. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Well Symonie, I thanke thee ; but as for Fraud and Dissimulation, 
 I know their long continuance and after what fashion. 
 Therefore, Dissimulation, you shalbe my Steward, 
 An office that euery mans case by you must be preferred. 
 And you, Fraud, shall be my rent-gatherer, my leater of Leases, and 
 
 [my purchaser of Land, 
 .So that many olde bribes will come to thy hand. 
 And, Userie, because I knowe you be trustie, you shall be my 
 
 [Secretary, 
 To deale amongest Merchantes, to bargen and exchaunge money. 
 And Symony, because you are a slie fellow, and haue your tongue 
 
 [liberal, 
 I will place you ouer such matters as are Ecclesiasticall. 
 
174 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 And though we appoint sundry offices, where now ye are in. 
 Yet joyntly we meane to vse you together oftimes in one thing. 
 
 All. 
 Lady, we rest at your commaund in ought we can or may. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Then, Maister Dauy, to my Pallas haste thee awaie. 
 And will craftie Conveyaunce, my butler, to make readie 
 The best fare in the house to welcome thee and thy companie. 
 But stale, Dissimulation, I my selfe will go with thee. 
 Gentlemen, He goe before ; but pray in any case. 
 So soone as ye please, resorte to my place. 
 
 [Eweunt Dissim. and Lucar, 
 Symonie. 
 I warrant you, Ladie, we will not long absent be. 
 
 Usery. 
 Fellow Symonie, this fell out patt, so well as heart could wish. 
 We are cunning Anglers : we have caught the fattest fish. 
 I perceaue it is true that her graundmother tould. 
 Here is good to be done by vse of siluer and gould. 
 And sith I am so well settled in this Countrey, 
 I wil pinche al, riche and poore, that come to me. 
 
 Si/monie. 
 And Sirra, when I was at Rome, and dwelt in the Friarie, 
 They would talke how England yearly sent ouer a great masse of 
 
 [monie, 
 And that this little Hand was more worth to the Pope, 
 Then three bigger Realmes which had a great deale more scope ; 
 For here were smoke pence, Peter pence, and Powle pence to be paide. 
 Besides muche other money that to the Popes vse was made. 
 Why, it is but lately since the Pope receiued this fine. 
 Not muche more than 26 yeares j it was in Queene Maries time. 
 But I thinke England had neuer knowen what this geare had meant. 
 If Frier Austen from the Pope had not hither bene sent ; 
 For the Pope, hearing it to be a little Hand, sent him with a great 
 
 [armie over, 
 
The three Ladies of London. 1 75 
 
 And winning the victory, hee landed about Rye, Sandwiche, or Dover : 
 Then he erected Lawes, hauing the people in subjection ; 
 So for the most part England hath paide tribute so long. 
 I, hearing of the great store and wealth in the countrie. 
 Could not chuse but perswade my selfe the people loued Symonie. 
 
 Usery. 
 But stale your taike till some other time : we forget my Ladie. 
 
 Symonie. 
 Of troth you say true, for she bad vs make haste : 
 But my talke, me thought, sauoured well, and had a good taste. 
 
 [Exeunt amho. 
 Enter Mercadore, like an Italian Merchant, 
 Mercadore. 
 I judge in my minde a, dat me be not vare farr 
 From da place where dwels my Lady Lucar. 
 But he come an shently mane, a soe he doe. 
 Enter Dissimulation. 
 Shentleman, I praie you heartely, let me speake you. 
 Pray you, doe you not know a shentleman dat Maister Dauy doe call ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Yes, mary, doe I : I am he, and what woidd you withall ? 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Gooda my frend, Maister Dauy, helpe me, pray you hartely. 
 For a summa acquaintaunce a with Madona Lucar, your Lady. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Sir, upon condition I will : therfore I would you should know. 
 That on me and my fellowes you must largely bestow ; 
 Whose names are Fraud,. Usery and Symony, men of great credite 
 
 [and calling. 
 And to get my Ladies goodwill and theirs it is no small thing. 
 But tell me, can you be content to winne Lucar by Dissimulation ? 
 
 Mercadore. 
 A, gooda my friend, doe axa me no shush a question. 
 For he dat will Hue in the world must be of the world sure ; 
 
1 76 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 And de world will loue his own so long as the world indure. 
 
 Enter Lucar. 
 Dissimulation. 
 I commend your wit, Sir ; but here comes my Lady. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Come hither : heers to tree Crownes for de speke me. 
 
 Dissimulation, 
 Well, sir, I thanke you : I will goe speake for you. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Maister Dauy Dissimulation, what new acquaintance haue ye 
 
 [gotten there ? 
 Dissimulation, 
 Such a one, Madam, that vnto your state hath great care ; 
 And surely in my minde the Gentleman is worthie 
 To be well thought on for his liberalitie, bountie, and great care to 
 
 [seek yee. 
 Lucar, 
 Gentleman, you are hartly welcome : howe are you called ? I pray 
 
 [you tell us. 
 Mercadore. 
 Madona, me be a Mershant, and be cald senior Merkadorus. 
 
 Lucar, 
 But, I pray you, tell me what Countriman ? 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Me be, Madona, an Italian. 
 
 Lucar, 
 Yet let me trouble ye : I beseeche ye whence came ye ? 
 
 Mercadore. 
 For sarua voutra boungrace, me come from Turkic. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Gramercie : but senior Mercadore, dare you not to vndertake 
 Secretlie to conuey good commodities out of this countrey for my 
 
 [sake ? 
 
The three Ladies of London. 177 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Madona, me doe for loue of you tink no paine to mush. 
 And to doe any ting for you me will not grush : 
 Me will a forsake a my Fader, Moder, King, Coimtrey, and more 
 
 [den dat ; 
 Me will lie and forsweare me selfe for a quarter so much as my hat. 
 What is dat for loue of Lucar me dare, or will not doe ? 
 Me care not for all the world, the great Deuill, nay, make my God 
 
 [angry for you. 
 Lucar, 
 You say well, Mercadorus ; yet Lucar by this is not thorowly wonne : 
 But giue eare, and I will shew what by thee must be done. 
 Thou must carry over Wheate, Pease, Barley, Oates, and Fitches, 
 
 [and all kinde of graine, 
 Whiche is well sould beyond sea, and bring suche merchauntes great 
 
 [gaine. 
 Then, thou must carie, beside. Leather, Tallow, Beefe, Bacon, Bel- 
 
 [mettell and euery thing, 
 And for these good commodities trifles into Englande thou must bring ; 
 As Bugles to make babies, coloured bones, glasse beades to make 
 
 [bracelettes withall. 
 For euery day Gentlewomen of England doe aske for suche trifles 
 
 [from stall to stall : 
 And you must bring more, as Amber, Jeat, Corall, Christall, and euerie 
 
 [such bable 
 That is slight, prettie and pleasant : they care not to haue it profitable. 
 And if they demaund, wherefore your wares and merchandize agree. 
 You must say Jeat wUl take vp a strawe. Amber will make one fat, 
 Corrall wiU looke pale when you be sick, and ChristaU staunch blood. 
 So with lying, flattering and glosing you must vtter your ware, 
 And you shall winne me to your will, if you can deceitfully sweare. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Tinke ye not dat me haue carried ouer come Ledar, Beefe, and 
 
 [Bacon too, all tis while ? 
 z 
 
178 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 And brought hedar many hables dese cuntrimen to beguile ? 
 Yes ; shall me tell you, Madona ? me and my cuntrimans haue sent 
 
 [over 
 Bell mettell for make ordinance, yea, and ordinance it selfe beside, 
 Dat my cuntry and oder cuntreys be so well fiimisht as dis country, 
 
 [and has never beene spide. 
 Lucar. 
 Now I perceiue you loue me ; and if you continue in this still. 
 You shall not onely be with me, but command me when and where 
 
 [you will. 
 Mercadore 
 Lady, for to do all dis and more for you me be content ; 
 But I tinke some skall knave will put a bill in da Parlament, 
 For dat such a tings shall not be brought here. 
 
 Lucar, 
 Tush, Mercadore ; I warrant thee, thou needest not to feare. 
 What and one do ? there is some other will flatter, and say 
 They do no hurt to the cuntry, and with a sleight fetch that bill away. 
 And if they doe not, so that by acte of Parlament it be past, 
 I know you Merchants haue many a sleight and subtill cast. 
 So that you will by stealth bring ouer great store. 
 And say it was in the Realme a long time before. 
 For beeing so many of these trifles heere, as there are at this day. 
 You may increase them at pleasure when you send ouer sea ; 
 And do but giue the searcher an odde bribe in his hand, 
 I warrant you, he will let you scape roundly with such things in and 
 
 [out the land. 
 But, Senior Mercadore, I pray you walke in with me, 
 And as I find you kind to me, so wiU I fauour ye. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Me tanke you, my good Lady. — But, M. Dissimulation, heare is for 
 your fellowes, Fraud, Usury and Symony, and say me giue it dem. 
 
 [.Exeunt Lucar and Mercadore. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 179 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 I many, Sir, these bribes haue [welcome] beene. 
 Good faith, I perceiue, Dissimulation, Fraud, Usurie and Symony 
 
 [shall live 
 In spite of Love and Conscience, though their harts it doth greeve. 
 Mas, maisters, he that cannot lie, cog, dissemble and flatter now a 
 
 [dales 
 Is not worthie to Hue in the world, nor in the Court to haue praise. 
 Enter Artifex, an Artificer. 
 Artifex. 
 I beseech you, good M. Dissimulation, befrend a poore man 
 To serue Lady Lucar j and sure. Sir, ile consider it hereafter, if I can. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 What, consider me ? doest thou thinke that I am a bribe taker ? 
 Faith, it lies not in me to further thy matter. 
 
 Artifex. 
 Good, M. Dissimulation, helpe me : I am almost quite undoone ; 
 But yet my liuing hitherto with Conscience I haue woonne. 
 But my true woorking, my early rising, and my late going to bed 
 Is scant able to find my selfe, wife and children, drie bread : 
 For there be such a sort of straungers in this cuntry. 
 That worke fine to please the eie, though it be deceitfully ; 
 And that which is slight, and seemes to the eie well. 
 Shall sooner then a peece of good worke be proffered to sell ; 
 And our english men be growne so foolish and nice. 
 That they will not give a peny aboue the ordinarie price. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Faith, I cannot helpe thee : tis my fellow Fraude must pleasure thee. 
 Heere comes my fellow Fraud : speake to him, and ile do what I can. 
 
 Enter Fraude. 
 Artifex. 
 I beseech you be good imto me, right honest gentleman. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Why, and whereto ? what wouldest thou haue me do ? 
 
180 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Artifex. 
 That my poore estate you will so much prefar. 
 As to get me to be a workman to Lady Lucar ; 
 And, sir, I doubt not but to please you so well for your paine, 
 That you shall thinke very well of me, if I in her seruice remaine. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Good fellow Fraud, do so much, for I see he is very willing to Hue, 
 And some peece of worke to thee for thy paines he will giue. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Well, upon that condition I will ; but I care not so much for his 
 
 [gifts. 
 As that he will by my name declare how he came by his great thrifts. 
 And that he wiU sette out in euery kind of thing. 
 That Fraud is a good husband, and great profit doth bring. 
 Therefore, the next peece of worke that thou doest make, 
 Let me see how deceitfull thou wilt do it for my sake. 
 
 Artifex. 
 Yes, I will, sir ; of that be you sure : 
 He honor your name while life doth endure. 
 
 Dissimulation 
 Fellow Fraud, here comes a Cittizen, as I deerae. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Nay, rather a Lawier, or some petty fogger he doth seeme. 
 Enter a Lawyer. 
 Lawyer. 
 Gentlemen, my earnest suite is to desire yee. 
 That vnto your Ladies seraice you would helpe mee ; 
 For I am an Attorney of the Law, and pleeder at the Bar, 
 And haue a great desire to plead for Ladie Lucar. 
 I haue beene earnest. Sir, as is needfull in such a case. 
 For feare an other come before me and obtaine my place. 
 I haue pleaded for Loue and Conscience till I was wearie : 
 I had manie Clyants, and manie matters that made my purse light, 
 
 [and my hart heauie : 
 
The three Ladies of London. 181 
 
 Therefore, let them pleade for Conscience that Ust for me ; 
 He plead no more for such as brings nothing but beggerie. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Sir, upon this condition that you will keepe men in the law 
 Ten or twelue yeeres for matters that are not worth a straw, 
 And that you will make an ill matter seeme good and firmable 
 
 [in deede. 
 Faith, I am content for my part you shall speed* 
 
 Fraud. 
 Nay, fellow, thou knowest that Symonie and Usery hath an ill 
 
 [matter in law at this time ; 
 Now, if thou canst handell the matter so subtil and fine, 
 As to pleade that ill matter good and firmable at the Bar, 
 Then thou shalt shew thy selfe worthie to win Lady Lucar. 
 Therefore, tell me if you can and will do it or no ? 
 Yf you do it, be sure to get my Ladies good will ere you goe. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 By my honestie well remembred : I had quite forgot ; 
 Tis about that a fortnight ago fell out, the matter I wot. 
 
 Lawyer. 
 Tush, sir, I can make blacke white, and white blacke againe. 
 Tut, he that will be a Lawyer must have a thousand waies to faine : 
 And manie times we Lawiers do one befreend an other, 
 And let good matters slip : tut, we agree like brother and brother. 
 Why, Sir, what shall let us to wrest and tume the Law as we list. 
 Seeing we have them printed in the palmes of our fist ? 
 Therefore, doubt you not, but make bold report 
 That I came and will plead their ill cause in good kind of sort. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Of troth, how likest thou this fellow. Dissimulation ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Mary, I like him wel : he is a cunning Clarke, and one of our 
 
 [profession. 
 But come, Sir ; go with us, and we wil prefer you. 
 
182 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Artifex, 
 Good M. Fraud, remember me. 
 
 Fraud, 
 Leaue thy prating : I will, I tell thee. 
 
 Artifex. 
 Good M. Dissimulation, thinke on me. 
 Dissimulation, 
 Thou art too importunate and greedie. 
 
 Fraud, 
 Come after dinner, or some other time, when we are at leysure. 
 
 [Dissim. Fraud and Lawyer exeunt. 
 Artifex. 
 Come after dinner, or some other time ; I thinke so indeed. 
 For full litle do they thinke of a poore mans need. 
 These fellowes will do nothing for pittie and loue. 
 And thrise happy are they that hath no need them to proue. 
 God he knowes the world is growne to such a stay, 
 That men must vse Fraud and Dissimulation too, or beg by the way. 
 Therefore, He do as the most doth ; the fewest shall laugh me to scorne. 
 And be a fellow amongst good fellowes to hold by S. Lukes home. 
 
 \Exit. 
 Enter Simplicitie and Sinceritie. 
 Sinceritie. 
 Good coossen, Simplicitie, do somewhat for me. 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 Yes, faith, coosen Sinceritie, He do any thing for thee. 
 What wouldst for me to do for thee ? canst tell that ? 
 
 [^Sincerities 
 Mas, I cannot tell what shouldst do for me, except thou wouldst 
 
 [giue me a new hat. 
 Simplicitie. 
 Alas ! I am not able to giue thee a new. 
 Why, I maruell then how thou doest doe : 
 Doest thou get thy liuing amongst beggars, from doore to doore ? 
 
The three Ladies of London. 1 83 
 
 Indeed, coossen Sinceritie, I had thought thou wast not so poore. 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 Nay, coossen SimpHcitie, I got my liuing hardly, but yet I hope just, 
 And witli good Conscience, too, although I am restrained from my lust. 
 But this is it, coosen SimpHcitie, I would request you to do for me. 
 Which is to get Lady Loue and Lady Conscience hand to a letter. 
 That by their meanes I may get some Benefice, to make mee hue the 
 
 [better. 
 SimpHcitie, 
 Yes ; He doe so much for thee, coossen ; but hast thou any heere ? 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 I, behold they are ready drawne, if assined they were. 
 
 [Let /SimpHcitie make as though he read it, and looke 
 quite ouer ; meane while let Conscience enter. 
 SimpHcitie. 
 Let me see, coossen, for I can read. 
 Mas, tis brauely doone : didst thou it indeede ? 
 Mistris Conscience, I haue a matter to bequest you too. 
 
 Conscience. 
 What ist ? I doubt not but tis some wise thing, if it be for you. 
 
 SimpHcitie. 
 Mary, my cossen Sinceritie wad desire to scribe these papers here. 
 That he may get some preferment, but I know not where. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Be these your letters ? what would you haue me do, and how shal 
 
 [I cal yee ? 
 Sinceritie. 
 Lady, my name is Sinceritie. 
 
 Conscience. 
 And from whence come ye ? 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 I came from Oxford, but in Cambridge I [studied late ;] 
 Having nothing, thought good, if I could, to make better my state : 
 But if I had, in steede of Divinitie, the Lawe, Astronomic, Astrologie, 
 
184 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Phisiognomie, Palmestrie, Arithmetike, Logicke, Musicke, Phisicke, 
 
 [or any such thing, 
 I had not doubted, then, but to haue had some better huing. 
 But Diuines, that preach the word of God sincerely and truly, 
 Are in these dayes httle or nothing at all set by. 
 God grant the good Preachers be not taken away for our unthank- 
 
 [fulnes : 
 There neuer was more preaching and lesse following, the people hue 
 
 [so amisse. 
 But what is he that may not on the saboth day attend to heare Gods 
 
 [word. 
 But he will rather runne to bowles, sit at the alehouse than one 
 
 [houre aflFoord, 
 TelUng a tale of Robin hoode, sitting at Gardes, playing at kettels, or 
 
 [some other vaine thing, 
 That I feare Gods vengeance on our heades it will bring. 
 God graunt amendment ! But, Lady Conscience, I pray. 
 In my behalfe unto Lucar do what ye may. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Mas, my coossen can say his booke well : I had not thought it. 
 He's worthy to haue a Benefice, and it will hit. 
 
 Conscience. 
 God be blessed, Sinceritie, for the good comfort I haue of thee : 
 I would it lay in vs to pleasure such, beleeue me. 
 We will do what we can ; but ultra posse non est esse, you know : 
 It is Lucar that hath brought us poore soules so low ; 
 For we haue sould our house, we are brought so poore. 
 And feare by her shortly to be shut out of doore. 
 Yet to subscribe our name we will with all our hart : 
 Perchaunce for our sakes some thing she will impart. 
 Come hither, Simplicitie ; let me write on thy backe. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Here is the right picture of that fellow that sits in the comer. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 185 
 
 Enter Hospitalitie, while she is writing. 
 Hospitalitie, 
 Lady, me thinkes you are busie. 
 
 Conscience. 
 I have done, sir. I was setting my hand to a letter to Lucar for 
 
 [our freend Sinceritie. 
 But I would Ladie Loue were heere too. 
 
 Hospitalitie 
 She is at home with me ; but, if it please, so much in her behalf I 
 
 [wil doo. 
 Conscience. 
 I praye hartily, and it shall suffice the turne well inow. 
 Good Simplicitie, once more thy body do bow. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 I thinke I shall seme to be a washing blocke for you. 
 I would do it for you, but I am afraid yonder boy will mocke me. 
 
 Hospitalitie. 
 No ; I warrant thee. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Here, take thy letters, Sinceritie ; and I wish them prosperous to 
 
 [thee. 
 Sinceritie. 
 I yeeld you most hartie thanks, my good Ladie. 
 
 Hospitalitie. 
 Ladie Conscience, pleaseth it you to walke home to dinner with me ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 I geue you thankes, my good freend Hospitalitie ; 
 But I pray, sir, haue you inuited to dinner any straunger ? 
 
 Hospitalitie, 
 No sure ; none but Lady Loue, and 3 or 4 honest neighbors. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Mas, my lady is gotten to dinner alreadie : 
 I beleeve she rose at ten a clocke, she is so bungrie. 
 
 A A 
 
186 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 What and I should come to dinner, hast thou anie good cheere ? 
 
 Hospitalities 
 I haue bread and beare, one joynt of meat, and welcome, thy best fare. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, art thou cald Hospitalitie, and hast no better cheare then 
 
 [that ? 
 He tell thee, if thou hast no more meat for so manie, theile nere be fat. 
 What if my coossen, nay, I my selfe alone to dinner should come, 
 Where should my Lady and the rest dine, for I could eate up every 
 
 [croom ? 
 Thou art an olde miser : doest thou keepe no better fare in thy house ? 
 Hast thou no greate Bagge Pudding, nor Hogges face that is called 
 
 [Sowse ? 
 Hospitalitie. 
 My freende, Hospitalitie doth not consiste in great fare and 
 
 [banqueting. 
 But in dooing good unto the poore, and to yeelde them some 
 
 [refreshing ; 
 Therefore, thou and Sinceritie will come and take part : 
 Such as I haue He giue you with a free and willing hart. 
 
 [Exeunt Hospitalitie and Conscience. 
 Simplicitie. 
 He speakes well, coossen ; lets go to dinner with him. 
 The olde man shall not thinke but we will pleasure him. 
 Faith, he might have richer fellowes then we to take his part. 
 But he shall neuer haue better eating fellowes, if hee would swelte 
 
 [his hart. 
 Here be them that will eate with the proudest of them ; 
 I am sure my mother said I could eate so much as fiue men. 
 Nay, I haue a gift for eating, I tell yee. 
 
 For our Maides would neuer beleeue I put all the meate in my bellie. 
 But I haue spide a knaue, my Ladie Lucars cogging man. 
 Giue me your letters, coossen ; He prefar ye if I can. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 187 
 
 Enter Dissimulation. 
 Sinceritie, 
 . Dissimulation ! out upon him ! he shall be no spokeman for me. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why then you are a foole, coossen Sinceritie. 
 Giue me am ; I tell ye, I know hele do it for me. 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 Seeing thou wilt haue it, heere receiue it ; but yet it greeues my hart 
 That this dissembling wretch should speake on my part. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Heare ye, sir ; I would request to liuer this letter 
 To your good wholesome mistris, Ladie Lucar. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 "Where hadst thou it, tell me ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Marie, of my coossen Sinceritie. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Why, I haue nothing to do in it ; tis not to me thou shouldst come : 
 I haue not to doe with Sincerities matters ; tis my fellow Symonies 
 
 [roome. 
 Sinceritie. 
 Thou art a kinne to the lawyer; thou wilt doo nothing without a fee : 
 But thou, Fraude, Usurie, nor yet Symonie, shall doe nothing for me. 
 And thou wilt do it, do it ; and thou wilt not, chuse. 
 But thee and their dealing I hate and refuse. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Why, and I am not bound to thee so farre as knaue goe, 
 And, therefore, in despite of thee and thy coossen, there thy letters be. 
 What, thinkest thou by captious words to make me doo it ? 
 Let them deliuer your Letters that hath a stomacke to it. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Faith, coossen, he^s such a testren and proud sembling knaue. 
 That hele do nothing, les some briberie he haue. 
 There's a great many such promoting Knaues, that gets their liuing 
 
188 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 With nothing els but facing, lying, swearing and flattering. 
 Why, hee has a face hke a black Dogge, and blusheth Uke the backe 
 
 [side of a chimney. 
 Twas not for nothing thy Godfathers a cogging name gaue thee. 
 
 Enter Lady Lucar. 
 But here comes his Mistrisse, Ladie Lucar : 
 Now, coossen. He liuer your letter. 
 Mistrisse Lady Lucar, heere's a letter for yee. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Hast thou a letter for me ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Yes, by Saint Marie. 
 How say you, coossen ? she reades your letter : 
 And you can flatter, perhaps, you shall speede better. 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 Thou speakest the truth, Simplicitie, for flatterers nowe a daies 
 Liue Gentlemen-Hke, and with prating get praise. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Sir, I haue read the tenure of your letter, wherein 1 finde 
 That at the request of Loue and Conscience I should shew my selfe 
 
 [kind. 
 In bestowing some spirituall huing on ye, parsonage or Benefice : 
 It seemes it stands greatly in neede, as appeares by this. 
 And, trust me, I would do for you, but it lies not in mee. 
 For I haue referred all such matters to my seruant Symonie. 
 You must speake to him, and if you can get his good will. 
 Then be sure of mine their minds to fulfill. 
 
 Sinceritie, 
 Ladie, I shall neuer get his good will, because I want abilitie. 
 For he will do nothing except I bring monie. 
 And if you graunt it not, then, tis past all doubt, 
 I shall be neuer the better, but go quite without. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Madam, I can tell you what you may giue. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 189 
 
 Not hurting your selfe, whereby he may Hue, 
 And without my fellowe Symonies consent. 
 If to followe my minde you are anie whit bent. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Pray thee what is it ? thou knowest, while for their house I am in 
 
 [bargaining, 
 And it be neuer so little, I must seeme to do some thing. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Why, haue you not the parsonage of S. Nihil to bestowe ? 
 If you giue him that, Symonie shall neuer knowe. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Indeed thou saiest true. Draw neere, Sinceritie : 
 Loe, for their sakes I will bestowe frankly on thee. 
 He giue thee the parsonage of saint Nihil to pleasure them withall. 
 And such another to it, if thou watch till it fall. 
 
 SimpUcitie, 
 My ladie axes you when you will take possession of your house, and 
 
 [lend the rest of the money. 
 Lucar. 
 What, are they so hastie ? belike they spent it merily. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 Faith no ; for they would eate it, if they could get it when they are a 
 
 [hungrie. 
 But you may be happie, for you haue sped well to day : 
 
 [^Speaking to Sinceritie. 
 You may thanke God and good companie that you came this way. 
 The Parsonage of S. Michels ; bir Ladie, if you haue nothing els. 
 You shall be sure of a liuing, beside a good ring of Bels. 
 Coossen, He tell thee what thou shalt do: sell the bels, and make monie. 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 Thou maiest well be SimpUcitie, for thou shewest thy foUie. 
 I haue a Parsonage, but what ? of S. Nihil ; and Nihil is nothing : 
 Then, where is the Church, or any Belles for to ring ? 
 Thou vnderstandest her not : she was set for to flout. 
 
1 90 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 I thought comming in their names I should go without. 
 Tis easie to see that Lucar loves not Loue and Conscience ; 
 But God, I trust, will one day yeeld her just recompence. 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 Coossen, you said that some thing to me you would giue, 
 When you had gotten preferment of Lucar, to liue ; 
 And, I trust, you will remember your poore coossen Simplicitie : 
 You know to Lady Conscience, and ery bodie, I did speake for you. 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 Good Simplicitie, holde thy peace : my state is yet naught. 
 I will helpe thee, sure, if euer I get ought. 
 But heere comes Sir Nicholas Nemo : to him I will go. 
 And see if for their sakes he will any thing bestow. 
 Enter Sir Nicholas Nemo. 
 Nemo. 
 You come from Loue and Conscience, as seemeth me heere, 
 My speciall good freends, whome I account of most deere : 
 And you are called Sinceritie ; your state shewes the same. 
 You are welcome to me for their sakes, and for your owne name ; 
 And for their sakes you shall see what I will do for you 
 Without Dissimulation, Fraud, Usurie or Symonie ; 
 For they will do nothing without some kind of gaine, 
 Such cankered corruption in their harts doth remaine. 
 But come in to dinner with me, and when you haue dinde 
 
 You shall haue 
 
 [Presently go out. 
 Sinceritie. 
 You shall haue, — but what ? a liuing that is blowne downe with 
 
 [the winde. 
 Simplicitie. 
 Now, coossen, dismember your freends, seeing two linings you haue, 
 One that this man promist, and another that Lady Lucar gaue. 
 Mas, youl be a jolly man, and you had three or foure more : 
 Lets beg apace, coossen, and we shall get great store. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 191 
 
 Do thou get some more letters, and He get them scribed of Mistris 
 
 [Loue and Conscience, 
 And wele go beg livings togither : wele beg no small pence. 
 How saiest thou, coossen, Sinceritie ? wut do so mich ? 
 If we can speake faire and semble, we shalbe plaguie rich. 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 Good Simplicitie, content thee : I am neuer the better for this. 
 But must offeree leave oflF, for I see how vaine it is. 
 It bootes not Sinceritie to sue for releife : 
 So few regard, that to me is a greefe. 
 This was Nicholas Nemo, and no man hath no place : 
 Then, how can I speede well in this heauie case ? 
 And no man bid me to dinner, when shall I dine ? 
 Or how shall I finde him, where, when, and at what time ? 
 Wherefore the reliefe I haue had, and shall haue, is small ; 
 But to speake truth, the reliefe is nothing at all. 
 But come, Simplicitie, let us go see what may bee had. 
 Sinceritie in these dales was, sure, borne to be sad. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Come, lets go to dinner, coossen, for the Gentleman, I think, hath 
 
 [almost dinde 
 But and I do get vittals enough. He warrant you, I will not be behinde. 
 
 Sinceritie. 
 What if thou canst not get it, then, how wilt thou eate ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Mary, on this fashion ; with both hands at once, ye shall see when 
 
 [I get meate. 
 Sinceritie. 
 Why, his name was Nemo, and Nemo hath no being. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 I beleeue, coossen, you be not hungrie, that you stand prating. 
 Faith, He go do him a pleasure, because he hath neede. 
 Why, and he will needes haue meate eate, a shall see how He feede. 
 I beleeue he will not bid me come againe to him : 
 
1 92 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 MaSj and he do, a shall find a feUow that has his eating. 
 
 [Exeunt ambo. 
 Enter Usury and Conscience, 
 Usury. 
 Lady Conscience, is there any body within your house, can you 
 
 [tell ? 
 Conscience, 
 There is no body at all, be ye sure : I know certainly well. 
 
 Usury. 
 You know, when one comes to take possession of anie peece of 
 
 [Land, 
 There must not bee one wdthin, for against the order of Lawe it doth 
 
 [stand. 
 Therefore, I thought good to ask you ; but I pray you thinke not 
 
 [amisse. 
 For bothe you, and almost all others knowes, that an olde custome 
 
 [it is. 
 Conscience, 
 You say truth : take possession when you please ; good leaue I 
 
 [render ye. 
 Doubt you not ; there is neither man, woman, nor childe that will, or 
 
 [shall hinder you. 
 Usury, 
 Why then, I wiU be bould to enter. [Exit. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Who is more bould then Usurie to venter ? 
 He maketh the matter daungerous, where is no neede at all. 
 But he thinkes it not perillous to seeke euerie mans fall. 
 Both he and Lucar hath so pincht us, we know not what to doe : 
 Were it not for Hospitalitie, we knew not whither to goe. 
 Great is the miserie that we poore ladies abide. 
 And much more is the crueltie of Lucar and Userie beside. 
 O Conscience, thou eirt not accounted of; O Loue, thou art Uttle set 
 
 [by. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 1 93 
 
 For almost every one true loue and pure conscience doth denye : 
 So hath Lucar crept into the bosome of man, woman, and childe, 
 That euery one doth practise his deare friend to beguile. 
 But God graunt Hospitalitie be not by them ouer prest. 
 In whome all our stale and chiefest comfort doth rest : 
 But Usery hates Hospitahtie, and cannot him abide, 
 Because he for the poore and comfortlesse doth prouide. 
 Here he comes that hath vndone many an honest man. 
 And daily seekes to destroy, deface, and bring to mine, if he can. 
 Now sir, haue you taken possession, as youre deare Lady wild you ? 
 
 Enter Usurie. 
 Usurie. 
 I have done it, and I thinke you haue receaued your money. 
 But this to you : my Lady wild me to bid you prouide some other 
 
 [house out of hand. 
 For she would not by her will haue Loue and Conscience to dwell 
 
 [in her land. 
 Therefore, I would wish you to prouide ye ; 
 So ye should saue charges, for a lesse house may serue. 
 
 Conscience. 
 I pray you hartily, let us stale there, and we wil be content 
 To geue you ten pound a yeare, which is the olde rent. 
 
 Usury. 
 Tenne pound a yeare ! that were a stale jeast, 
 Yf I should take the olde rent to follow your request. 
 Nay, after fortie pounde a yeare you shall haue it for a quarter, 
 And you may thinke, too, I greatly befreend ye in this matter : 
 But no longer then for a quarter to you lie set it, 
 For perhaps my Ladie shall sell it, or els to some other will let it. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Well, sith we are driuen to this hard and bitter drift. 
 We accept it, and are contented to make bare and hard shift. 
 
 Usury. 
 Then, get you gone, and see at a day your rent be readie. 
 
 B B 
 
194 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Conscience. 
 We must have patience perforce, seeing there is no remedie. 
 
 [Exit Conscience. 
 Usury. 
 What a foole was I : it repentes me I haue let it so reasonable ! 
 I might so well have had after threescore, as suche a trifle ; 
 For, seeing they were distressed, they would haue geuen largely. 
 I was a right sot ; but He be ouerseene no more, beleue me. 
 
 Enter Mercadore. 
 Mercadore. 
 Ah, my good a friend M. Usurie, by my trot you be very well 
 
 [mette. 
 Me be muche behoulding vnto you for your good will ; me be in your 
 
 [debt. 
 But a me take a your part so much against a scalde olde chirle, cald 
 
 [Hospitalitie, 
 Did speake against you, and sayes you bring good honest men to 
 
 [beggerie. 
 Usurie. 
 I thanke, [you] sir. Did he speake such euill of me as you now say ? 
 I doubt not but to reward him for his trecherie one day. 
 
 Mercadore, 
 But I pray, tell a me how fare a my Ladie all dis while ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 Marie, verie, sir : and here she comes, if my selfe I do not beguile. 
 
 Enter Imcar. 
 Lucar. 
 What, seneor Mercadore ! I haue not scene you many a day : 
 I maruel what is the cause you kept so long away. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Shall me say you, Madama, dat me haue had much businesse for 
 
 [you in hand. 
 For send away good commodities out of dis little Countrey, England : 
 Mee haue now sent ouer Brasse, Copper, Pe^'ter, and many odar ting. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 195 
 
 And for dat me shall ha for gentlewomans fine trifles, that great pro- 
 
 [fite will bring. 
 Lucar. 
 I perceaue you haue bene mindful! of me, for whiche I thanke yee. 
 But, Userie, tell me, how haue you spedde in that you went about ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 Indifferently, lady, you neede not to doubt. 
 I haue taken possession, and because they were destitute, 
 I have leat it for a quarter, my tale to conclude. 
 Marry, I haue a Uttle raised the rent, but it is but after forty pound 
 
 [by the yeare ; 
 But if it were to let now, I woidd let it more deare. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Indeede, tis but a trifle ; it makes no matter : 
 I force not greatly, being but for a quarter. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Madona, me tell ye vat you shall do; let dem to straunger, dat 
 
 [are content 
 To dwell in a httle roome, and to pay muche rent : 
 For you know da frenchmans and fleminges in dis countrey be many. 
 So dat they make shift to dwell ten houses in one very gladly; 
 And be content a for pay fiftie or three score pound a yeare 
 For dat whiche da English mans say twenty marke is to deare. 
 
 Lucar, 
 Why, senior Mercadore, thinke you not that I 
 Haue infinite numbers in London that my want doth supply ? 
 Beside in Bristow, Northampton, Norwich, Weschester, Caunter- 
 
 [bury, 
 Doner, Sandwich, Rie, Porchmouth, Plimmoth, and many mo. 
 That great rentes upon little roome doe bestow ? 
 Yes, I warrant you ; and truely I may thanke the straungers for this. 
 That they haue made houses so deare, whereby I hue in blisse. 
 But, senior Mercadore, dare you to trauell vndertake. 
 And goe amongst the Moores, Turkes and Pagans for my sake ? 
 
196 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Madona, me dare go to de Turkes, Moores, Paganes, and more too : 
 What do me care and me go to da great deuill for you ? 
 Commaund a me, Maddam, and you sail see plaine, 
 Dat a for your sake me refuse a no paine. 
 
 Lucar, 
 Then, senior Mercadore, I am forthwith to send ye 
 From hence, to search for some new toyes in Barhary and in Turky ; 
 Such trifles as you thinke will please wantons best. 
 For you know in this Countrey tis their chiefest request. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 Indeede, de gentlewomans heere buy so much vaine toyes, 
 Dat we straungers laugh a to tinke wherein day haue their Joyes. 
 Fayt, Madona, me will searche all da straunge countreys me can tell. 
 But me will haue sush tings dat please dese gentlewomans veil. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Why then, let us prouide thinges ready to haste you away. 
 
 Mercadore. 
 A voutro commaundamento, Madona, me obay. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Symony and Peter Pleaseman, like a Parson. 
 Symony. 
 Now proceede with your tale, and He hear thee. 
 
 Peter. 
 And so sir, as I was about to tell you. 
 This same Fresco, and this same Cracko be both my parishioners 
 
 [nowe ; 
 And, sir, they fell out maruailously together about you : 
 This same Cracko tooke your part, and said that the Clergie 
 Was vpholden by you, and maintained very worshipfully. 
 So, sir. Fresco he woulde not graunt that in no case, 
 But said that you did corrupt the clergy and dishonor that holy place. 
 Now, sir, I was wearie to heare them at such great strife. 
 For I loue to please men, so long as I haue life : 
 
The three Ladies of London. 197 
 
 Therefore, I beseeche your maistership to speake to Lady Lucar, 
 That I may be her Chaphn, or else to serue her. 
 
 Symony, 
 What is your name ? 
 
 Peter. 
 Sir Peter. 
 
 Symony. 
 What more ? 
 
 Peter, 
 Forsooth, Pleaseman. 
 
 Symony. 
 Then, your name is Sir Peter Pleaseman ? 
 
 Peter. 
 I, forsooth. 
 
 Symx)ny. 
 And please woman, too, now and then ? 
 
 Peter. 
 You know that homo is indiflFerent. 
 
 Symony. 
 Now, surely, a good scholler in my judgement. 
 I pray, at what Uniuersitie were ye ? 
 
 Peter. 
 Of no Uniuersitie, truely. 
 Mary, I haue gone to schoole in a Colledge, where I haue studied two 
 
 [or three places of Diuinitie ; 
 And all for Lady Lucars sake, sir, you may steadfastly beleue me. 
 
 Symony. 
 Nay, I beleue ye. But of what reUgion are you, can ye tell ? 
 
 Peter. 
 Mary, sir, of all religions : I know not my selfe very well. 
 
 Symony. 
 You are a Protestant now, and I thinke to that you will graunt. 
 
 Peter. 
 Indeede I haue bene a Catholicke : mary, now for the most part, a 
 
 [Protestant. 
 
198 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 But and if my seniice may please her, harke in your eare, sir^ 
 I warrant you my Religion shall not oflFend her. 
 
 Symony. 
 You say well ; but if I helpe you to suche great preferment, 
 Would you be wilhng that for my paine 
 I shall haue yearely halfe the gaine ? 
 For it is reason, you know, that if I help you to a Uuing, 
 That you should vnto me be somewhat beholding. 
 
 Peter. 
 I, sir J and reason good ; He be as your maistership please : 
 I care not what you doe, so I may liue at ease. 
 
 Symony. 
 Then, this man is answered. Sir Peter Pleaseman, come in with me. 
 And He prefer you straight way to my Ladie. 
 
 Peter. 
 Oh, sir ! I thanke ye. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter SimpUcitie, with a basket on his Arme. 
 Simplicitie. 
 You thinke I am going to market to by rost meat, do ye not ? 
 I thought so ; but you are deceiued, for I wot what I wot. 
 I am neither going to the Butchers to buy Veale, Mutton, or Beefe, 
 But I am going to a bloudsucker ; and who is it r faith Userie, that 
 
 [theefe. 
 Why, Sirs, twas no marckle he undood my father, that was called 
 
 [plaine dealing. 
 When he has undone my Lady, and Conscience too, with his usering. 
 He teU ye, sirs, trust him not, for hele flatter bonacion and sore. 
 Till he has gotten the Bakers vantage ; then, hele turne you out of 
 
 [doore. 
 Enter Dissimulation. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Simplicitie, now of my honestie, very heartily well met. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 199 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 What, Semblation, sweare not; for thou swearest by that thou 
 
 [couldst not get. 
 Thou haue honestie now ? thy honestie is quite gone : 
 Mary, thou hadst honestie at xi of the clocke, and went from you at 
 
 [noone. 
 Why, how canst thou haue honestie, when it dare not come nye thee ? 
 I warrant, Semblation, he that has lesse honestie then thou may defie 
 
 [thee. 
 Thou hast honestie, sirreverence ! come out dogge, where art thou ? 
 Euen as much honestie as had my mothers great hoggish sow. 
 No faith, thou mast put out my eye with honestie, and thou hadst it 
 
 [here: 
 Hast not left it at the Alehouse in gage for a pot of strong beere ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Pray thee leaue prating, Simplicitie, and tell me what thou hast 
 
 [there. 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, tis nothing for thee : thou dost not deale with such kind of 
 
 [ware. 
 Sirra, there is no deceite in a bagge pudding, is there ? nor in a plaine 
 
 [pudding pie ? 
 But there is deceite, and knauerie too, in thy fellowe, that is called 
 
 [Userie. 
 Sirra, He tell thee ; I won not tell thee ; and yet He tell thee, nowe 
 
 [I member me too. 
 Canst tell, or wouldst know whither with this parlament I go ? 
 Faith, euen to suckswill, thy fellow Usurie, I am sent 
 With my Ladie Loues gowne, and Lady Conscience too, for a quarters 
 
 [rent. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Alas ! poore Lady Loue, art thou driuen so lowe ? 
 Some little pittance on thee He bestowe. 
 Holde, Simplicitie : carrie her three or foure Duckats from me. 
 
200 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 And commend me to her euen verie hartily. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Ducke egges ? yes, lie carry am, and twere as many as this woulde 
 
 [holde. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Tush ; thou knowest not what I meane : take this, tis golde. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Mas, tis golde in deede : why wilt thou sende awaie thy golde ? hast 
 
 [no more neede ? 
 I thinke thou art growne plaguie rich with thy dissembling trade. 
 But He Carrie my Lady the golde, for this will make her well apaide. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 And, Sirra, carrie Lady Loues gowne backe againe ; for my fellow 
 
 [Usurie 
 Shall not haue her gowne : I am sure so much he will befreend me. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 But what shal Conscience gowne do ? shall I carrie it backe againe 
 
 [too? 
 Dissimulation. 
 Nay, let Conscience gowne and skin to Usurie go. 
 If no body cared for Conscience more then I, 
 They would hang her up hke Bacon in a chimney to drie. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Faith, I told thee thou caredst not for Conscience, nor honestie : 
 I thinke, in deede it will neuer be the death of thee. 
 But He go conspatch my arrant so soone as I can, I tell ye. 
 For now I ha gold, I would faine haue some good meat in my bellie. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Nay, He hie me after, that I may send backe Lady Loues gowne. 
 For I would not haue Loue bought quite out of towne.' 
 Mary, for Conscience, tut, I care not twoo strawes : 
 Why I should take care for her I knowe no kind of cause. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 201 
 
 Enter Hospitalitie. 
 Hospitalitie. 
 Oh, what shall I say ? Usurie hath undone me, and nowe he hates 
 
 [mee to the death, 
 And seekes by all meanes possible for to bereaue me of breath. 
 I cannot rest in anie place, but he hunts and folio wes me euerie where, 
 That I know no place to abide, I liue so much in feare. 
 But out alas ! here comes he that will shorten my dales. 
 
 Enter Usurie, 
 Usurie. 
 O, haue I caught your olde gray bearde ? you be the man whome 
 
 [the people so praise : 
 You are a franke Gentleman, and full of liberalitie. 
 Why, who had al the praise in London or England but M. Hospitalitie ? 
 But He maister you nowe, He holde you a groat. 
 
 Hospitalitie. 
 What, will you kill me ? 
 
 Usurie, 
 No ; He do nothing but cut thy throat. 
 
 Hospitalitie. 
 O, helpe, helpe ! helpe for Gods sake ! 
 
 Enter Conscience, running apace. 
 Conscience. 
 What lamentable crie was that I heard one make ? 
 
 Hospitalitie. 
 O, Ladie Conscience ! now or neuer helpe me. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Why, what wilt thou do with him, Usurie ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 What will I do with him ? mary cut his throat, and then no more. 
 
 Conscience. 
 O doest thou not consider, that thou shalt dearly answer for Hos- 
 [pitalitie, that good member ? refraine it, therefore, 
 c c 
 
202 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Usurie, 
 Refraine me no refraining, nor answere me no answering : 
 The matter is answered well enough in this thing. 
 
 Conscience. 
 For God^s sake spare him ! for cuntry sake spare him, for pitie 
 
 [sake spare him ; 
 For Loue sake spare him ; for Conscience sake forbeare him ! 
 
 Usurie. 
 Let cuntry, pittie, Loue, Conscience and all go in respect of my selfe. 
 He shall die. — Come, ye feeble wretch, He dresse ye like an elfe. 
 
 Conscience. 
 But yet, Usurie, consider the lamentable crie of the poore : 
 For lacke of HospitaUtie fatherles children are turned out of doore. 
 Consider againe the complaint of the sicke, blind, and lame, 
 That will crie unto the Lorde for vengeance on thy head in his name. 
 Is the feare of God so farre from thee, that thou hast no feeling at all ? 
 O, repent, Usurie ; leaue HospitaUtie, and for mercie at the Lordes 
 
 [hande call. 
 Usurie. 
 Leaue prating, Conscience : thou canst not moUifie my hart. 
 He shall, in spite of thee and all other, feele his deadly smart. 
 Yet He not commit the murder openly. 
 But hale the villaine into a corner, and so kiU him secretly. — 
 Come, ye miserable drudge, and receiue thy death. 
 
 [Hale him in. 
 HospitaUtie. 
 Helpe, good Ladie, helpe ! he will stop my breath. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Alas ! I would helpe thee, but I have not the power. 
 
 HospitaUtie. 
 Farewell, Ladie Conscience : you shall haue HospitaUtie in London, 
 
 [nor England, no more. 
 Conscience. 
 O, helpe ! helpe, helpe, some good bodie ! 
 
The three Ladies of London. 203 
 
 Enter Dissimulation and Simplicitie, hastily. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Who is that calles for helpe so hastily ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 Out alas ! thy fellowe Usurie hath killed Hospitalitie. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Now, Gods blessing on his heart : why, twas time that he was dead : 
 He was an olde churle, with neuer a good tooth in his head. 
 And he nere kept no good cheere that I could see ; 
 For if one had not come at dinner time, he shoulde haue gone away 
 
 [hungrie. 
 I could neuer get my beUie full of meate ; 
 He had nothing but beefe, bread, and cheese for me to eate. 
 Nowe, I would haue had some Pyes, or bagge puddings with great 
 
 [lumpes of fat; 
 But, I warrant ye, he did keepe my mouth well enough from that. 
 Faith, and he be dead, he is deade : let him go to the deuill, and he 
 
 [will ; 
 Or if he will not go thither, let him euen he there still. 
 He nere make wamentation for an olde churlde, 
 For hee has beene a great while, and nowe tis time that he were out 
 
 [of the worlde. 
 Enter Lucar. 
 Lucar. 
 What, Conscience, thou lookst like a poore pidgeon, puld of late. 
 
 Conscienee. 
 What, Lucar, thou lookest hke a whore, full of deadly hate. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Alas ! Conscience, I am sorie for thee, but I cannot weepe. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Alas ! Lucar, I am sorie for thee that thou canst no honestie keepe : 
 But such as thou art, such are thy attenders on thee, 
 As appeares by thy seruaunt Usurie, that hath killed that good mem- 
 
 [ber, Hospitalitie. 
 
204 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 Faith, HospitaUtie is killed, and hath made his will. 
 And hath giuen Dissimulation three trees vpon an high hill. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Come hither, Dissimulation, and hie you hence so fast as you may. 
 And helpe thy fell owe Usurie to conuey himselfe out of the way : 
 Further, will the Justices, if they chaunce to see him, not to know him. 
 Or knowe him, not by any meanes to hinder him ; 
 And they shall commaund thrise so much at my hand. 
 Go trudge, runne out, away : how doest thou stand ! 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Nay, good Lady, sende my fellow Symonie, 
 For I haue an earnest suite to yee. 
 
 Lucar 
 Then, Symony, go do wnat I have wild. 
 
 Symplicitie» 
 I runne. Madam : your mind shall be fulfild. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Conscience, 
 Well, well, Lucar, Audeo et taceo : I see and say nothing ; 
 But I feare the plague of God on thy head it will bring. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Good Ladie, graunt that Loue be your waiting Maide, 
 For I thinke, being brought so lowe, she will be well apaide. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Speakest thou in good earnest, or doest thou but dissemble ? 
 I knowe not how to haue thee, thou art so variable. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Ladie, though my name bee Dissimulation, yet I speake bona fide 
 
 [nowe. 
 Yf it please you my petitions to allowe. 
 
 Enter Symony, 
 Lucar. 
 Stand by : He answere thee anon. — What newes, Symonie, 
 
The three Ladies of London. 205 
 
 Bringest thou of thy fellowe Usurie ? 
 
 Symony. 
 Mary, Madam, good newes ; for Usurie hes close 
 Hid in a rich mans house, that will not let him loose, 
 Untill they see the matter brought to a good ende ; 
 For Usurie in this countrie hath many a good friende : 
 And late I sawe Hospitahtie carried to burying. 
 
 Lucar, 
 I pray thee, tell me who were they that followed him ? 
 
 Symony. 
 There were many of the Cleargie, and many of the Nobilitie, 
 And many right worshipful! rich Citizens, 
 Substantiall, gracious and very welthie Farmars : 
 But to see how the poore followed him it was a woonder ; 
 Neuer yet at any buryall I have scene such a number. 
 
 Lacar. 
 But what say the people of the murder ? 
 
 Symony. 
 Many are sorie, and say tis great pitie that he was slaine. 
 But who be they ? the poore beggarly people that so complaine. 
 As for the other, they say twas a cruell bloudie fact. 
 But I perceiue none will hinder the murderer for this cruell act. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Tis well : I am glad of it. Now, Dissimulation, if you can get 
 
 [Loues good will, 
 I am contented withall my hart to graunt there vntiU. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 I thanke you, good Ladie, and I doubt not but she. 
 With a little intreatie, will thereto agree. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Nowe I haue it in my breeches, for I can tell 
 That I and my Ladie with mistrisse Lucar shall dwell ; 
 But if I be her seruing fellowe, and dwell there, 
 I must leanie to cog, lie, foist and sweare ; 
 
206 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 And surely I shall neuer learne : marie, and twere to lie a bed all day, 
 I know to that kind of lining I can giue a good say : 
 Or if twere to eate ones meate, then I knew what I had to do. 
 How say ye, sirra, can I not ? He be drudge by you. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Now to you, little mouse : did I not tell you before, 
 That I should ere twere long turne you both out of doore ? 
 How say you, pretie soule, ist come to passe, yea or no ? 
 I thinke I have puld your peacockes plumes somewhat low. 
 And yet you be so stout, as though you felt no griefe ; 
 But I know, ere it be long, you will come puling to me for reliefe. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Well, Lucar, well : you know pride will haue a fall. 
 What auauntageth it thee to win the world, and lose thy soule 
 
 [withall 
 Yet better it is to liue with little, and keepe a conscience cleare. 
 Which is to God a Sacrifice, and accounted of most deare. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Nay, Conscience, and you be bookish, I meane to leaue ye ; 
 And the cold ground to comfort your feet I bequeath ye. 
 Me thinke, you beeing so deepely learned may do well to keep a 
 
 [schoole. 
 Why, I haue scene so cunning a Clarke in time to proue a foole. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucar and Symony. 
 Simplicitie. 
 Sirra, if thou shouldst marry my Lady, thou wouldst keepe her 
 
 [braue. 
 For I thinke now thou art a plaguie rich knaue. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Rich I am, but as for knaue keepe to thy selfe. 
 Come, giue me my Ladies gowne, thou asse headed elfe, 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, He go with thee, for I must dwell with my Ladie. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 207 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Packe hence, away ; Jacke Drums intertainment : she will none of 
 
 [thee. 
 Simplicitie. [Eant. 
 
 This is as my coossen and I went to Nemos house : 
 There was no bodie to bid a dog drinke, or to change a man a louse. 
 But Ladie Conscience (nay, whoe there) scratch that name away : 
 Can she be a Lady that is turned out of all her beray ? 
 Do not be cald more Ladie, and if you be wise, 
 For euerie bodie will mocke you, and say you be not woorth two 
 
 [butter flies. 
 Conscience, 
 What remedie, Simplicitie ? I cannot do withall. 
 But what shEiU we go do ? or whereto shall we fall ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, to our vittailes : I know nothing els we haue to do ? 
 And marke if I cannot eate twentie times as much as you. 
 
 Conscience. 
 If I go lie in an Inne, I shall be sore greened to see 
 The deceit of the Ostler, the powling of the Tapster, as in most 
 
 [houses of lodging they be. 
 If in a Brewers house, at the ouer plentie of water and scarcenes of 
 
 [mault I should greeue, 
 Wherby to enrich themselues all other with unsauorie thinne drinke 
 
 [they deceiue : 
 If in a Tanners house, with his great deceit in tanning ; 
 If in a Weavers house, with his great coosening in weauing. 
 If in a Bakers house, with light bread, and very euill woorking ; 
 If in a Chaundlers, with deceitfull waights, false measures, selling for 
 
 [a halfepeny that is scant worth a farthing ; 
 
 And if in an Alehouse, with the great resort of poore vnthriftes, that 
 
 [with swearing at the Cardes consume their lines, 
 
 Hauing greater dehght to spend a shiUing that way, then a groat at 
 
 [home to sustaine their needie children and wiues. 
 
208 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 For which I judge it best for me to get some soHtarie place. 
 Where I may with patience this my heauie crosse embrace, 
 And leame to seeke broome, whereby to get my Huing, 
 Using that as a quiet meane to keepe my selfe from begging. 
 Wherefore, SimpUcitie^ if thou wilt do the like, 
 Settle thy selfe to it, and with true labour thy Uuing do seeke. 
 
 [Exit Conscience, 
 Simplicitie. 
 No, faith, mistars Conscience, He not; for and I should seeke 
 
 [broome, 
 The Maides would coossen me to competually with their olde shoone. 
 And too I cannot worke, and you would hang me out of the way ; 
 For when I was a miller, Will did grind the meale while I did play. 
 Therefore, He haue as easie an occupation as I had when my Father 
 
 [was aliue. 
 Faith, He go euen a begging : why, tis a good trade ; a man shall bee 
 
 [sure to thriue ; 
 For I am sure my praiers will get bread and cheese, and my singing 
 
 [will get me drinke. 
 Then, shall not I doe better than Mistars Conscience ? tell mee as 
 
 [you thinke. 
 Therefore, God Panne in the kitchin, and God Potte in the butterie. 
 Come and resist me, that I may sing with the more mehositie. 
 But, sirs, marke my cauled countenaunce when I begin. 
 But yonder is a fellow that gapes to bite me, or els to eate that which 
 
 [I sing. 
 Why, thou art a foole ; canst thou not keepe thy mouth strait toge- 
 
 [ther ? 
 And when it comes snap at it, as my fathers dogge wod doe at a liuer. 
 But thou art so greedie 
 
 That thou thinkest to eate it, before it come nye thee. 
 
 Simplicitie Singes, 
 Simplicitie singes it, and sperience doth proue. 
 No biding in London for Conscience and Loue. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 209 
 
 The country hath no peare, 
 
 where Conscience comes not once a yeare ; 
 And Loue so welcome to euery towne, 
 
 as winde that blowes the houses downe. 
 Sing downe adowne, downe, downe, downe. 
 SimpUcitie singes it, and sperience doth proue. 
 No dweUing in London, no biding in London for Conscience and 
 
 [Loue. 
 SimpUcitie, 
 Now, sirra, hast eaten vp my song? and ye haue, ye shall eate no 
 
 [more to day. 
 For euery body may see your belly is growne bigger with eating vp 
 
 [our play. 
 He has fild his belly, but I am neuer a whit the better, 
 Therefore, He go seeke some vittailes ; and member, for eating vp my 
 
 [song you shall be my debter. 
 Enter Mercadorus, the Merchant^ and Gerontus, a Jewe. 
 Gerontus. 
 But, senior Mercadorus, tell me, did ye seme me well or no. 
 That hauing gotten my money would seeme the countrey to forgoe ? 
 You know I lent you two thousand duckets for three monthes space. 
 And, eare the time came, you got an other thousand by flatterie and 
 
 [thy smooth face. 
 So, when the time came that I should have receaued my money. 
 You were not to be found, but was fled out of the countrey. 
 Surely, if we that be Jewes should deale so one with an other. 
 We should not be trusted againe of our owne brother ; 
 But many of you Christians make no conscience to falsifie your fayth, 
 
 [and breake your day. 
 I should haue bene paide at three monthes end, and now it is two yeare 
 
 [you haue bene away. 
 
 Well, I am glad you be come againe to Turkic ; now I trust I shall re- 
 
 [ceiue the interest of you, so well as the principall. 
 
 D D 
 
210 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 Aj good maister Geronto, pra hartly, bare a me a little while. 
 And me shall pay ye all without any deceite or guile : 
 Me haue much businesse for by prety knackes to send to England. 
 Good sir, beare a me foure fiue daies, mele dispatch your money out of 
 
 [hand]. 
 Gerontus. 
 Senior Mercadore, I know no reason why, because you haue dealt 
 
 [with me so ill : 
 Sure, you did it not for neede, but of set purpose and will ; 
 And, I tell ye, to beare with ye foure or fiue dayes goes sore against 
 
 [my minde. 
 Least you should steale away, and forget to leaue my money behinde. 
 
 Mercadorus, 
 Pra hartly, do tink a no such ting, my good friend a me. 
 Be my trot and fayt, mele pay you all, euery peny. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Well, He take your faith and troth once more, and trust to your 
 
 honesty. 
 In hope that for my long tarying you will deale well with me. 
 Tell me what ware you would buy for England, such necessaries as 
 
 [they lacke ? 
 Mercadorus. 
 
 no, lack some prettie fine toy, or some fantastike new knack ; 
 For da Gentlewomans in England buy much tinges for fantasie. 
 You pleasure a me, sir, vat me meane a dare buy. 
 
 Gerontus, 
 
 1 vnderstand you, sir : but keepe touch with me, and He bring you 
 
 [to great store. 
 Such as I perceaue you came to this countrey for; 
 As Muske, Amber, sweete Powders, fine Oders, pleasaunt perfumes, 
 
 [and many such toys. 
 Wherein I perceiue consisteth that country gentlewomens Joyes. 
 Besides, I haue Diamondes, Rubyes, Emerodes, Safiors, Smaradines, 
 
The three Ladies of London. 211 
 
 [Opalles, Onacles, Jasinkes, Aggattes, Turkasir, and almost 
 of all kinde of precious stones, 
 And many moe fit thinges to sucke away mony from suche greene 
 
 [headed wantons. 
 Mercadorus. 
 Fatta, my good frend, me tanke you most hartly alway. 
 Me shall a content your debt within this two or tree day. 
 
 Geronttis. 
 Well, looke you doe keepe your promise, and an other time you 
 
 [shall compaund me. 
 Come, goe we home, where our commodities you may at pleasure 
 
 [see. 
 Enter Conscience, with hroomes at her back, 
 singing as followeth. 
 
 New broomes, greene broomes, will you by any ? 
 Come maydens, come quickly, let me take a peny. 
 
 My broomes are not steeped, 
 
 but very well bound : 
 My broomes be not crooked, 
 
 but smooth cut and roimd. 
 I wish it should please you 
 
 to buy of my broome. 
 Then would it well ease me, 
 
 if market were done. 
 
 Haue you any olde bootes, 
 
 or any aide shoone ; 
 Powch-ringes or Buskins 
 
 to cope for new broome ? 
 If so you haue, maydens, 
 
 I pray you bring hether. 
 
212 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 That you and I frendly 
 may bargen together. 
 
 New broomes, greene broomes, will you buy any ? 
 Come, Maydens, come quickly, let me take a peny. 
 
 Conscience speaketh. 
 Thus am I driuen to make a vertue of necessitie ; 
 And, seing God almightie will haue it so, I imbrace it thankfully, 
 Desiring God to moUefie and lesten Useries hard heart. 
 That the poore people feele not the like penurie and smart. 
 But Userie is made tollerable amongst Christians, as a necessary 
 
 [thing. 
 So that, going beyond the hmites of our law, they extorte, and many 
 
 [to miserie bring. 
 But if we should follow Gods law, we should not receaue aboue that 
 
 [wee lend ; 
 For if we lend for reward, how can we say we are our neighbors 
 
 [frend ? 
 O ! how blessed shall that man be, that lendes without abuse. 
 But thrice accursed shall he be, that greatly couets vse ; 
 For he that couets ouer much insaciate is his minde. 
 So that to perjurie and crueltie he holy is inclinde : 
 Wherewith they sore oppresse the poore by diuers sundry wayes, 
 Whiche makes them cry vnto the Lord to shorten cutthroates dayes. 
 Paule calleth them theeues that doth not giue the needie of their store. 
 And thrise accurst are they that take one penny from the poore. 
 But while I stand reasoning thus, I forget my market cleane ; 
 And sith God hath ordained this way, I am to vse the meane. 
 
 Sing agayne. 
 Have ye any olde shoes, or have ye any bootes ? have ye any bus- 
 
 [kins, or wil ye buy any brome ? 
 Who bargen or chop with conscience ? What, will no customer come ? 
 
The three Ladies of London. 213 
 
 Enter Userie. 
 Usury. 
 Who is it that cries bromes ? What Cons, selling bromes about 
 
 [y^ street ? 
 Conscience. 
 What Userie, it is great pitie thou art vnhanged yet. 
 
 Usury. 
 Beleue me, Conscience, it greeues me thou art brought so low. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Beleue me, Userie, it greeues me thou wast not hanged long agoe ; 
 For if thou hadst bene hanged before thou slewest Hospitalitie, 
 Thou hadst not made me and thousandes more to feele like pouertie. 
 
 Enter Lucar. 
 Lucar. 
 Me thought I heard one crie bromes along the dore. 
 
 Usury. 
 I, marrie. Madam ; it was Conscience, who seemes to be oflFended at 
 
 [me verie sore. 
 Lucar. 
 Alas, Conscience ! art thou become a poore broomewife ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 Alas, Lucar ! wilt thou continue a harlot all dayes of thy life ? 
 
 Lucar. 
 Alas ! I thinke it is a greife to thee that thou art so poore. 
 
 Conscience, 
 Alas Lucar ! I thinke it is no paine to thee, that thou still plaiest the 
 
 [whore. 
 Lucar. 
 Well, well. Conscience, that sharpe tonge of thine hath not beene 
 
 [thy furtheraunce : 
 If thou hadst kept thy tongue, thou hadst kept thy friend, and not 
 
 [haue had such hinderance. 
 But wottest thou who shall be married to morrow ? 
 
214 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Loue with my Dissimulation ; 
 
 For I thinke to bid the gesse : they are by this time well nye gone ; 
 And hauing occasion to buy broomes, I care not if I buy them all. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Then, geue me a shilling, and with a good will haue them you shall. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Userie, carry in these broomes, and geue them to the maide. 
 For I know of such store she will be well apaid. 
 
 lExit Userie, with the broomes. 
 Hould, Conscience ; though thy broomes be not worth a quarter so 
 
 [much. 
 Yet to geue thee a peece of gould I doe it not grutch ; 
 And if thou wouldst foUow my mynd, thou shouldst not Hue in such 
 
 [sort. 
 But passe thy dayes with pleasure, store of every kinde of sport. 
 
 Conscience. 
 I thinke you lead the world in a string, for euery body foUowes you : 
 And sith euery one doth it, why may not I doe it too ? 
 For that I see your free heart and great liberallitie, 
 I maruell not that all people are so willing to follow ye. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Then, sweet soule, marke what I would haue thee doe for me. 
 That is, to decke up thy poore Cottage hansomely ; 
 And for that purpose I haue fiue thousandes Crownes in store. 
 And when it is spent, thou shalt haue twise as much more. 
 But onely see thy roomes be neat, when I shal thither resort. 
 With familiar friendes to play, and passe the time in sport ; 
 For the Debutie, Constable and spitefull neighbours doe spy, pry, 
 
 [and eye about my house. 
 That I dare not be once merrie within, but still mute like a mouse. 
 
 Conscience. 
 My good Ladie Lucar, I wiU fulfil your minde in euery kind of thing. 
 So that you shalbe welcome at all houres, whome soever you doe bring : 
 
The three Ladies of London. 215 
 
 And all the dogges in the towne shall not barke at your doings, I trow ; 
 For your full pretence and intent I doe throughly know. 
 Even so well as if you had opened the very secrettes of your heart. 
 For whiche I doubt not but to rest in your fauour by my desart. 
 But here comes your man, Userie. 
 
 Enter Userie, 
 Lucar. 
 He send him home for the money. 
 Userie, steppe in, and bring me the boxe of all abhomination, that 
 
 [standes in the windowe : 
 It is httle and round, painted with diuers colours, and is prettie to the 
 
 [show. 
 Userie, 
 Madam, is there any superscription there on ? 
 
 Lucar, 
 Haue I not tolde you the name ? for shame ; get you gone. — 
 Well, my wench, I doubt not but our pleasures shall excell. 
 Seeing thou hast got a corner fit, where few neighbours dweD, 
 And they be of the poorest sorte, which fits our tume so right. 
 Because they dare not speake against our sportes and sweete delight : 
 And if they should (alas) their wordes would nought at al be wayd, 
 And for to speake before my face they will be al afrayd. 
 
 Enter Userie^ with apaynted boxe ofincke in hys hande. 
 Usury. 
 Madam, I deeme this same to be it, so farre as I can gesse. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Thou saiest the truth ; tis it in deede : the outside shewes no lesse. 
 But, Userie, I thinke Dissimulation hath not scene you since your 
 
 [comming home ; 
 Therefore, goe see him : he will rejoyce when to him you are showne. 
 It is a busie time with him : help to further him if you can. 
 
 Usery, 
 You may commaund me to attend at boord to be his man. 
 
 [Eant Userie. 
 
216 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Here let Lucar open the boxe, and dip her finger in it, and spotte 
 Conscience face, saying asfoUoweth. 
 Lucar. 
 Hold here, my sweete ; and then ouer to see if any want. 
 The more I do behold this face, the more my minde doth vaunt. 
 This face is of fauour, these cheekes are reddy and white ; 
 These lips are cherry red, and full of deepe delight : 
 Quicke rowUng eyes, her temples hygh, and forhead white as snowe ; 
 Her eye-browes seemely set in frame, with dimpled chinne below. 
 
 ! how beautie hath adorned thee with euery seemely hew. 
 In limmes, in lookes, with all the rest proportion keeping dew. 
 Sure, I have not scene a finer soule in every kinde of part : 
 
 1 cannot choose but kisse thee with my lippes, that loue thee with 
 
 [my heart. 
 Conscience. 
 I haue tould the crownes, and here are just so many as you to me 
 
 [did say. 
 Lucar. 
 Then, when thou wilt thou maist depart, and homewardes take thy 
 
 [way. 
 And I pray thee make haste in decking of thy rome. 
 That I may finde thy lodging fine, when with my friend I come. 
 
 Conscience. 
 lie make speede ; and where I haue with broomes oftimes bene 
 
 [roming, 
 I meane hencefoorth not to be scene, but sitte to watche your comming. 
 
 [^Exit Conscience. 
 Lucar, 
 O, how joyfull may I be that such successe doe finde ! 
 No maruell, for pouertie and desire of Lucar doe force them follow 
 
 [my minde. 
 Now may I rejoyce in full contentation, 
 That shall marry Loue with Dissimulation : 
 And I haue spotted Conscience with all abhomination. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 217 
 
 But I forget my selfe, for I must to the wedding. 
 
 Both Tauntingly and flauntingly, although I had no bidding. 
 
 \_Exit Lucar. 
 Enter Dissimulation and Coggin hys man, and Symony. 
 Coggin. 
 Sir, although you be my maister, I woulde not haue you to vp- 
 
 [braide my name, 
 But I would haue you vse the right skill and title of the same : 
 For my name is neither scogging nor scragging, but auncient Cogging. 
 Sir, my Ancestors were fiue of the foure worthies. 
 And your selfe are of my neare kinne. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Indeede thou sayst true, for Coggin is a kinsman to Dissimulation. 
 But, tell me, have you taken the names of the guestes ? 
 
 Coggin. 
 Yea, sir. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Let me heare after what fashion. 
 
 The names of the guestes told by Coggin. 
 Coggin. 
 There is, first and formost, maister Forgery, and maister Flatterie, 
 
 [Maister Perjurie, and maister Injurie : 
 Maister Crueltie, and maister Pickarie, maister Bribery, and mayster 
 
 [Trecherie ; 
 Maister Wincke at wrong, and maister Headstrong, mistris privie 
 
 [Theft, 
 And maister deepe Deceit, maister Abhomination, and maister Forni- 
 cation his wife, Fardinando False-waight, and Frissit False- 
 measure his wife. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Stay : Fornication and Frissit False-measure are often familiar 
 with my Lady Lucar, and one of them she accountes her 
 friend. 
 
 E E 
 
218 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Therefore, they shall sit with the Bride in the middest, and the men at 
 
 [eche ende. 
 Let me see ; there are sixteene, euen as many as well neare is able 
 To dine in the sommer parlor at the playing table : 
 Beside my fellow Fraud, and you, fellow Symonie ; 
 But I shall haue a great misse of my fellow Userie. 
 
 Symonie. 
 Take no care for that ; he came home yesterday even, no longer : 
 His pardon was quickly begged, and that by a Courtyer. 
 But, sirra, since he came home he had Uke to haue slaine good neigh- 
 
 [bourhood and liberalitie, 
 Had not true friendship stept betwene them very sodenly. 
 But, sirra, he hit true friendship suche a blow on the eare. 
 That he keepes out of all mens sight, I thinke, for shame or for feare. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Now, of my troth, it is a prettie jest : hath he made true friendship 
 
 Qiide his head ? 
 Sure, if it be so, good neighbourhood and liberahtie for feare are fled. 
 
 Symony. 
 But, feUow Dissimulation, tel me what Priest shall marry ye? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Mary, that shall an olde frend of mine, Maister Doctor Hipocrisie. 
 
 Symony. 
 Why win you not haue sir Peter Pleaseman to supply that want ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Indeede, Sir Peter is a good Priest, but Doctour Hipocrisie is most 
 
 [is most auncient. 
 But, coosin Coggin, I pray you goe to inuite the gestes. 
 And tell them that they neede not disturbe their quietnes : 
 Desire them to come at dinner time, and it shall suffise. 
 Because I know they will be loth so early to rise. 
 But at any hand will Doctor Hipocrisie 
 That he meete vs at the Churche very early ; 
 For I would not haue all the world to wonder at our match : 
 
The three Ladies of London. 219 
 
 It is an olde proverbe, tis good hauing a hach before the dore, but ile 
 
 [haue a doore before the hatch. 
 Coggin. 
 Sir, I will about it as fast as I can hye. 
 lie first to that scalde balde knaue Doctor Hipocrisie. 
 
 [Exit Coggin. 
 Symony. 
 But, fellow Dissimulation, how darest thou marry with Loue, 
 
 [bearing no loue at aU ? 
 For thou doest nothing but dissemble, then thy loue must needes be 
 
 [small. 
 Thou canst not loue but from the teeth forward : 
 Sure, the wife that marries thee shall highly be prefard. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Tush, tush ; you are a merry man : I warrant you I know what I 
 
 [doo. 
 And can yeeld a good reason for it, I may say vnto you. 
 What, and if the world should chaunge, and runne all on her side. 
 Then, might I by her meanes still in good credite abide. 
 Thou knowest loue is auncient, and hues peaceably without any strife ; 
 Then, sure the people will thinke well of me, because shee is my wife. 
 
 Symony. 
 
 Trust me, thou art as craftie, to haue an eye to the mayne chaunce. 
 
 As the Taylor that out of seuen yards stole one and a halfe of durance. 
 
 He serued at that time the deuil in the likenesse of Sainct Katherine : 
 
 Such Taylors will thriue, that out of a doublet and a payre of hose 
 
 [can steale their wife an Aporne. 
 The Doublet sleeues three fingers were too short ; 
 The Venecians came nothing neare the knee. 
 
 Dissimulation, 
 Then, for to make them long inough, I pray thee, what did hee ? 
 
 Symony. 
 Two peeces set an handful! broad, to lengthen them withall ; 
 Yet, for all that, below the knee by no meanes they could fall : 
 
220 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 He, seeing that, desired the partie to buy as much to make an other paire: 
 The partie did, yet, for all that, he stole a quarter there. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Now, sure, I can him thanke, he could his occupation. 
 My fellowe Fraude would laugh to heare one drest of such a fashion. 
 But, fellowe Symony, I thanke you hartily for comparing the Taylor 
 
 [to me^ 
 As who should say his knauerie and my policie did not agree. 
 
 Symonie. 
 Not so ; but I was the willinger to tell thee, because I know it to 
 
 [be a true tale ; 
 And to see how Artificers do extoU Fraude, by whome they beare 
 
 [their sale. 
 But come, let vs walke, and talke no more of this : 
 Your pollicie was very good, and so, no doubt, was his. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter Mercadorus reading a letter himself e ; and let Gerontus, the 
 Jew, follow e him, and speake asfolloweth. 
 Gerontus. 
 Senior Mercadore, why doe you not pay mee ? thinke you, I will 
 
 [bee mockt in this sorte ? 
 This is three times you have flowted mee: it seemes you make 
 
 [thereat a sporte. 
 Trulie pay me my money, and that euen nowe presently, 
 Or, by mightie Mahomet I sweare, I will forthwith arrest yee. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 Ha, pray a bare wit me tree or foure dales : mee haue much busi- 
 
 [nesse in hand ; 
 Me be troubled with letters, you see here, dat comes from England. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Tush, this is not my matter : I haue nothing therewith to do. 
 Pay me my money, or He make you before to your lodging you go. 
 I haue Officers stand watching for you, so that you cannot passe by ; 
 Therefore, you were best to pay me, or els in prison you shall lie. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 221 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 
 Arrest me, dou skal knaue ? mary, do and if thou dare ; 
 Me will not pay de one peny : arrest me, doo, me do not care. 
 Me will be a Turke ; me came hedar for dat cause : 
 Darefore, me care not for de so mush as two strawes. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 
 This is but your wordes, because you would defeate me : 
 I cannot thinke you will forsake your faith so hghtly. 
 But seeing you driue me to doubt, He trie your honestie ; 
 Therefore, be sure of this, lie go about it presently. [Exit. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 
 Mary, farewell and be hangd, sitten, scald, drunken Jew. 
 I warrant yee me shalbe able very well to pay you. 
 My Lady Lucar haue sent me heere dis letter. 
 Praying me to coossen de Jewe for loue a her. 
 Darefore, mele go to get a some Turks apparell, 
 Dat me may coossen da Jewe, and end dis quarrell. [Exit. 
 
 Enter three Beggars ; that is to say, Tom Beggar, 
 Wily Will, and Simplicitie, singing. 
 
 The Song. 
 
 To the wedding, to the wedding, to the wedding go wee : 
 To the wedding a begging, a begging all three. 
 
 Tom Beggar shall braue it, and wily Will to, 
 Simplicitie shall knaue it where euer we go : 
 With lustely Bravado, take care that care will. 
 To catch it, and snatch it we haue the brave skill. 
 
 Our fingers are lime-twigges, and Barbars we be, 
 To catch sheetes from hedges most pleasant to see 
 Then, to the alewife roundly we set them to sale, 
 And spend the money merily upon her good ale. 
 
222 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 To the wedding, to the wedding, to the wedding go wee : 
 To the wedding a begging, a begging all three. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 Tom, 
 Now truely, my maisters, of all occupations vnder the sunne, 
 
 [begging is the best ; 
 For when a man is wearie, then he may lay him downe to rest. 
 Tell me, is it not a Lordes life in Sommer to lowse one under a hedge. 
 And then, leaning that game, may go clepe and coll his Madge ? 
 Or els may walke to take the wholesome ayre abroade for his delight. 
 Where he may tumble on the grasse, haue sweet smels, and see manie 
 
 [a pretie sight? 
 Why, an Emperour for aU his wealth can haue but his pleasure. 
 And, surely, I would not loose my charter of libertie for all the Kinges 
 
 [treasure. 
 Will. 
 Shall I tell thee, Tom Beggar, by the faith of a gentleman, this 
 
 [auncient freedom I would not forgo. 
 If I might haue whole Mynes of money at my will to bestowe. 
 Then, a mans mind should be troubled to keepe that he had ; 
 And you know it were not for me : it would make my valiant mind 
 
 [mad. 
 For now we neither pay Church money, subsidies, fifteenes, scot nor 
 
 [lot: 
 All the payings we pay is to pay the good ale pot. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 But, feUowe Beggars, you coossen me, and take away all the best 
 
 [meat, 
 And leaue me nothing but browne bread, or finne of fish to eate. 
 When you be at the Alehouse, you drinke vp the strong ale, and giue 
 
 [inee small beare : 
 You tell me tis better then the strong to make me sing cleare. 
 Indeede, you know, with my singing I get twise so much as ye. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 223 
 
 But and you serue me so, you shall sing your selues, and beg alone 
 
 [for me. 
 T(m. 
 We stand prating heere : come, let vs go to the gate. 
 Mas, I am greatly afraid we are come somewhat too late. — 
 Good gentle M. Porter, your reward do bestowe 
 On a poore lame man, that hath but a paire of legges to goe. 
 
 Will. 
 For the honour of God, good Mas Porter, geue somewhat to the blind, 
 That the way to the Alehouse in his sleepe cannot find. 
 
 Tom. 
 For the good Lords sake, take compassion on the poore. 
 Enter Fraudy with a basket of meat on his arme. 
 Frauds, 
 How now. Sirs ! you are vengeance hastie : can ye not tarrie. 
 But stand bauHng so at my Ladies doore ? 
 
 Heere, take it amongst you ; yet twere a good almes deede to giue 
 
 [you nothing, 
 Because you were so hastie, and kept such a calUng. 
 
 Tom. 
 I beseech ye not so. Sir, for we were verie hungrie : 
 That made vs so earnest, but we are sorie we troubled yee. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Looke how greedie they be, like dogs that fall a snatching. 
 You shall see that I shall haue the greatest almes, because I saide 
 
 [nothing. 
 Fraude knowes me, therefore hele be my friend ; I am sure of that. 
 They haue nothing but leane beefe, ye shall see I shall haue a peece 
 
 [that is. fat. 
 Maister Fraude, you have forgot me : pray ye, let me haue my share. 
 
 Fraude. 
 Faith, all is gone ; thou comst too late : thou seest to all is geuen 
 
 [there. 
 
224 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 By the faith of a Gentleman, I haue it not : I would I were able to 
 
 [to geue thee more. 
 SimpUcitie, 
 O sir, I saw your armes hang out of a stable dore. 
 
 Fraude. 
 Indeed, my armes are at the Painters ; behke, he hung them out 
 
 [to drie. 
 I pray thee, tell me what they were, if thou canst them descrie. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 Mary, there was neuer a scutchin, but there was 2 trees rampant, 
 And, then, ouer them lay a sower tree parsant. 
 With a man like you in a greene field pendant, 
 
 Hauing a hempen halter about his necke, with a knot vnder the left 
 
 [eare, because you are a younger brother. 
 Then, Sir, there stands on ech side, holding vp the crease, 
 A worthie Ostlers hand in a dich of grease. 
 Besides all this, on the helmet stands the hangmans hand. 
 Ready to tume the Ladder whereon your picture did stand : 
 Then, vnder the helmet hung Tables like chaines, and for what they 
 
 [are I cannot deuise. 
 Except it be to make you hang fast, that the Crowes might picke out 
 
 [your eies. 
 Fraude. 
 What a swad is this ? I had beene better to haue sent him to the 
 
 [backe doore, 
 To have gotten some almes amongst the rest of the poore. 
 Thou pratst thou canst not tell what, or els art not well in thy wit : 
 I am sure, my armes are not blazd so farre abroad as yet. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 O yes, sir ; your armes were knowne a great while ago. 
 For your elder brother Deceite did giue those armes too. 
 Mary, the difference is all, which is the knot vnder the left eare. 
 The Painter saies, when he is hang, you may put out the knot without 
 
 [feare. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 225 
 
 I am sure they were armes, for there was written in Romaine letters 
 
 [round about the hempten collar, 
 Geuen by the worthie vahant Captaine, maister Fraud, the Ostlar. 
 Now, God be wie ye, sir ; He get me euen close to the backe dore. 
 Farewell, Tom Begger, and wilye Will ; He begge with you no more. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Tom. 
 O farewell, Simplicitie : we are very loth to lose thy companie. 
 
 Fraude. 
 Now he is gone, giue eare to me. You seeme to be sound men in 
 
 [euery joynt, and lira, 
 And can ye liue in this sorte to go vp and downe the country a begging ? 
 O base minds, I trow ! I had rather hacke it out by the high way side, 
 Then such miserie and penurie still to abide. 
 Sirs, if you will be rulde by me, and do what I shall say, 
 He bring ye where we shall have a notable fine pray. 
 It is so, Sirs, that a merchant, one Mercadorus, is coming from Turky, 
 And it is my Ladies pleasure that he robbed should be : 
 She hath swome that we shalbe all sharers ahke. 
 And vpon that willed me some such companions as you be to seeke. 
 
 Tom. 
 O worthie Captaine Fraude, you haue wonne my noble hart : 
 You shall see how manfully I can play my part. 
 And heres wyUe Will, as good a fellowe as your hart can wish 
 To go a fishing with a cranke through a window, or to set limetwigges 
 
 [to catch a pan, pot, or dish. 
 Will. 
 He sayes true ; for I tell you, I am one that will not giue backe 
 Not for a double shot of a blacke Jacke. 
 O sir, you bring vs a bed when ye talke of this geare. 
 Come, shall we go, worthy Captaine ? I long till we be there. 
 
 , Fraude. 
 I, let vs about it, to prouide our weapons ready. 
 And when the time serues, I my selfe will conduct yee. 
 
 F F 
 
226 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Tom. 
 O, Valiantly spoken ! Come, wUy Will, two pots of ale wele bestowe 
 On our Captaine corageously for a parting blowe. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter the Judge of Turkic, with Gerontus and Mercadorus. 
 
 Judge. 
 Sir Gerontus, because you are the plaintife, you first your minde 
 
 [shall say. 
 Declare the cause you did arrest this Merchant yesterday. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Then, learned Judge, attend. This Mercadorus, whome you see in 
 
 [place. 
 Did borrowe two thousand Duckets of me, but for a fiue weeks space : 
 Then, Sir, before the day came, by his flatterie he obtained one thou- 
 
 [sand more, 
 And promist mee at two monthes ende I should receiue ray store : 
 But before the time exspired, he was closly fled away, 
 So that I neuer heard of him at least this two yeeres day. 
 Till at the last I met with him, and my money did demande. 
 Who sware to me at fiue dales end he would pay me out of hand. 
 The fiue dales came, and three dales more ; then one day he requested : 
 I perceiuing that he flouted me, have got him thus arrested. 
 And now he comes in Turkish weedes to defeat me of my mony, 
 But, I trow, he will not forsake his faith: I deeme he hath more 
 
 [honestie. 
 Judge. 
 Sir Gerontus, you knowe, if any man forsake his faith, king, coun- 
 
 [trie, and become a Mahomet, 
 All debtes are paide : tis the law of our Realme, and you may not 
 
 [gainesay it. 
 Gerontus. 
 Most true (reverent Judge) we may not; nor I will not against 
 
 [our Lawes grudge. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 227 
 
 Judge. 
 Senior Mercadorus, is this true that Gerontus doth tell ? 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 My Lord Judge, de matter and de circumstance be true, me know 
 
 [well ; 
 But me will be a Turke, and for dat cause me came here. 
 
 Judge. 
 Then, it is but foUie to make many wordes. — Senior Mercadorus, 
 
 [draw neere : 
 Lay your hand vpon this booke, and say after me. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 With a good will, my Lord Judge ; me be all readie. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Not for any deuotion, but for Lucars sake of my monie. 
 
 Judge. 
 Say, I Mercadorus doo utterly renounce before all the world my 
 dutie to my Prince, my honour to my parents, and my good wil to 
 my cuntry. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 Furthermore, I protest and sweare to be true to this country during 
 life, and thereupon I forsake my Christian faith. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Stay there, most puissant Judge. — Senior Mercadorus, consider 
 
 what you doo : 
 Pay me the principall ; as for the interest, I forgiue it you. 
 And yet the interest is allowed amongst you Christians, as well as in 
 
 [Turky : 
 Therefore, respect your faith, and do not seeme to deceiue me. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 No point da interest, no point da principall. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Then, pay me the one halfe, if you will not pay me all. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 No point da halfe, no point denere : me will be a Turke, I say. 
 
228 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Me be weary of my Christes religion, and for dat me come away. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Well, seeing it is so, I would be loth to heare the people say, it was 
 
 [long of me 
 Thou forsakest thy faith : wherefore I forgiue thee franke and free ; 
 Protesting before the Judge, and all the worlde, neuer to demaund 
 
 [peny nor halfepeny. 
 Mercadorus. 
 O, sir Gerontus, me take a your proffer, and tanke you most hartily. 
 
 Judge. 
 But, seneor Mercadorus, I trow, ye will be a Turke for all this. 
 
 Mercadorus. 
 Seneor no : not for all da good in da world me forsake a my Christ. 
 
 Judge. 
 Why then, it is as sir Gerontus said ; you did more for the greedines 
 
 [of the mony 
 Then for any zeale or good will you bare to Turky. 
 
 Mercadorus, 
 O Sir, you make a great offence : 
 You must not judge a my conscience. 
 
 Judge, 
 One may judge and speake truth, as appeeres by this ; 
 Jewes seeke to excell in Christianitie, and Christians in Jewisnes. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Mercadorus. 
 Veil, veU ; but me tanke you. Sir Gerontus, with all my very hart. 
 
 Gerontus. 
 Much good may it do you, sir ; I repent it not for my part. 
 But yet I would not have this bolden you to serue an other so : 
 Seeke to pay, and keepe day with men, so a good name on you wil go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Mercadorus. 
 You say vel Sir : it dus me good dat me haue coossend de Jewe. 
 Faith, I would my Ladie Lucar de whole matter nowe knewe : 
 
The three Ladies of London. 229 
 
 What is dat me will not do for her sweete sake ? 
 But now me will prouide my journey toward England to take. 
 Me be a Turke ? no : it will make my Ladie Lucar to smile, 
 When she knowes how me did da scall Jewe beguile. 
 
 Enter Lucar, and Loue with a visard behind. 
 Lucar. 
 Mistresse Loue, I maruell not a little what coy conceite is crepte 
 
 [into your head. 
 That you seeme so sad and sorrowfuU since the time you first did wed. 
 Tell me, sweete wench, what thou aylest, and if I can ease thy griefe 
 I will be prest to pleasure thee in yeelding of reliefe. 
 Sure, thou makest me for to thinke some thing hath chaunst amisse. 
 I pray thee, tell me what thou aylest, and what the matter is. 
 
 Lmie. 
 My griefe, alas, I shame to show, because my bad intent 
 Hath brought on me a just reward and eke a straunge euent. 
 Shall I be counted Loue ? nay, rather lasciuious Lust, 
 Because vnto Dissimulation I did repose such trust. 
 But now I mone too late, and blush my hap to tell : 
 My head in monstrous sort, alas, doth more and more still swell. 
 
 Lucar. 
 Is your head then swollen, good Mistresse Loue ? I pray you let me 
 
 [see. 
 Of troth it is, behold a face that seemes to smile on me : 
 It is faire, and well fauoured, with a countenance smooth and good ; 
 Woonder is the worst, to see two faces in a hood. 
 Come lets go, wele finde some sports to spume away such toyes. 
 
 Loue. 
 Were it not for Lucar, sure, Loue had lost all her joyes, 
 
 \E.xeunt. 
 Enter Seruiceable Diliiffencey the Constable ; and Simplicitie 
 unth an Officer to whip him, or two if you can. 
 
230 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, but must I be whipt, M. Constable in deed ? 
 You may saue your labour, for I haue no need. 
 
 Dilligence. 
 I must needes see thee punished ; there is no remedie, 
 Except thou wilt confesse, and tell me 
 Where thy fellowes are become, that did the robberie. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Indeede, M. Constable, I do not knowe of their steahng, 
 For I did not see them since we went togither a begging. 
 Therefore, pray ye, Sir, be miserable to me, and let me go. 
 For I labour to get my lining with begging, you know, 
 
 Dilliffence. 
 Thou wast scene in their companie a little before the deed was 
 
 [doone ; 
 Therefore, it is most likely thou knowest where they are become. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, maister Constable, if a sheepe goe among Wolues all day. 
 Shall the sheepe be blamde, if they steale any thing away ? 
 
 Dilligence. i 
 
 I, marrie, shall he ; for it is a great presumption 
 That keeping them companie he is of like profession. — 
 But dispatche. Sirs ; strip him and whip him : 
 Stand not to reason the question. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Indeede, twas Fraud, so it was, it was not I ; 
 And here he comes himselfe : aske him if I lye. 
 
 Enter Fraud. 
 
 Dilligence. 
 
 What saiest thou. Villain ? I would aduise thee hold thy tongue : 
 
 I know him to be a wealthy man, and a Burges of the Towne. — 
 
 Sir, and it please your maistership, heres one slanders you with fellony : 
 
 He sayth you were the chiefe doer of a robberie. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 231 
 
 Fraude. 
 What sayes the rascall ? But you know, 
 It standeth not with my credite to braule. 
 But, good maister Constable, for his slaunderous report 
 Pay him double, and in a greater matter commaund me you shall. 
 
 [Eocit. 
 Simplicitie. 
 Maister Coustable, must the countenaunce carry out the knaue ? 
 Why then, if one will face folkes out, some fine repariment he must 
 
 Qiaue. 
 [Bedle put off his Clothes. 
 Bedle, 
 Come, sir jack sauce ; make quicke dispatche at once : 
 You shall see how finely we will fetche the skin from your bones. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Nay, but tell me whether you be right handed or no ? 
 
 Bedle. 
 What is that to thee ? why wouldest thou so faine know ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Marrie, if you should be both right handed, the one would hinder 
 
 [the other : 
 Then it would be done finely, according to order ; 
 For if I be not whipt with credite, it is not worth a pinne. 
 Therefore, I pray, maister Constable, let me be whipt vpon my skinne. 
 
 Dilligence. 
 Whereon doest thou think they would whip thee, I pray thee declare, 
 That thou puttest vs in minde, and takest such great care ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 I was afrayd you woulde have worne out my clothes with whipping; 
 Then, aftem, and I should goe naked a begging. 
 
 Bedle. 
 Haue no doubt of that ; we will fauour thy clothes : 
 Thou shalt judge that thy selfe by feehng the blowes. 
 
 [Lead him once or twise about, whipping him, and so exit. 
 
232 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Enter Judge Nemo, the clarke of the Sies, the Crier, and 
 seruiceable Dilligence : the Judge and Clarke being sett, the Crier 
 shall sound three times. 
 
 Judge. 
 Seruiceable Dilligence, bring hither such prisoners as are in custodie. 
 
 Dilligence. 
 My dilligence shall be applied very willingly. 
 Pleaseth it you, there are but three prisoners, so farre as I knowe, 
 Which are Lucar and Conscience, with a deformed creature much like 
 
 [Bifrons, the base daughter of Juno. 
 Judge. 
 No ! where is that wretch Dissimulation ? 
 
 Dilligence. 
 He hath transformed himselfe after a straunge fashion. 
 
 Judge. 
 Fraude ; where is he become ? 
 
 Dilligence. 
 He was scene in the streetes, walking in a Citizens gowne. 
 
 Judge. 
 What is become of Usurie ? 
 
 Dilligence. 
 He was scene at the Exchange very lately. 
 
 Judge. 
 Tell me, when haue you heard of Symony ? 
 
 Dilligence. 
 He was scene this day walking in Paules, hauing conference and 
 [very great familiaritie with some of the Cleargie. 
 Judge. 
 Fetch Lucar and Conscience to the Barre. 
 
 Dilligence. 
 Behold, worthie Judge, heere readie they are. 
 Enter Lmcar and Conscience, 
 Judge. 
 Stand forth.— Dilligence, deuide them a soonder. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 233 
 
 Clarke. 
 Lucar, thou art indited by the name of Lucar, 
 To haue committed adulterie with Mercadorus, the Merchant, and 
 
 [Creticus, the Lawyer. 
 Thou art also endyted for the robberie of Mercadore : 
 Lastly and chiefly, for the consenting to the murder of Hospitalitie. 
 What saiest thou, art thou guiltie or not in these causes ? 
 
 Lucar. 
 Not guiltie. Where are mine accusers ? they may shame to shew 
 
 [their faces : 
 
 I warrant you, none comes, nor dare, to discredite my name. 
 In despite of the teeth of them that dare, I speake in disdaine. 
 
 Judge. 
 Impudent : canst thou deny deedes so manifestly knowne ? 
 
 Lucar. 
 In deniall stands triall : I shame not ; let them be showne. 
 
 II grindes my gall they should sclaunder me on this sorte : 
 
 They are some olde cankered currish corrupt carles, that gaue me this 
 
 [report. 
 My soule craues reuenge on such my sacred foes. 
 And reuengement I wiU haue, if body and soule I lose. 
 
 Judge. 
 Thy hatefull heart declares thy wicked life : 
 In the aboundance of thy abhomination all euils are rife. — 
 But what sayest thou. Conscience, to thy accusation, 
 That art accused to haue bene bawd vnto Lucar, and spotted with all 
 
 [abomination ? 
 Conscience. 
 What should I say ; nay, what would I say in this our naughty liuing ? 
 
 Lucar. 
 Good Conscience, if thou loue me say nothing. 
 
 Clarke. 
 Dilligence, suflfer her not to stand prating. 
 
 [Let him put her aside. 
 o o 
 
234 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 Judge. 
 What letter is that in thy bosom, Conscience ? — Dilligence reache it 
 
 [hither. 
 {^Make as though ye read it. 
 Conscience, speake on; let me heare what thou canst say. 
 For I know in singlenesse thou wilt a truth bewray. 
 
 Conscience. 
 My good Lord, I haue no way to excuse my selfe : 
 She hath corrupted me by flatterie and her accursed pelfe. 
 What need further triall, sith I, Conscience, am a thousand witnesses ? 
 I cannot chuse but condemne vs all in lining amisse. 
 Such terror doth affright me, that lining I wish to dye : 
 I am afrayd there is no sparke left for me of Gods mercy. 
 
 Judge. 
 Conscience, where hadst thou this letter ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 It was put into my bosome by Lucar, 
 Willing me to keepe secret our lasciuious liuing. 
 I cannot but condemne vs all in this thing. 
 
 Judge. 
 How now, mallepert ; stand you still in defence or no ? 
 This letter declares thy giltie Conscience : how saiest thou, is it not so ? 
 Tell me, why standest thou in a mase ? speake quickly. 
 Hadst thou thy tongue so liberall, and now stand to study ? 
 
 Lucar. 
 O Conscience ! thou hast kild me ; by thee I am ouerthrowne. 
 
 Judge. 
 It is happie that by Conscience thy abhomination is knowne : 
 Wherefore I pronounce judgement against thee on this wise. 
 Thou shalt passe to the place of darcknesse, where thou shalt heare 
 
 [fearfuU cries ; 
 Weeping, wayling, gnashing of teeth, and torment without end ; 
 Burning in the lake of fire and brimstone, because thou canst not 
 
 [amend. 
 
The three Ladies of London. 235 
 
 Wherfore, Dilligence, conuey her hence: throw her down to the 
 
 [lowest hel. 
 Where the infemall sprites and damned ghostes do dwell ; 
 And bring forth Loue ! 
 
 \_Exit Lucar and Dilligence, 
 Let Lucar make ready for Loue quickly, and come with 
 
 Dilligence. 
 Declare the cause, Conscience, at large how thou commest so spotted. 
 Whereby many by thee hath bene greatly infected ; 
 For vnder the colour of Conscience thou deceauedst many, 
 Causing them to defile the temple of God, whiche is mans body. 
 A cleane conscience is a sacrifice, Gods own resting place : 
 Why wast thou, then, corrupted so, and spotted on thy face ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 When HospitaHtie had his throate cut by Userie, 
 He oppressed me with crueltie and brought me to beggery. 
 Turning me out of house and home ; and in the end 
 My gowne to pay my rent to him I did send. 
 So, driuen to that extremitie, I haue fallen to that you see ; 
 Yet after judgement I hope of Gods mercy. 
 
 Judge. 
 O Conscience, shall cankered quoyn corrupt thy heart ? 
 Or shall want in this world cause thee to feele euerlasting smart ? 
 O Conscience, what a small time thou hast on earth to Hue : 
 Why doest thou not, then, to God aU honor geue ? 
 Considering the time is euerlasting that thou shalt Hue in blisse. 
 If by thy life thou rise from death to judgement, mercy, and forgeuenes. 
 
 Enter Loue with Dilligence. 
 Stand aside, Conscience. — Bring Loue to the Barre. 
 What saiest thou to thy deformitie : who was the cause ? 
 
 Lo?u£. 
 Ladie Lucar. 
 
 Judge. 
 Did Lucar choke thee so, that thou gauest thy selfe ouer vnto lust ? 
 
236 The three Ladies of London. 
 
 And did prodigall exspences cause thee in Dissimulation to trust ? 
 Thou wast pure (Loue) and art thou become a monster. 
 Bolstering thy selfe upon the lasciuiousnes of Lucar ? 
 Loue, answere for thy selfe : speake in thy defence. 
 
 Loue, 
 
 I cannot chuse but yeeld, confounded by Conscience. 
 
 Judge. 
 
 Then, judgement I pronounce on thee, because thou followed Lucar, 
 Whereby thou hast sould thy soule, to feele like torment with her : 
 Which torments comprehended are in the worme of Conscience, 
 Who raging still shall nere haue end, a plague for thine offence. 
 Care shall be thy comfort, and sorrow thy life sustaine ; 
 Thou shalt be dying, yet neuer dead, but pining still in endles paine. 
 Dilligence, conuay her to Lucar : let that be her reward. 
 Because vnto her cankered coine she gaue her whole regard. 
 But as for Conscience, carry her to prison. 
 There to remaine vntill the day of the generall session. 
 Thus we make an ende. 
 Knowing that the best of vs all may amend : 
 Whiche God graunt to his good will and pleasure. 
 That we be not corrupted with the vnsatiate desire of vanishing earthly 
 
 [treasure ; 
 For Covetousnesse is the cause of wresting mans Conscience : 
 Therefore, restraine thy lust, and thou shalt shonne the offence. 
 
 FINIS. Paule Biicke. 
 
NOTES TO THE THREE LADIES OF LONDON. 
 
 P. 159. 1. 15. You maruell, then, what stuffe we haue &e.] For " stuffe" of the 
 
 edit. 1684, the edit, of 1592 substitutes wares. Hereafter we shall 
 
 notice the principal variations between the two impressions ; speaking 
 
 of them as contained in that of the later date, our text being that of the 
 
 earlier. 
 P. 161. 1. 13. Of her to haue a vewe] Of her to have view. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 162. 1. 21. The Second Acte] This division is omitted in the edit, of 1592, 
 
 and it seems unnecessary. 
 P. 163. 1. 4. The sister with his brother] Tlie sister with hir brother, edit. 
 
 1592. The error arose from " her" having been formerly often written 
 
 and printed hir. 
 P. 164. 1. 15. I care [not] whome I serue (the Deuill) &c.] What care I to serue 
 
 the Deuill &c. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 164. 1. 18. So baniacion and braue] So donfacion and braue. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 168. 1. 21. We will bend at t/our beck] At our beck. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 168. I. 33. God will plague you for your wicked practises] The words " you 
 
 for" are omitted in edit. 1592, and the next line there runs "If you 
 
 intend not to amend your Hues so farre amisse." 
 P. 168. 1. .'33. Thinke you not &c.] These two lines are thus printed in tlj£ 
 
 edit. 1592 : 
 
 "Thinke you not that God will plague your wicked practices. 
 If you intend not to amend your liues so farre amisse." 
 P. 170. 1. 2. With good speed] Edit. 1592 omits " good." 
 P. 170. 1.11. Pleaseth you to walke] Will you walke. Edit. 1592. In the 
 
 next line but one edit. 1592 has like for "pleaseth." 
 P. 170. 1. 16. Fraud] This speech, " Fraud is cloubish" &c. cannot belong to 
 
 Fraud, to whom it is assigned in both the old copies ; but we have not 
 
 considered ourselves at liberty to change the prefix to that of " Sim- 
 
238 
 
 plicity," to whom, no doubt, this early allusion to the four knaves in a 
 
 pack of cards properly belongs. 
 P. 172. 1. 29. Lucar'] This speech stands as follows in edit. 1592 : 
 
 " Gramercie, Usury ; and doubt not but to line here as pleasantly. 
 
 And pleasanter too : but whence came you, Symonie, tell me ? " 
 
 1^. 174, 1. 14. I warrant you, Ladie] Doubt not, faire Ladie, edit. 1592. In 
 
 the next line but two, edit. 1592 has Certainly iov "1 perceaue," and 
 
 the last two lines of the speech run as follows : — 
 " And seeing we are so well setled in this countrey. 
 Rich and poore shall be pincht, whosoever come to me." 
 P. 174. 1. 31. Not muche more than 26 yeares ; it was in Queene Maries time] 
 
 When this drama was reprinted in 1592, the interval between 1584 and 
 
 that date made it necessary to read 33 years for " 26 yeares " in this 
 
 line. It is a curious note of time. 
 P 175.1. 13. Mercadore] We print this broken English precisely as it stands 
 
 in edit. 1584, pointing out only where it varies at all materially in 
 
 edit. 1592. 
 P. 175. 1. 16. But he come an shently mane] But here come une shentle mana, 
 
 edit. 1592. In the next line of this speech in edit. 1592, Mercadore 
 
 addresses Dissimulation " Pay ye heartily, signior" &c. 
 P. 179.1.2. These bribes haue [welcome] beene]. The word "welcome" is 
 
 derived from edit. 1592; and as it is necessary to the sense, we have 
 
 adopted it, and inserted it between brackets. 
 P. 180. 1. 2. That my poore estate] Edit. 1592, " That my estate" &c. 
 P. 181. 1. 28. That I came and will plead &c.] The reading of edit. 1692. 
 
 "That I can and will plead" seems preferable, but we follow the oldest 
 
 copy : just above Fraud has said 
 
 *' Therefore, tell me if you can and will do it or no ? 
 P. 182. 1. 13. I thinke so indeed] The words " I thinke so " are omitted in 
 
 edit. 1592. 
 P. 182. 1. 28. [Sinceritie] This necessary prefix, which we have placed between 
 
 brackets, is not in either of the two old copies. 
 P. 183. 1. 32. I came from Oxford, but in Cambridge I [studied late] The 
 
 words " studied late" are from edit, of 1692 and are inserted, because 
 
 necessary to the sense. 
 P. 184. 1. 5. Nothing at all set by] Edit. 1592 " Nothing set by." 
 P. 184. 1. 14, Telling a tale of Robin hoode] This expression was proverbial, and 
 
 frequently employed. " Playing at kettels," in the same line, is what we 
 
 now call " skittles." 
 
239 
 
 P. 184. 1. 33. Here is the right picture of that fellow that sits in the corner] 
 
 Possibly a personal allusion to some body sitting " in the corner" of 
 
 the theatre ; or it may have been to some well-known character of the 
 
 time. Farther on Simplicity alludes to some boy among the audience. 
 P. 185. 1. 12. I praye hartily] I pray you hartily. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 185. 1. 15. I thinke I shall seruej I thinke youle make me serue. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 185. 1. 20. I wish them prosperous to thee] And prosperous be they to thee. 
 
 Edit. 1592. 
 P. 185. 1. 25. To walke home to dinner with me] And dine with me. Edit. 
 
 1592. In the next line for " I geve you thankes" of edit. 1584, that 
 
 of 1592 has merely " Thankes." Other small variations occur in this 
 
 part of the dialogue. 
 P. 186. 1. 30. Nay, I have a gift for eating, I tell ye] Nay, I am sure the gift of 
 
 eating is giuen to me. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 187. !• 6. Giue me am ; I tell ye, I know hele do it for me] *' Giue me 
 
 am" is " Giue me 'em" or them. Edit. 1592 has the line thus : "Giue 
 
 me am, then, for I know hele do it for me." 
 P. 188. 1. 23, It seemes it stands greatly in neede] For you stand greatly in 
 
 need. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 188. 1. 32. I shall be neuer the better] Never the nearer. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 190. 1. 8. And ery bodie] i. e. every bodie. 
 P. 191. 1. 8. For / see how vaine it is] Seeing' how vaine it is. Edit. 1592. 
 
 The next line in edit. 1592 stands as follows: — " Nor bootes it Sin- 
 
 ceritie to looke for reliefe." 
 P. 192. 1. 20. Good leaue I render ye] Good leaue haue ye. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 192. 1. 25. Why then, I will be bould to enter] Why then, I will boldly enter. 
 
 Edit. 1592. 
 P. 193. 1. 10. Now, sir, haue you taken'] Now, sir, haue you tooke. Edit. 1592. 
 
 In the next line " it" is omitted in that impression. 
 P. 193. 1. 18. Therefore, I would wish you to prouide ye] Therefore, tis best to 
 
 prouide ye. Edit. 1592. In the next line edit. 1692 inserts " ye " 
 
 after " serue." 
 P. 193. 1. 27. I greatly befreend ye] You are befriended. Edit. 1592. Other 
 
 minor variations occur in this speech. 
 P. 194. 1. 5. What a foole was I : it repentes me I haue let it so reasonable] 
 
 What a foole was I to let it so reasonable. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 194. 1. 20. I thanke [you] sir] " You" is necessary, and from edit, 1592. 
 P, 194. 1. 25. Marie, verie, sir] " Marie, well, sir." Edit. 1592. The true 
 
 reading probably was " Marie, verie well, sir." 
 
240 • 
 
 p. 196. 1. 15. I force not greatly] i. e. I care not greatly. In " The Rare 
 
 Triumphs of Love and Fortune," p. 98, we have already had " no 
 
 force" used for no matter, and this application of the word was not 
 
 unusual. 
 P. 196. 1.21. Peter Pleaseman, like a Parson] " Like a Priest," in edit. 
 
 1592. 
 P. 197. 1-21. I pray, at what Uniuersitie were ye?] I pray you, of what Uni- 
 
 uerBitie were ye. Edit. 1592. 
 P. 198. 1. 6. I shall haue yearely halfe the gaine?] So edit. 1592; in that of 
 
 1584 the letters /J? dropped out in the press. 
 P. 198. 1. 21. I thought so, but you are deceiued, for I wot what I wot.] " For 
 
 I wot what I wot" is, of course, " For I know what I know." In edit. 
 
 1592 this line is thus given — " But see how you are deceiued, for 
 
 well I wot." 
 P. 199.1. 11. Euen as much honestie] Edit. 1584 misprints "much" must: 
 
 it is corrected in edit. 1592. 
 P. 199. 1. 23. But there is deceite and knauerie too in thy fellowe, that is called 
 
 UserieJ This line is entirely omitted in edit. 1592: that of 1584 
 
 prints " pie" of the preceding line thy, which is evidently wrong, and is 
 
 se.t right in edit. 1592. 
 P. 199. 1. 27. With this parlament I go] For " parlament " we are to understand 
 
 parament, i, e. apparel, referring to the gown he carries. Beaumont and 
 
 Fletcher use the word paramentos, 
 
 " There were cloaks, gowns, cassocks. 
 
 And oih&r paramentos." Love's Pilgrimage, Edit. Dyce XI. 226. 
 
 Paramento is Spanish, and means ornament, embellishment, or some- 
 times any kind of covering. 
 P. 202. 1. 2. Refraine me no refraining, nor answere me no answering] A not 
 
 uncommon form of expression : we have it in Shakespeare : — 
 " Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds." 
 
 Rom. and Jul. Vol. VI. p. 458, Edit. Collier. 
 P. 202. 1. 25. Hale him m] This stage direction is put a few lines too early in 
 
 both the old copies : Usury here assails Hospitality, but does not " hale 
 
 him in" until the latter has bidden farewell to Conscience &c. 
 P. 203. 1. 16. I warrant ye] These words are omitted in edit. 1592 : four lines 
 
 lower, it has a lamentation for " wamentation ;" and in the next line 
 
 Vwde for " beene." 
 P. 204. 1. 3. Three trees vpon an high hill] Meaning, of course, the gallows, 
 
 supposed to be erected in a conspicuous place. 
 
. 241 
 
 p. 205. 1. 13. Substancial, gracious] Ought we not to read " Substancial gra- 
 ziers " &c. ? 
 
 P. '?05. 1. 28. I thanke you, good Ladie] Thankes to you Ladie. Edit. 1592. 
 In the next line but one, for " I can tell " edit. 1592 reads i4nd very 
 well can tell. 
 
 P. 206. 1. 2. I know to that kind of liutng, I can giue a good say.] The reading 
 of edit. 1592 seems preferable : " To that kind of lying I should giue a 
 good say" i. e. perhaps good trial, or essay. 
 
 P. 206. ]. 14. What auauntageth it thee to win the world, and lose thy soule 
 withall ?] Edit. 1692 has auaileth for " auauntageth." See St. Mat- 
 thew, XVI. 26. 
 
 P. 207. 1. 2. Jacke Drums intertainment] See " All's Well that ends Well." 
 Act III. sc. 6, where this passage is quoted in illustration of " John 
 Drums entertainment" as it is called by Shakespeare. The expression 
 was equivalent to drumming out, 
 
 P. 207. 1. 8. All her beray] Edit. 1592 " all her array :" the blunder was 
 probably intentional in the Clown. 
 
 P. 207. 1. 13- I cannot do withall] — i. e. / cannot help it: the phrase was com- 
 mon, although not always correctly understood. — See "Merchant of 
 Venice," Edit. Collier II. 534; and Ben Jonson's " Silent Woman," 
 Edit. Gifford III. 470. 
 
 P. 207. 1. 16. I know nothing els we haue to do] What else haue we to do? 
 Edit. 1592. 
 
 P. 207. 1. 19. I shall be sore greened to see] It will greeue me to see. Edit. 1592. 
 
 P. 208. 1. 3. And learne to seeke broome] Here the later copy seems to 
 furnish the better text; it has "And learne to sell broome." In the 
 first line of the reply of Simplicity sell is again substituted in edit. 1592 
 for " seeke" of edit. 1584. 
 
 P. 209. 1. 1. Tne country hath no peare] On 4th Sept. 1565 William Pickering 
 had a license to print, among other ballads, one called " The Countrye 
 hath no pere," which may have been this very song, and of which, we 
 may presume. Simplicity only sings one stanza. We cannot suppose 
 that the broadside entered by Pickering consisted of no more. See 
 Collier's Extracts from the Stationer's Registers, printed for the 
 Shakespeare Society, I. 97. 
 
 P. 209. 1. 16. You shall be my debter] Here Simplicity makes his eofit. 
 
 P. 209. 1. 30. I should haue bene paide at three monthes end] Edit. 1584 has 
 " at the monthes end ; " but it is an obvious error, from what is said at 
 H H 
 
242 
 
 the commencement of the speech of Gernutus, and it is corrected in 
 
 edit. 1592. 
 P. 210. 1. 6. Your money out of [hand] The word " hand" dropped out iu 
 
 edit. 1584, but is supplied in edit. 1592. 
 P. 210. 1. 11. I tell ye] These words are omitted in edit. 1592. 
 P. 210. 1. 21. Tell me what ware you would buy for England, such necessaries 
 
 as they lacke.] In edit. 1692 this line stands '* Tell me what good 
 
 ware for England you do lacke." 
 P. 211. 1. 9. Well, looke you doe keepe your promise.] Well, see you hold 
 
 your promise. Edit. 1592. Other changes in this part of the scene 
 
 are not material. 
 P. 211. 1. 12. You may at pleasure see] Eweunt ought to be inserted here. 
 P. 211. 1. 15. New broomes, greeue broomes] According to "Extracts from 
 
 the Stationer's Registers," I. 88. William Griffith was licensed in 
 
 1563-4 to print a ballad entitled " Buy, Broomes, buye." This may 
 
 be the song here sung by Conscience. A Song to the tune is in- 
 serted in the tract of " Robin Goodfellow," 1628, 4to. but no doubt 
 
 first published many years earlier. 
 P. 212. 1. 8. And lesten Useries hard heart.] Perhaps for "lesten" we ought 
 
 to read soften, an easy misprint, but both the old impressions warrant 
 
 the reading in our text. 
 P. 213.1. 3. What Cons, selling bromes about y« street ?] So edit. 1584; but 
 
 edit. 1592 has "Conscience," at length. 
 P. 214. 1. 2. For I thinke to bid the gesse] i. e. to invite the guests : they are 
 
 afterwards called gestes in edit. 1584 : see p. 218. 
 P. 214. 1. 28. With familiar friendes to play, and] The words in Italic are 
 
 not in Edit. 1592. 
 P. 215. 1. 16. Haue I not tolde you the name ? for shame ; get you gone] Here 
 
 Usury must of course go out, but his exit is not marked in the old im- 
 pressions. 
 P. 217. 1. 9. For my name is neither scogging] Not spelt with a capital in the 
 
 old copies, but apparently an allusion to the old court-fool Scoggin, or 
 
 Scogging, of whose jests a volume is extant. 
 P. 218. 1. 14. / tittnke, for shame or for feare] Edit. 1592 omits " I thinke." 
 P. 219. 1. 24. Stole one and a halfe of durance] A strong kind of cloth so called, 
 
 and several times mentioned in Shakespeare. See Henry IV. pt. 1. 
 
 A. I. sc. 2. Com. of Errors A. IV. sc. 3. &c. 
 P. 219. 1. 29. The Venetians came nothing neare the knee] Venetians were a 
 
 kind of hose, or breeches, adopted from the fashions of Venice. 
 
243 
 
 p. 220. 1. 5. Now, sure, I can him thanke, he could his occupation.] i. e. Now, 
 sure, I give him thanks, he knew his occupation. The expression to 
 con, or can, thanks occurs in Shakespeare : All's well that ends well, 
 A. IV. sc. 3, &c. 
 
 P. 220. 1. 9. And my policie did not agree.] The negative is omitted in edit. 
 1592, and perhaps rightly. 
 
 P. 222. 1. 9. May go clepe and coll his Madge] i. e. embrace and hug his 
 Madge. 
 
 P. 223. 1. 9. For the honour of God] For God's sake. Edit. 1592. 
 
 P. 224. 1. 4. O sir, I saw your armes hang out of a stable dore] A pun, pro- 
 bably, upon almes and arms. 
 
 P. 224. 1. 16. In a dich of grease] In a dish of grease. Edit. 1592. " Crease " 
 in the preceding line is, of course, to be understood crest. 
 
 P. 224. 1. 33. When he is hang'] Hang'd, Edit. 1592. 
 
 P. 226. 1. 16. And promist mee at two monthes ende I should receiue ray store] 
 This representation of the transaction, it will be observed, does not 
 tally with the statement of it by Gerontus on p. 209. Perhaps for 
 " fine," just above, we ought to read/(?^/>. 
 
 P. 226. 1. 19. And my money did demande] And did the money did demand. 
 Edit. 1592. 
 
 P. 227. 1- 30. No point da interest, no point da principall] See Shakespeare's 
 " Love's Labours Lost." Edit. Collier II. 306 and 360, — Beaumont and 
 Fletcher's " Monsieur Thomas " Edit. Dyce VII. 364. Thomas Nash 
 in his "Strange Newes, " 1592, Sign. D. 3. uses no point just in the 
 same way, as a sort of emphatic double negative. — " No point; ergo, 
 it were wisely done of goodman Boores son, if he should go to the 
 warres &c. 
 
 P. 229. 1. 31. Loue had lost all her joyes] Loue had lost her joyes. Edit. 
 1592. 
 
 P. 229. 1. 33. Or two if you can] i. e. if the strength of the company would allow 
 of two persons entering as officers to whip Simplicity. 
 
 P. 230. 1. 2. M. Constable] i. e. Maister Constable, and so it was printed in 
 edit. 1592. Lower down on this page in edit. 1584 it stands " maister 
 Constable." 
 
 P. 231. 1. 5. And in a greater matter] And in as great a matter. Edit. 1592. 
 
 P. 231. 1. 21. Then it would be done finely] Then it would not be done finely. 
 Edit. 1592. In the next line the same edit, reads " For if you whip 
 me not with credite." Other trifling variations occur in the next few 
 lines, as "aftern" for afterward &c. 
 
244 
 
 p. 232. 1. 10. Bifrons, the base daughter of Juno] The learned Constable refers, 
 
 of course, to Love, who has already been on the stage in a vizard at the 
 
 back of her head : see p. 229. 
 P. 232. 1. 24. Tell me, when haue you heard of Symony ?] Tell me, when you 
 
 heard of Symony ? Edit. 1592, 
 P. 233. 1, 20. On such my sacred foes] So both the old copies ; but no doubt a 
 
 misprint for secret foes. 
 P. 236. 1. 12. And sorrow thy life sustaine] And sorrow shall thy life sustaine. 
 
 Edit. 1692. 
 
The pleafant and Stately 
 
 Morall, of the three Lordes 
 and three Ladies of London, 
 
 Wit!^ tS^t great 3[op atiti ^ornpe, J^ofempni^eti at t!)m ^^^m^ 
 
 ages : Commically interlaced with much honest Mirth, for 
 pleaCuce anti cecreatton, among man^ H^ocall obfec" 
 
 uations and other important matters 
 of due Regard. byR. W. 
 
 London. 
 
 Printed by R. Ihones, at the Rofe 
 
 andCrowne neereHolburne Bridge, 1590. 
 
The Actors names. 
 
 Pollicie ^ rWit ^ 
 
 Pompe Vthe three Lords of London < Wealth V their pages. 
 
 Pleasure J LWil J 
 
 NemOj a graue old man. 
 
 Loue ^ 
 
 Lucre I three Ladies of London. 
 
 Conscience J 
 
 Honest Industrie 
 
 Pure zeale J> three Sages. 
 
 Sinceritie 
 
 Pride ^ r Shame ^ 
 
 Ambition >three Lordes of Spaine < Treachery V their pages. 
 
 Tiranny J (.Terror ) 
 
 ! 
 
 Desire 
 
 Delight ^ three Lordes of Lincolne. 
 
 Devotion 
 
 Sorrowe, a Jayler. 
 
 Simplicity, a poore Free man of London. 
 Painefull Penurie, his wife. 
 Dilligence, a Poste, or an Officer. 
 
 Shealtie I *^*^ Heraldes at Armes. 
 Fraud 1 
 
 Dis''s"mulation P^^^^ Gallantes. 
 Simony J 
 
 Double Dealing j *wo that belong to Fraud and Dissimulation. 
 
Enter, for the Preface, a Lady very richly attyred, representing 
 London, having two Angels before her, and two after her, with 
 bright rapiers in their handes. 
 
 London speaketh. 
 Lo, Gentles, thus the Lord dooth London guard. 
 Not for my sake, but for his ovme delight ; 
 For all in vaine the Centonels watch and ward. 
 Except he keepe the Citie day and night. 
 Now may my foes in vaine both spurn and spight, 
 My foes I meane, that London represent 
 Guarded from heauen by Angels excellent. 
 
 This blessing is not my sole benefit : 
 
 All England is, and so preseru'd hath bene. 
 
 Not by mans strength, his pollicie and wit, 
 
 But by a power and prouidence vnseene ; 
 
 Euen for the loue wherwith God loues our Queen, 
 
 In whom, for whom, by whom we do possesse 
 
 More grace, more good, than London can expresse. 
 
 And that hath bred our plenty and our peace. 
 And they doo breed the sportes you come to see ; 
 And joy it is that I enjoy increase. 
 My former fruites were louely Ladies three ; 
 Now of three Lords to talke is Londons glee : 
 Whose deeds I wish may to your liking frame. 
 For London bids you welcome to the same. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 I I 
 
The pleasant and statelie Morall 
 
 of the three Lords of London. 
 
 Enter the three Lordes and their pages : first Pollicie, with his page 
 Wit before him bearing a shield ; the ympreze a Tortoys, the 
 word Prouidens securus : next Pompe, with his page Wealth 
 bearing his shield, the word Glorie sauns peere ; the ympreze a 
 Lillie : last Pleasure, his page Wil, his ympreze a Faulcon, the 
 woord Pour Temps. Pol. attired in black e, Pompe in rich 
 roabes, and Pleasure in coUours. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Here I aduaunce my shield and hang it vp, 
 To challenge him who euer dare denie 
 That one of those three London Ladies rare 
 Ought not of right be matcht with Pollicie, 
 A London Lord, the which I represent. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 And Pompe prouides his challenge in his word, 
 Glorie sauns peere, claiming the one of them. 
 Not by compulsion, but by common right. 
 Yet, maugre men, my shield is here aduaunc'd 
 For one matchlesse, a London Lady best 
 Beseemeth Pompe, a London Lord, to haue. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Pleasure hath soar'd, as dooth his ympreze show, 
 To looke aloojQTe on earthly ladies all. 
 
252 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 And neuer could my curious eie discerne 
 A dame of woorth for Londons Pleasures loue, 
 But one, and she dooth shine as siluer dooue. 
 Of selfe bred soile, of London is her race ; 
 For whom in challenge I my shield aduaunce. 
 
 PoUicie. 
 Thus each in honor of his mistresse. 
 And in regard of his wel daring mind, 
 Hath here ymprizde the challenge of his right. 
 But, Lordships both, and brethren bred and sworne, 
 A caution must be had in this conceit, 
 That all our thoughts aspire not to one heauen, 
 Nor all our ships do saile for one selfe hauen ; 
 I meane, that all our suites and seruices 
 We tend and tender to one onely dame. 
 All choosing one, refusing th' other two. 
 
 Pompe. 
 A great mishke amongst vs that might breede. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 I seeke but one, and her vnto my selfe. 
 
 Pompe. 
 And one I wish sauns partner of my loves. 
 
 PoUicie. 
 It stands with honour to be sole or none. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Whom louest thou, Pleasure ? 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Hearke ye. [Whisper in his eare. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Tush, ye He. 
 
 Wil. 
 If my maister were a souldier, that word would haue the stab. 
 
 Wit. 
 Wel, Wil, still you^il be a saucie scab. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 253 
 
 Pompe. 
 Why Pleasure, Pompe hath chosen Lucres loue. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Why Pompe, but Pleasure honors Lucre most. 
 
 PolUcie. 
 And Pollicie may lady Lucre gaine 
 Before you both : but let vs not contend, 
 For Nemo dooth the Ladies prisoners keepe, 
 Though they were slaundered late with libertie. 
 And mariage to three farre borne Forriners. 
 Then, first it fits we practise their release. 
 And see them, and by sight our liking place ; 
 For yet we loue as gossips tell their tales. 
 By hearsay : fame, not fauour, hath vs yet enflamM. 
 
 Pompe, 
 Lord Pollicie with reason hath discust. 
 Pleasure, consent and so our loue shall hold. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Ye neuer found that Londons Pleasure err'd 
 From reason, or from Pompe and PoUicy. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Come on, sir boy, attend you well your charge : [To his page Wit. 
 Wait in this place to watch and ward this shield. 
 If any man, in honor of his loue 
 So hardy be with stroke of sword to attaint 
 This shield and challenge him that hereby challengeth. 
 Say for thy lord, as should a trusty page, 
 That Pollicie doth dare him to perfourme 
 A hardier taske than common challengers. 
 If he demaund what PoUicy may be, 
 A Lord of London, say, one of the three. 
 
 Pompe. 
 And you, sir boy, for Pompe performe the like [To Wealth. 
 
254 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Bid him that dare his ymprese batter once 
 Be well aduisde he be no beggers brat. 
 Nor base of courage, nor of bad conceit, 
 To match himselfe with such magnificence. 
 As fits Lord Pompe of London for his loue : 
 Call, if he come that can encounter me. 
 Or mooue me not for ech enuious swad. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Will, be not wanton, nor of waiward mood : [To Will. 
 
 Waite as doo these ; vse faith and diligence. 
 And marke him well that dare disdaine this shield, 
 Which Londons Lord, that Pleasure hath to name. 
 Hath here aduaunc'd in honor of his dame. 
 I bid thee marke him well, what e'er he be. 
 That Londons Pleasure dooth in malice scorne, 
 For he's a rascal, or a straunger borne. 
 Good boy, marke well his jesture and his looke, 
 His eie, his gate, his weapon and attire. 
 And dog him to his lodging, or his denne, 
 For I will make him scomme and scorne of men. 
 No better boy than Wil, when Wil is pleasde : 
 Be pleasd, my boy, and so be my good Wil. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 And so, good boyes, farewel ; look to your charge. 
 Watch well, good Wit, who scorneth Londons PoUicy ; 
 Be warie, Wit, for thou canst well discerne. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 Wealth, watch for Pomp, for thou canst well defend. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Wil can do something too, when pleaseth him. 
 
 [Exeunt the 3 hordes. 
 Wit. 
 
 Wil is a good boy, where better is none. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 255 
 
 Wil. 
 
 Nay, Wit were the best boy, if Wil were gone. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Nay, Wealth is the best boy, sirs : let that alone. 
 
 Wit, 
 I wisse he saith true, Wil : this Wealths a gay lad. 
 
 Wil. 
 I care not for him, curmudgenly swad. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Wei, misse me a while, and you^il go neer to be sad. 
 
 Wit, 
 Wil, ye are Wil-foole, if of him ye be not glad. 
 
 Wil, 
 Nay, Wit, if thou want him, thou'ilt go neer to be mad. 
 
 Wealth. 
 To keepe vs still quiet I would other talke we had. 
 
 Wit. 
 I hope we'll not fall out, being none but three. 
 
 Wealth. 
 If Wealth were away. Wit and Wil would agree. 
 
 Wil, 
 Nay, Wit and Wil are at strife, when ther's no body but me. 
 
 Wit. 
 Let passe, and of our shields, sirs, let's make a httle glee. 
 Wil, what geues thy maister here ? a buzzard or a kyte ? 
 
 Wil. 
 Wit, you showe your selfe a gentleman by gessing so right. 
 A buzzard ? thou buzzard ! Wit, hast no more skil. 
 Then take a faulcon for a buzzard ? 
 
 Wit. 
 O be quiet, good Wil : 
 It was but for sport, for I know the bird els. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Thou mightest see it was no buzzard, man, by the bels. 
 
256 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Wit. 
 What's the reason of this faulcon ? I pray thee, Will, showe. 
 
 Wil, 
 Thou knowest that a faulcon soares hie, and stoupes low : 
 So doeth Pleasure. 
 
 Wit. 
 But what's the word ? 
 
 wa. 
 
 Pour temps, for time. 
 
 Wit. 
 A verie pretie one : I would it were in rime. 
 
 Wealth. 
 In rime, Wit ; why so ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Because it wantes reason. 
 
 Wil. 
 Looke for my fist. Wit, if ye rap out such treason. 
 
 Wit. 
 Treason to what, boy ? 
 
 Wil. 
 To my maisters bird. 
 
 Wit. 
 Now, Wil, my thombe wags : it was but to his word. 
 
 Wil. 
 Tis a pleasant gentleman, this yong mast. Wit. 
 Your maister hath something too : I pray ye, what's it ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Looke, Wil, and gesse. 
 
 Wil. 
 Tis a toad in a shell. 
 
 Wealth. 
 I had as leeue ye had said a frog in a weU. 
 
 Wit. 
 Is't not a great butterfly ? Wil, canst thou tell ? 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 257 
 
 WiL 
 
 What is it in sadnesse ? 
 
 Wit. 
 
 A tortoys, my boy ; whose shell is so hard, that a loaden cart may 
 goe ouer and not breake it, and so she is safe within, and wheresoeuer 
 shee goes she beares it on her backe, needing neither other succour 
 or shilter, but her shell. The woord vnderneath her is Prouidens 
 securus, the prouident is safe, like the tortoys armed with his owne 
 defence, and defended with his owne armour: in shape somewhat 
 rounde, signifying compasse, wherein alwaies the prouident forsee to 
 keepe themselues within their owne compasse, my boy. 
 
 WiL 
 
 Wittily spoken. Now, Wealths maist. hath got a daffadowndilly. 
 
 Wealth. 
 
 If Will had not been wilfuU, now, he might haue saide a lilly, whose 
 glorie is without comparison and beautie matchlesse ; for Salomon, the 
 most sumptuous king that euer was, was neuer comparable in glorie 
 with the lilly : neither is there any citties matchable with the Pompe 
 of London. Mistake me not, good boies, that this Pompe tendes to 
 pride ; yet London hath ynough, but my Lord Pomp doeth rightlie 
 represent the statehe magnificence and sumptuous estate, without 
 pride or vaine glorie, to London accomodate ; and therefore the word 
 is well applied to the ympreze (Glorie sauns peere) for that the lillie 
 is neither proud of the beautie, nor vaine glorious of the pompe : no 
 more is London ; but if it be joyful of any thing, it is of the grace 
 and plentie, both flowing from two such fountaines as becomes not 
 vs to name. Now, therefore, my good boies, know that my maister 
 is rather Magnificence than Pompe in bad sense, and rather Pompe 
 than Pride in the best sense. 
 
 Wil. 
 And my lord is not Pleasure sprong of Voluptuousnes, but of such 
 honorable and kind conceit as heauen and humanitie wel brookes 
 and allowes, pleasure pleasing, not pernitious. 
 
 K K 
 
258 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Wit. 
 Who would haue thought that Will had bene so philosophous. But 
 what means the word pour temps in the shield, for time. 
 
 Wil. 
 Wit, shall I caU the[e] foole ? the best pleasure of al lasts but a time : 
 For of all pleasures most pleasing to sight, 
 Me thinks there is none to the Faulcons hie flight ; 
 Yet diseases end it : the breach of a wing, 
 Nay, the breach of a feather spoiles that sweet thing. 
 
 Wit. 
 And so my maister hath the vantage, wil ye or no. Pomp and 
 Pleasure may be il. 
 
 Wil. 
 May not PoUicy be bad ? 
 
 Wealth. 
 Wit, wel overtaken by Wil, that craftie lad. 
 
 Wit. 
 A craftie goose : the gander giues him health. 
 Bad Pollici's seldome found in so Christian a common wealth 
 As London is, I trust, where my maister is a Lord. 
 
 Wil. 
 And ours so too. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Wel, let vs accord ; for Wits a good thing, yet may be il appUed. 
 
 Wit. 
 And so may Wealth, be it imploied in pride. 
 And Wil worst of all, when it disdaines a guide. 
 
 Wil. 
 A Jack an Apes hath Wit. 
 
 Wit. 
 And so he hath Wil. 
 
 Wealth. 
 But he neuer hath Wealth : now ye are both still. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 259 
 
 Wit. 
 Yes, he weares a chaine. 
 
 Wil. 
 Well spoke, and like a bearward. 
 
 Wealth. 
 If ye be non plus, let the matter fall. 
 
 Wil. 
 Wit, dost thou see ? thus goes Wealth away with al. 
 
 Wit. 
 Let's reason no further, for we shal haue glee. 
 Here is a challenger to our shields : step we aside. 
 
 Enter Simplicitie in bare blacke, like a poore Citizen. 
 Wil. 
 He will eate them, I thinke, for he gapes verie wide. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Say nothing to him, and ye shal see the foole goe by. 
 
 Wil. 
 Sirra, gape not so wide for feare of a flie. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Fly, flam flurt. Why, can a flie doo hurt ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Yea, haue ye not heard that the fly hath her spleene. 
 And the ant her gall ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 My uncle hath so, I weene ; for its an angrie old fellow 
 When his gall runs over : children, good day ; 
 Whose pretie lads are you three. 
 
 Wit, 
 Three ! are you sure ? 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 He not sweare till I haue told you : one, two, three. 
 
 Wil. 
 I beshrew thee. 
 
260 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 Me, boy ? Why, I am beshrewed already, for I am maried. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Then, thou hast a wife. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 Yea, I would thou hadst her, if thou couldst stay her tongue. 
 
 Wealth. 
 I thy wife, man! Why, I am too yoong. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 And I am too old. But in good ernest, good boies ; be not angry 
 that I call you boies, for ye are no men yet : ye haue no beardes, and 
 yet I haue seene boies angrie for being called boies. Forsooth they 
 would be called youths : wel, yet a boy is a boy, and a youth is a 
 youth. Wel, if ye be not ashamed of the boy, good boyes, whose 
 boyes are ye ? 
 
 Wit. 
 No whit ashamed, sir, of that that we are, nor ashamed at all of 
 those whom we serue ? for boyes we be, and as we be, we serue the 
 three Lordes of London ; to weet, Pollicie, Pompe and Pleasure. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 A pretie spoken child, and a prety wit. 
 
 Wil. 
 Wit's his name, indeed : are ye one of his Godfathers, yee hit it 
 so right ? 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 It is more then I know : then, is thy name wit, boy ? Now, of 
 mine honestie, welcome, for I haue wanted thee a great while. 
 
 Wit. 
 Welcome, sir ! how so ? why do ye entertaine me so kindly ? I 
 cannot dwell with you, for I haue a maister already. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 So haue I too, but she learnes me htle wit: my wife, I mean. 
 Wel, all this while I stand heere my wares are not abroad, and so I 
 may loose both my customers and market. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 261 
 
 Wealth. 
 Wares, sir ! haue ye wares ' what wares do ye sell ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Tniely, child, I sel ballades. Soft ; whose wares are these that are 
 vp already. I paid rent for my standing, and other folkes wares shall 
 be placed afore mine ? this is wise, indeed. 
 
 Wit. 
 O, the finenes of the wares, man, deserue to have good place. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 They are fine indeed. Who sells them, can ye tell ? Is he free ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Our maisters be : we wait on this ware, and yet we are no chapmen. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Chapmen ! no, that's true, for you are no men : neither chapmen 
 nor chopmen, nor chipmen nor shipmen; but if ye be chappers, 
 choppers, or chippers, ye are but chapboyes ; and, chapboyes, ye are 
 double. 
 
 Wil. 
 Double ! how is it ? Teach me that, and you will make me laugh 
 a litle. 
 
 Wealth. 
 And me a litle. 
 
 Wit. 
 And me a litle. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Then, your three litle laughes will make one great laugh. 
 
 Wit 
 True ; for if three fooles were one foole, that were a great foole. 
 
 [Point to Simplicity. 
 But how are we double chapboies ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Because ye haue two chaps, an vpper chap and a nether chap. 
 
 Wil. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
262 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 mt. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Wealth. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 You said you would laugh but a litle, but you laugh a great deale : 
 why doo ye laugh so much ? 
 
 Wil. 
 Because your wit was so great in expounding your meaning. 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 Yee may see it is a good thing to haue wit. 
 
 Wit. 
 I thanke you, sir. 
 
 Wealth. 
 And what say you to Wealth ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Wealth ? Marie, Wealth is better. 
 
 Wealth. 
 I thanke you, sir. 
 
 Wil. 
 And how say you to Wil ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Indeed, good Will is a great matter. 
 
 Wil. 
 Yea, betweene a maid and a bacheler. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, you are not in loue, boy ? 
 
 Wil. 
 Yes, but I am, and in charity too. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Charitie ! alas, poore child ! thou in charitie ? ha, ha ! now must I 
 laugh. 
 
 Wit. 
 But you laugh a great while, and you laugh verie loud. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 263 
 
 SimpHcitie. 
 Then, I ow you nothing for laughing, and you hear me the better. 
 
 Wealth, 
 But now laugh not we. 
 
 SimpHcitie. 
 No, you may be maddle coddle. Wei, heres three passing fine 
 lads, if a man were able to keep them aU. Let me see : Wealth ; 
 Oh, that's a sweet lad : then Wit ; Oh, that's a fine lad : Wil ; Oh, 
 thats a pretie lad. Wil, Wit and Wealth, God lend ye health. I 
 would I coidd guile their maisters of two of them. If I had Fraud 
 here, that serued Lady Lucre, he would teach me : he would teach 
 me to tice one of them from his maister. Which of them, now, if a 
 man shoidd steale one ? Wil ? nay, I care, not for Wil, outsep he be 
 good will. Wit? a pretie child, but a man cannot liue by wit. 
 Wealth ? Yea, marie, sir, I woidd I could win that Wealth, for then 
 I need neither Wil nor Wit ; nor I need sell no ballads, but hue hke 
 a mouse in a mill, and haue another to grinde my meale for me. He 
 haue a fling at one of them anone. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Do you not forget your selfe, gaflFar ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Haue ye not wares to sell, gafiar ? 
 
 Wil. 
 When doo you show, gaffar ? 
 
 SimpHcitie. 
 Wei remembred pretie lad: ye may see children can teach old 
 folks. I am an vnthrift, indeed. Wei, my wares shall out now. 
 But, sirs, how sell you your wares? How many of these for a 
 groat? 
 
 Wealth. 
 Our wares are not to be sold. 
 
 SimpHcitie. 
 Not for siluer nor gold? Why hang they, then, in the open 
 market ? 
 
264 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Wil, 
 To be seene, not bought. 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 Then, they are like ripe plummes upon a rich mans tree, that set 
 mens teeth a watering, when they are not to be bought. But what 
 call you these things ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Scutchions. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Cushens ? Alas, it were pittie to sit on such fine cushens. But 
 come, my boies, if you'il buy any of my wares, her's my stall, and 
 He open and show strait. 
 
 Wealth. 
 What daintie fine ballad haue you now to be sold ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Marie child, I haue Chipping Norton, a mile from ChappeU othe 
 Heath; a lamentable ballad of burning the Popes dog; the sweet 
 ballade of the Lincoln-shire bagpipes; and Peggy and Willy: — 
 But now he is dead and gone : Mine own sweet Willy is laid in his 
 graue. La, la, la, Ian ti dan derry, dan da dan, Ian ti dan, dan tan 
 derry, dan do. 
 
 Wit. 
 It is a dolefull discourse, and sung as dolefully. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why, you cannot mend it, can ye ? 
 
 Wit. 
 What will you lay on that ? for I my selfe dare lay six groats to 
 six of your balde ballades, that you your selfe shall say I sing better 
 than you. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 What a brag boy is this, to comparison with a man ! But, boy, 
 boy, I will not lay six ballades to six groates, but I will lay six 
 ballades to six jerkes at your buttockes, that you shall not sing so well 
 as I. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 265 
 
 Wit. 
 
 That I shall not ? No, possible you wil not let me sing. 
 
 Simpliciiie. 
 I not let you ! Is that spoken like Wit ? It is spoken like a wood- 
 cocke : how can I stay thee, if thou wilt sing out thy throat ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Well then, to our bargaine : six ballades to six stripes, and who 
 shall keepe stakes ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Neither of your companions, for that's aske my fellow if I be a 
 theefe. 
 
 Wil. 
 Will you keepe the stakes your selfe ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Best of all, for I meane plainely and will pay if I loose. Her's 
 my six ballades : they be ready. Now, how shall I come by your 
 sixe stripes, boy ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Downe with your breeches. He fetch a rod and deUuer them straight. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Nay then, I care not if thou keepe stakes. 
 
 Wit. 
 You speake too late, gaffar, hauing challenged preheminence. 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 Then, let's lay no wager but sing for good fellowship. 
 
 Wit. 
 Agreed. Who shall begin ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 O, boy ! who is the elder ? Hast thou not heard giue floimders to 
 thy elder ? 
 
 Wit. 
 You mistake the fish: trust me, I am sure tis giue place; but 
 begin with a good grace. 
 
 L L 
 
266 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 {Here Simp, sings first and Wit after, dialoguewise, 
 
 both to musicke if ye will. 
 Wit. 
 Now, sirs, which singes best ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Tush, your copesmates shal not judge. 
 Friend, what say you ? which of vs sings best ? 
 
 [To one of the auditory. 
 Wil. 
 To say trueth, ther's but a bad choice. 
 How wil you sel the ballad you sang, for He not buy the voice ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Why wilt thou not buy my voice ? 
 
 Wil 
 Because it will cost me more money to buy sallet oil to keep it 
 from rusting, than it is woorth. But, I pray ye, honest man, what's 
 this? 
 
 Simplicitie, 
 Read, and thou shalt see. 
 
 Wil. 
 I cannot read. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Not read and brought vp in London ! Wentst thou neuer to 
 schole ? 
 
 Wil. 
 Yes, but I would not learn. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Thou wast the more foole. If thou cannot read, He tel thee. This 
 is Tarlton's picture. Didst thou neuer know Tarlton ? 
 
 Wil. 
 No : what was that Tarlton ? I neuer knew him. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 What was he? A prentice in his youth of this honorable city, 
 God be with him. When he was young, he was leaning to the trade 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 267 
 
 that my wife vseth nowe, and I haue vsed, vide lice shirt, water 
 bearing. I wis, he hath tost a tankard in Comehil er nowe : If thou 
 knewst him not, I will not call thee Ingram ; but if thou knewest not 
 him, thou knewest no body. I warrant, her's two crackropes knew 
 him. 
 
 Wit. 
 I dwelt with him. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Didst thou ? now, giue me thy hand : I loue thee the better. 
 
 Wil. 
 And I, too, sometime. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 You, child! did you dwell with him sometime ? 
 Wit dwelt with him, indeed, as appeared by his rime. 
 And served him well ; and Wil was with him now and than. But 
 soft : thy name is Wealth : I think in earnest he was litle acquainted 
 with thee. 
 
 O, it was a fine fellow, as ere was borne : 
 There will neuer come his like while the earth can come. 
 O, passing fine Tarlton ! I would thou hadst liued yet. 
 
 Wealth. 
 He might haue some, but thou showest small wit. 
 There is no such finenes in the picture, that I see. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Thou art no Cinque Port man ; thou art not wit free. 
 The finenes was within, for without he was plaine ; 
 But it was the merriest fellow, and had such jestes in store, 
 That, if thou hadst scene him, thou wouldst haue laughed thy hart sore. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Because of thy praise, what's the price of the picture ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 He tell thee, my lad. Come hither : if thou wilt be ruled by me, 
 thou shalt pay nothing ; He giue it thee, if thou wilt dwell with mee ; 
 and, I promise thee, this counsell is for thy prefarming. Hadst not 
 
268. The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 thou better seme a free man of the Citie, and leame a trade to Hue 
 another day, then to be a seruing boy in thy youth, and to haue no 
 occupation in thine age. I can make thee free, if thou wilt be my 
 prentice. 
 
 Wealth. 
 Why, Wealth is free euery where : what need I seme you ? My 
 Lord is a freeman, if that may doo me good. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 I cry you mercy M. boy : then, your maister is free of the Lords 
 Company, and you seme him that you may be a Lord, when you 
 come out of your yeares. 
 
 Wit. 
 Wealth is a proud boy, gafFar : what say you to mee ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Thy name is Wit : wilt thou dwell with me ? 
 
 Wit. 
 If I like your name and science, perchance wee'il agree. 
 
 iSimplicitie. 
 Nay, my name and mine honestie is al one : it is wel knowen. 
 He's a very foole that cannot beguile me, for my name is Simplicity. 
 
 Wil. 
 Coads, gaffar ! were you not a meal-man once, and dwelt with Lady 
 Conscience ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Yes, for want of a better. 
 
 Wil. 
 What, a better man ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 No ; for want of a better mistresse : she was as very a foole as L 
 We dwelt so long together, that we went both on begging. 
 
 Wit. 
 Indeed, they that vse a good Conscience cannot sodainly be rich. 
 But He not dwell with ye: you are too simple a maister for 
 me. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 269 
 
 Wil. 
 Nor He not dwell with you for all this worlds treasure. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 No ? Why, whom seme you, Wil ? 
 
 Wil. 
 I seme my Lord Pleasure. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 And whom seme you, Wit ? 
 
 Wit. 
 I seme my Lord PoUicie. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 And whom seme you. Wealth ? 
 
 Wealth. 
 I seme my Lord Pompe. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 You should be semed al with my Lord Birchley, if you wer wel 
 serued. These lads are so lordly that louts care not for them ; for 
 Wealth semes Pomp, Wit semes Pollicy, and Wil semes Pleasure. 
 Welth, wil you buy this picture for your Lord ? 
 
 [Shew Tarltons picture. 
 Wealth. 
 No : it is too base a present for Pomp. 
 
 Wit. 
 And Pollicy seldom regardes such a trifle. 
 
 Wil. 
 Come on, gaffar, come on ; I must be your best chapman : He 
 buy it for Pleasure. Hold ; there is a groat. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Gramercie, good Wil, my wife shall loue thee still ; 
 And since I can neither get Wit nor Wealth, 
 Let my wife haue her Wil, and let me haue my health. 
 God forgiue me, I thinke I neuer name her, but it conjures her : look 
 
 [where she comes ! 
 Be mannerly, boies, that she knocke ye not with her staffe : 
 
270 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Keepe your owne counsell, and He make ye laugh. 
 
 What doo ye lacke ? What lack ye ? 
 
 Stand away, these boies, from my wares : 
 
 Get ye from my stall, or He wring you by the eares ; 
 
 Let my customers see the wares. What lack ye ? 
 
 What would ye haue bought ? 
 
 Enter Painfull-penurie, attired like a water-bearing womanf 
 with her tankard. 
 Penurie. 
 You haue customers inow, and if they were ought. 
 What doo you with these boies here, to filch away your ware ? 
 You show all your wit : you'il ne'er haue more care. 
 
 Wil 
 Content ye, good wife : we do not filch, but buy. 
 
 Penurie. 
 I meant not you, yoong maister, Gods blessing on your hart : 
 You haue bought, indeed sir, I see, for your part. 
 Be these two yoong gentlemen of your companie ? 
 Buy, gentlemen, buy ballades to make your friends merrie. 
 
 Wit. 
 To stand long with your burden, me thinks, you shuld be weary. 
 
 Penurie. 
 True, gentlemen ; but you may see, poore Painful-penury 
 Is faine to carry three tankerds for a penie. 
 But, husband I say, come not home to dinner ; its Ember day : 
 You must eate nothing till night, but fast and pray. 
 I shall loose my draught at conduit, and therefore He away. 
 Yoong gentlemen, God be with ye. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Wife, must I not dine to day ? 
 
 Penurie. 
 No, sir, by my fay. [Exit Penurie. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 If I must not eat, I meane to drinke the more : 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 271 
 
 What I spare in bread, in ale He set on the skore. 
 How say ye, my lads, and doo I not speake wisely ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Me thinks ye doo ; and it's prety that SimpHcity 
 Hath gotten to his wife plaine Painfull-penury. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Yea, I thanke God, though she be poore and scarse cleanly. 
 Yet she is homely, careful, and comely. 
 
 One call within. 
 Wit, Wealth and Wil ! come to your Lords quickly. 
 
 Wil. 
 Must the scutchions hang still ? 
 
 One within. 
 Yea, let them alone. 
 
 WiL 
 Farewel, maister Simplicity. [Exeunt. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Farewell, good M. boies, ene hartily, ene hartily, hartily. 
 And, heare ye Wil, I thanke you for your hansel truly. 
 Prety lads ! heark ye sirs, how ! WU, Wit, Wealth ! 
 
 Enter Wit, 
 Wit 
 What's the matter, you call us backe so sodainly, 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 I forgot to aske you whither your three Lords of London be 
 courtiers or cittiners ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Citizens borne, and courtiers brought vp. Is this all ? Farewell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 
 Citizens borne and courtiers brought up. I thinke so ; for they 
 
 that be borne in London are halfe courtiers before they see the 
 
 court : for finesse and mannerlinesse, oh passing ! My manners and 
 
 misbehauiour is mended halfe in halfe since I gaue ouer my meal- 
 
272 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 man, and came to dwell m London : ye may see Time dooth much. 
 Time weares otit horshooes : time teares out milstones : time seasons 
 a pudding well ; and time hath made mee a free man, as free to beare 
 water and sell ballades as the best of our copulation. I would haue 
 thought once my horse should haue bene free as soon as my selfe, 
 and sooner too, for he would haue stombled with a sacke of meale, 
 and hen along in the channell with it, when he had done, and that 
 some cals freedome ; but it's a durtie freedome, but ye may see, bad 
 horses were but jades in those dales. But soft ; here comes cus- 
 tomers. What lacke ye ? What is't ye lack ? What lack ye ? Come 
 along and buy nothing. Fine Ballades ! new Ballades ! What lack 
 ye? 
 
 Enter Nemo and the three Lords. 
 Nemo. 
 
 My Lordes, come on. What suits haue you to me ? 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Renowmed Nemo, the most onelie one. 
 That drawes no breath but of th' eternal aire. 
 That knowest our suit before we bound to speak. 
 For thou art the very Oracle of thoughts ; 
 Whose vertues doo encompasse thee about, 
 As th* aire surroundes this massie globe of earth ; 
 Who hast in power what euer pleaseth thee, 
 And canst bestow much more than we may craue. 
 To thee we seeke ; to thee on knees we sue. 
 That thou wilt deigne from thraldom to release 
 Those louely Dames, that London Ladies are. 
 
 Nemo. 
 
 What, those three caitiefs, long agoe condemn'd, 
 Loue, Lucre, Conscience ? wel deserving death, 
 Being corrupt with all contagion : 
 The spotted ladies of that stately towne ? 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 Loue, Lucre, Conscience, we of thee desire, 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 273 
 
 Which in thy selfe hast all perfection, 
 Accomphshed with all integritie, * 
 
 And needest no helpe to doe what pleaseth thee ; 
 Who holdest fame and fortune both thy slaues. 
 And doest eompell the Destinies draw the coatch. 
 To thee we sue, sith power thou hast therto. 
 To set those Ladies at their libertie. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 At libertie, thou spotlesse magistrate, 
 That of the cause doost carie all regard, 
 Carelesse of bribes, of birth and parentage. 
 Because thy selfe art onely borne to blisse. 
 Blesse vs so much, that Lordes of London are. 
 That those three Ladies, borne and bred with vs, 
 May by our suites release of thraldome find. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Release, my Lords ! why seeke ye their release, 
 That haue perpetuall prison for their doome ? 
 
 PolUcie. 
 But Nemo can from thence redeeme them all. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Their deeds were cause, not Nemo, of their thral. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Yet Nemo was the judge that sentence gaue. 
 
 Nemo. 
 But Nemo never spill'd whom he could saue. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Thou from perpetuaU prison maist reuoke. 
 
 PolUcie. 
 Death hath no power gainst him to giue a strok. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Thou onlie milde and curteous sir, vouchsafe 
 To graunt our suit, and set those Ladies free. 
 
 M M 
 
274 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Nemo. 
 What's your purpose in this earnest suit ? 
 
 Pleasure. 
 To marie them, and make them honest wiues. 
 
 Nemo, 
 But may it be, that men of your regard. 
 Lords of such fortune, and so famous place, 
 Wil hnke your selues with Ladies so forlome. 
 And so disteined with more then common crimes ? 
 
 PolUcie. 
 Mariage doth make amends for many a misse. 
 
 Pompe. 
 And loue doth couer heaps of combrous euils. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 And doth forget the faults that were before. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Meane as you say, ye neede to say no more. 
 
 PolUcie. 
 In token that we meane what we haue said, 
 Lo, here our shieldes, the prizes of our loue. 
 To challenge all, except thy selfe, that dare 
 Denie those Ladies to be ours by right. 
 
 Nemo, 
 Woo them and win them, win them and wear them too : 
 I shal both comfort and discourage you, my Lords. 
 The comfort's this : of all those former crimes. 
 Wherewith the world was wont these Dames to charge, 
 I haue them cleer'd, and made them all as free 
 As they were borne, no blemish left to see. 
 But the discourage (gentle Lords) is this : 
 The time of their indurance hath bene long. 
 Whereby their cloathes of cost and curious stuffe 
 Are worne to rags, and giue them much disgrace. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 275 
 
 Pompe. 
 Alas, good Ladies ! was there none that sued 
 For their release before we took't in hand ? 
 
 Nemo. 
 Yes, diuers for fair Lucre sought release. 
 And some for Loue would faine haue paid the fees; 
 But siUie Conscience sat without regard 
 In sorrowes dungeon, sighing by her selfe. 
 Which when I saw that some did sue for Loue, 
 And most for Lucre, none for Conscience, 
 A vow I made, which now I shall perfourme : 
 Til some should sue to haue release for all, 
 Judg'd as they were, they should remaine in thrall. 
 But you, that craue their freedomes, all at once, 
 Shal haue your suit, and see them here ere long. 
 A little while you must haue patience. 
 And leaue this place. Go in, my Lordes, before. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Becommeth vs to waite on Nemo still. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Not so ; but, Lordings, one condition more. 
 You promise me, sith they are in my power, 
 I shall dispose them, when they are released, 
 Upon you three, as I shall thinke it best. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Doe but commaund, and we shall all subscribe. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Then, goe your ways, for I haue here to do. [Exeunt 3 Lords. 
 
 Enter Sorrow. 
 Sorrow, draw neere : tomorrow bring thou foorth 
 Loue, Lucre, Conscience, whom thou hast in thrall, 
 Upon these stones to sit and take the aire. 
 But set no watch or spyall what they doo. 
 
 [Exeunt Ambo. 
 
276 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Enter Fraud, Usurie, Dissimulation, Simony and Simplicity. 
 
 Fraud. 
 How happie may we call this merie day, my mates, wherein we 
 meet, that once were desperate, I thinke, euer to haue scene one 
 another, when Nemo, that vpright judge had, by imprisoning our 
 mistresses, banished vs (by setting such diligent watch for vs) out of 
 London, and almost out of the world. But Hue we yet and are we 
 met, and neere our old seat ? Usury is it thou ? Let me see ; or 
 hath some other stolne thy face ? speakest thou, man ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 No, Fraud : thou[gh] many haue counterfeited both thee and me. 
 We are our selues yet, and no changlings, I see. 
 And why shouldst thou aske me, man, if I liue ? 
 The silly asse cannot feed on harder forage than Usurie : she upon 
 thistles, and I upon a browne crust of a moneth old. 
 
 Simplicity/. 
 So that Usury and an asse are two of the profitablest beasts that a 
 man can keepe ; yet th'one hath sharper teeth than th'other. 
 
 Fraud. 
 But what meanes Dissimulation ? He droopes, me thinks. What 
 cheere, man ? Why cousen, frolick a fit. Art thou not glad of this 
 meeting ? What's the cause of thy melancholy ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Not melanchohke, but musing how it comes to passe that we are 
 thus fortunate to meet £is we doo ? 
 
 Simont/. 
 He tell thee why we met : because we are no mountaines. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 But ye are as ill, for ye are monsters. 
 
 Simony. 
 And men may meete, though mountaines cannot. 
 
 Fraud. 
 In token that this meeting is joyfull to vs all, let vs embrace al- 
 together with harts joy and affection. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 277 
 
 Simplicity. 
 I see many of these old prouerbes prooue trae ; tis merrie when 
 
 [knaues meet. 
 Fraud, 
 How, sir ! whats that ? 
 
 Simony. 
 If a man had a casting net, he might catch all you. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Art thou not Simplicity ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Goodman Simp, for I am maried, and it like your maistership 
 And you are Mast. Fraud, too ; a pox on your worship. I see a fox 
 and a false knaue haue all one luck, the better for banning; and 
 many of you crafty knaues liue merilyer, than we honest men. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Sirra, bridle your tongue, if you'il be welcom to our company. 
 No girdes, nor old grudges, but congratulate this meeting. And, 
 sirs, if you say it, let's tel how we haue lined since our parting. 
 
 Simplicity, 
 O ! it is great pity. 
 
 Usurie. 
 What, to tell how we haue lined ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 No ; that ye doo liue. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Yet againe, sirra? Usury, as for thee, it were folly to aske, for 
 thou liuest but too wel ; but Dissimulation and Simony, how haue 
 you two lined ? Discourse, I pray you hartily. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Faith, euen like two mice in an amberie, that eat up all the meat, 
 and when they haue done gnaw holes in the cupbord. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Fraud, after my scaping away at the Sessions, where I shifted, as 
 thou knowest, in three sundry shapes ; one of a frier, and they can 
 
278 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 dissemble ; another Hke a woman, and they doo Utle else : the third 
 as a Saint and a Deuil, and so is a woman, I was banished out of 
 London by Nemo. To the countrie went I amongst my olde friendes, 
 and neuer better loued than among the russet coates. Once in a 
 moneth I stole in othe market day to Leaden-hall and about, and 
 sometime to Westminster hall. Now, hearing some speech that the 
 Ladies should be sued for, I ame come in hope of my old enter- 
 tainment, supposing my selfe not knowen of many, and hoping the 
 three Lordes will preuaile in their suit, and I to serue one of them. 
 
 Simplicity, 
 He shall doo well that giues thee a coat, but he should doo better 
 that could take of thy skinne. 
 
 Simonie. 
 And I haue bene a traueiler abroad in other realms, for here I am 
 so cried out against by preachers (and yet some ministers, that be 
 none, could be content to vse me) that I was glad to be gone : nowe, 
 in some other landes, and not verie far of, I am secretly fostered, 
 sauing in Scotland and the Low Countries they are refourmed : they 
 cannot abide me. Wei, now and then hither I came stealing ouer 
 sea, and hearing as you here, intend as you doo. 
 
 Fraud. 
 And for mine own part, amongst artificers, and amongst a few bad 
 conscienced lawyers, I haue found such entertainment as dooth passe, 
 yet would I with Lucre faine be as I was. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Fraud is as ill as a cut-purse, by the masse. 
 
 Usurie. 
 And for Usury, the longer I liue the greater loue I find ; 
 Yet would I be with Lucre again, to please my mind. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Heer's a good fellow too, one of our acquaintance. How hast thou 
 liued, Simplicity? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 More honestly then all the rest of thy company ; for when I might 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 279 
 
 beg no longer, as begging was but bad, for you coson'd me once of 
 an alms, I fel to tankard bearing, and so got a wife of the same 
 science, PainfuU-penury : then got I my freedom, and feeling my 
 shoulder grow wearie of the tankard, set vp an easier trade, to sel 
 ballads. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Hadst thou a stock to set up withal ? 
 
 Simplicity, 
 Wise inough to tell you, I; and yonder's my stal: but beware 
 I loose nothing, for if I do, He lay it straight to some of you ; for I 
 saw none so Uke theeues, I promise you, since I set vp. 
 
 Fraud. 
 You are a wise man, when your nose is in the cup. But soft, who 
 comes here ? step we close aside, for these be the three Ladies, for 
 my life, brought out of prison by their keeper. Let vs be whist, 
 and we shall heare and see all. Sirra, you must say nothing. 
 Enter Sorrow and the three Ladies : he sets them on three 
 stones on the stage. 
 Simplicity. 
 Not til ye speak, for I am affraid of him that's with the women. 
 
 Conscience. 
 O, Sorrow when ! when. Sorrow, wilt thou cease 
 To blow the sparke that burnes my troubled soule, 
 To feede the worme that stings my fainting breast. 
 And sharp the Steele that goares my bleeding heart ? 
 My though tes are thornes, my teares hot drops of lead : 
 I plaine, I pine, I die, yet neuer dead. 
 If world would end, my woe should but begin : 
 Loe, this the case of Conscience for her sin ; 
 And sin the food wherewith my worme was fed. 
 That stings me now to death, yet neuer dead. 
 
 Loue. 
 Yet neuer dead, and yet Loue doeth not Hue, 
 Loue, that to losse in life her follie lent. 
 
280 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Follie the food whereon her frailtie fed, 
 Frailtie the railke that Natures breast did giue : 
 Life, losse, and foUie, frailtie, foode and kinde, 
 Worme, sting, thornes, fire, and torment to the mind ; 
 Life but a breath, and follie but a flower, 
 Frailtie, claie, dust, the foode that fancie scomes ; 
 Loue a sweet bait to couer losses sower. 
 Flesh breedes the fire that kindles lustfuU thornes ; 
 Lust, fire, bait, scome, dust, flower and feeble breath. 
 Die, quench, deceiue, flie, fade, and yeeld to death. 
 To death ? O good ! if death might finish all : 
 We die each day, and yet for death we cal. 
 
 Lucre. 
 
 For death we call, yet death is stil in sight. 
 Lucre doth scald in drops of melting gold 
 Accusing rust cals on eternall might. 
 Where flames consume, and yet we freeze with cold. 
 Sorrow addes sulphur vnto furies heat, 
 And chops them yce whose chattering teeth do beat ; 
 But sulphur, snow, flame, frost, nor hideous crieng 
 Can cause them die that euer are in dying, 
 Nor make the paine diminish or increase : 
 Sorrow is slacke, and yet will neuer cease. 
 
 Sorrow. 
 
 When Sorrow ceaseth. Shame shal then begin 
 With those that wallow sencelesse in their sin. 
 But Ladies, I haue drawen you from my den 
 To open aire, to mitigate some mone. 
 Conscience, sit downe upon that sweating stone. 
 And let that flint, Loue, serue thee for a seate ; 
 And, Ladie Lucre, on that stone rest you. 
 And, Ladies, thus I leaue you here alone. 
 Moume ye, but moane not I shal absent be ; 
 But good it were sometime to thinke on me. {^Exit. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 28 1 
 
 Conscience. 
 Comfort it is to thinke on Sorrow past. 
 
 Loiie. 
 Sorrow remaines, where joy is but a blast. 
 
 Lucre. 
 A blast of wind is worldes felicitie. 
 
 Conscience. 
 A blasting wind, and fiiU of miserie. 
 
 Loue, 
 O, Conscience, thou hast more tormented me. 
 
 Lmcre. 
 Me hath thy worm, O Conscience, stong too deep. 
 
 Conscience. 
 But more my selfe my thoughtes tormented haue, 
 Than both of you, in Sorrowes suUen caue ; 
 From whence drawen foorth, I find but litle rest : 
 A seat uneasie, wet and scalding hot, 
 On this hard stone hath Sorrow me assignde. 
 
 Loue. 
 And on my seat my selfe I frozen find : 
 No flint more hard, no yce more cold then this. 
 
 Lucre. 
 I think my seat some mineral stone to be : 
 I cold from it, it drawes heat from me. 
 Ladies consent, and we our seates will view. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Dare we for shame our stained faces shew ? 
 
 Loue. 
 My double face is single growen againe. 
 
 Lucre. 
 My spots are gone : my skin is smooth and plain. 
 
 Conscience. 
 DoflFe we our veiles, and greet this gladsom light ; 
 The chaser of gloome, Sorrowes heavie night. 
 
 N N 
 
282 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Loue, 
 Haile cheerful aire, and clearest christal skie. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Haile shining sunne, and fairest firmament. 
 Comfort to those that time in woe haue spent. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Upon my weeping stone is set Remorse in brazen letters. 
 
 Loue, 
 And on this flint in lead is Charity. 
 
 Lucre. 
 In golden letters on my stone is Care. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Then Lucre sits upon the stone of Care. 
 
 Lucre. 
 And Conscience on the marble of Remorse. 
 
 Loue. 
 Loue on the flint of frozen Charitie. 
 Ladies, alas, what tattered soules are we. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Sorrow our hearts, and time our cloaths hath torn. 
 
 iMcre, 
 Then sit we down Uke silly soules forlome, 
 And hide our faces that we be not knowen ; 
 For Sorrowes plagues tormented me no more. 
 Than wil their sight that knew me heretofore. 
 
 Loue. 
 Then wil their sight that knew us heretofore 
 Draw ruth and help from them for our rehefe. 
 
 Conscience. 
 For our reliefe ? for Conscience and for Loue 
 No help, smal ruth that our distresse may mooue. 
 
 Loue, 
 O, Conscience, thou wouldst lead me to dispaire. 
 But that I see the way to hope is faire. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 283 
 
 And hope to heauen dkects a readie way, 
 And heauen to help is prest to them that pray. 
 
 Lmcre. 
 That pray with faith, and with unfain'd remorse. 
 For true beleefe and teares make praier of force. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Then veile our selues, and sUent let vs stay. 
 Till heauen shall please to send some friends this way. 
 
 {Sit all down. 
 Fraud. 
 Ladies vnmask'd ! blush not for base attire : 
 Here are none but friends and seruants all. Dear Lady Lucre, 
 Deerer vnto vs than daily breath we draw from sweetest aire. 
 Dearer then life, dearer then heauen it selfe, 
 Deigne to discouer those alluring lampes. 
 Those louely eies more cleare than Venus star. 
 Whose bright aspectes worlds woonder do produce. 
 Unueile, I say, that beauty more diuine 
 Than Nature (saue in thee) did ever paint. 
 That we, swome slaues vnto our mistresse, may 
 Once more behold those stately louely lookes. 
 And doo those duties which vs wel beseemes. 
 Such duties as we aU desire to doe. 
 
 Conscience, 
 I know that tongue. Lucre beware of Fraud. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Of Fraud ! Indeed by speech it should be he. — Fra. what seekest 
 
 [thou ? 
 Fraud. 
 Lucre, to honor thee with wit, with worth, with all I haue ; 
 To be thy seruant, as I was before, 
 To get thee cloathes, and what thou wantest els. 
 
 Lucre. 
 No ; Fraud, farewell : I must be wonne no more 
 
284 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 To keepe such seruants as I kept before. 
 
 Simony. 
 Sweet Lady Lucre, me thou maiest accept. 
 
 Lucre. 
 How art thou called ? 
 
 Simony. 
 Simon. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Aye ? No, sir ; Conscience saith. 
 
 Conscience. 
 No ; Lucre now beware, false not thy faith, 
 For Simoni's subject to perpetuaU curse. 
 
 Dissimulation, 
 As you two haue sped, I would desire to speed no worse. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Make you a suit : you may chance to speed better. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Not I, for of al my tongue is best knowen ; 
 But if I speak, it shal be to her that was once mine owne. 
 Good Ladie Loue, thou litle knowest the griefe. 
 That I, thy friend, sustaine for thy distresse, 
 And lesse beleeuest what care 1 haue of thee. 
 Looke vp, good Loue, and to supply thy wants 
 Aske what thou wilt, and thou shalt haue of me, 
 Of me, that joy more in thy libertie 
 Than in this life, our light that comforts me. 
 
 Loue. 
 O, gall in hunnie, serpent in the grasse ! 
 O, bifold fountaine of two bitter streames. 
 Dissimulation fed with vipers flesh, 
 
 Whose words are oyle, whose deedes the dartes of death ! 
 Thy tongue I know, that tongue that me beguil'd, 
 Thy selfe a deuil madst me a monster vild. 
 From the[e] well knowne, well may I blesse my selfe : 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 285 
 
 Deere bought repentance bids me shun thy snare. 
 
 Conscience. 
 O, happie Loue, if now thou can beware. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Marie, but heare ye, motley-beard. I think this blindfold buz- 
 zardly hedge- wench spoke to ye : she knowes ye though she see ye 
 not. Harke ye, you women, if you'il go to the alehouse. He bestow 
 two pots on ye, and we'il get a paire of cardes and some company, 
 and winne twenty pots more ; for you play the best at a game, calFd 
 smelling of the foure knaues, that euer I saw. 
 
 Usurie. 
 Foure ! soft ; yet they haue not smelt thee. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 No ; I am one more than is in the deck, but you'il be smeld as soon 
 as ye begin to speake. He see what they'il say to me. Hear ye, you 
 women, wiues, widdowes, maids, mens daughters, what shall I cal ye ? 
 these four fellowes (hark ye, shal I cal ye crafty knaues ?) make me 
 beleeue that you are the three that were the three faire Ladies of 
 London. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Gentle Simplicity, we are vnhappy they. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Now, ye bad fellowes, which of ye had such a word as gentle Sim ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 Bad fellowes, ye rascall ! If ere you bring me pawne. He pluck yee 
 
 [for that word. 
 Simplicity. 
 I cry you mercie, M. Inquirie, M. Usurie : I meant not you. 
 
 Fraud. 
 If you mean vs, we may be euen with yee too. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Tut, I knew you an Ostler, and a theefe beside : 
 You haue rub'd my horse heeles er now, for al your pride. 
 But, Ladies, if ye be the three Ladies, which of ye dwelt in Kent 
 
286 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Street ? One of you did, but I know not which is she, ye looke all 
 so like broom-wenches. I was once her seruant : lie nere be ashamed 
 of her, though I be rich and she be poore ; yet if she that hath bene 
 my dame, or he that hath bin my maister come in place, He speak to 
 them, sure : He do my duty. Which is Lady Consc. ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 Euen I am she. Simplicity. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 I am glad ye are out of prison. I thought ye had forgot me : I 
 went a begging from you, til the bedles snapt me vp : now I am free 
 and keepe a stall of ballades. I may buy and sell. I would you 
 had as good a gown now, as I carried once of yours to pawn to 
 Usury here. 
 
 Conscience, 
 Gramercy, good Simp. Wilt thou be with me now ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 No, I thank you hartily; He beg no more. I cannot with ye, 
 though I would, for I am maried to Painful-penury. Looke now, my 
 proud stately maisters, I may if I wil, and you would if ye might. 
 
 Fraud. 
 No ; not dwell with such a beggar as Conscience. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 No ; Fraud nere loud Conscience since he was an Ostler. 
 
 Usurie. 
 Who cares for Conscience but dies a beggar ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 That wil not Usury do: he will first take 3 score pound in the 
 
 [hundred. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Loue, looke on me, and I will giue thee cloathes. 
 
 Loue. 
 I will no more by thee be so disguised. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Ye doe the wiser, for his face looks like a cloakbacke. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 287 
 
 Dissimulation, 
 In thy affections I had once a place. 
 
 Loue. 
 Those fond affections wrought me foul disgrace. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 He make amends, if ought amisse were done. 
 
 Loue. 
 Who once are burn'd the fire will euer shun. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 And yet once burn'd to warme again may prooue. 
 
 Lou£. 
 Not at thy fire : I will be perfect Loue. 
 
 Simplicity, 
 I promise you, the wenches haue leam'd to answer wittily. 
 Her's many faire proffers to Lucre and Loue, 
 But who cloaths poor Conscience ? she may sit long inough. 
 
 Usurie. 
 I wil cloath her straight. 
 
 {Usurie takes Frauds cloak, and casts iiton Cons. 
 Simplicity. 
 WU you, maister Usurie ? that's honestly spoke. 
 Ha ! that's no gramercie to cloath her with another mans cloake ; 
 But I see you haue a craft in the dooing, M. Usury : 
 Usury couers Conscience with Frauds cloake verie cunningly. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Alas ! who loades my shoulders with this heauie weed ? 
 Fy ! how it stinks : this is perfumed indeed. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Marie geppe, goody Conscience ! indeed I doo you wrong, 
 But He quickly right it ; my cloake shall not comber you long. 
 
 Usurie. 
 All this while Lucre knowes not I am here, 
 But now will I to her : marke how I speed. 
 Lady, the fairest that Nature euer fourmed. 
 
288 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Lodestone of loue, that drawes affections dartes, 
 The only object of all humaine eies. 
 And sole desired daintie of the world, 
 Thy vassall here, a vertue in thy neede, 
 Whom thou by license of the law maist vse. 
 Tenders himselfe and all his seruices 
 To doe thy will in dutie as to fore, 
 Glad of thy freedome as his proper life. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Lady Lucre, you loue an apple : take heede the caterpiller consume 
 
 ^ [not your fruit. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Who is it that maketh this latest suit ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Tis Usurie. [Aloud in her eare. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Great is the seruice he hath done for me ; 
 But, Usury, now I may not deale with thee. 
 
 Usurie. 
 The law allowes me, Madam, in some sort. 
 
 Conscience. 
 But God and I would haue thy boundes cut short. 
 
 Usurie. 
 For you I recke not ; but if God me hate. 
 Why dooth the law allow me in some rate ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 Usury slanders both law and state. 
 The law allowes not, though it toUerate, 
 And thou art sure be shut out at heauen gate. 
 
 Usurie. 
 You were euer nice : no matter what you prate. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Then, it will be with him, as it is at a great mans house in dinner 
 time : he that knockes when the doore is shut comes too late. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 289 
 
 Lucre. 
 Well, Usurie, Fraud, and Simony, 
 Dissimulation, hearken vnto me. 
 My tongue (although in memorie it be greene) 
 Cannot declare what horrors I haue seene ; 
 Ne can it enter into mortall eares 
 Unmortified : the furies fires and feares. 
 The shrikes, the grones, the tortures and the paines 
 That any soiile for each of you sustaines. 
 No pen can write how Conscience hath me scourg'd. 
 When with your faults my soule she euer vrg'd : 
 Arithmeticke dooth faile to number all 
 The plagues of Sorrow in the den of thrall. 
 Then, tempt me not, nor trouble me no more ; 
 I must not vse you as I did before. 
 If you be found within faire Londons gate, 
 You must to prison, whence we came of late. 
 Conscience will accuse ye, if ye be in sight. 
 
 Fraud. 
 That scuruie Conscience works vs all the spight. 
 
 Enter Nemo. 
 Usurie. 
 Wei, Lucre, yet in thee we haue delight. 
 Dissimulation. 
 Yonder come some : we must take our flight. [Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Birdes of a fether wil flie together ; but when they be taken, then 
 
 [are they baken. 
 Yonder comes a customer : He to my stall. 
 Loue, Lucre, and Conscience, bhndman buffe to you all. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Conscience, Loue, Lucre, Ladies all, what cheere ? 
 How doo ye Uke the seates you sit vpon ? 
 
 o o 
 
290 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 ' Conscience, 
 
 O, pure vnspotted Nemo, sole paragon 
 Of Loue of Conscience and perfection ; 
 The marble of remorse, I sit vpon. 
 Sweats scalding drops, hke bitter brinish teares. 
 
 Nemo, 
 
 So should remorse when Conscience feels her gilt. 
 But, gentle Loue, how feelest thou thy flint ? 
 
 Lov£. 
 
 O, sharp and cold : I freeze vnto my seat : 
 The flint holds fire, and yet I feele no heat. 
 But am benumbed and frozen euerie joint. 
 
 Nemo, 
 
 O Loue, so cold is charitie in these times. 
 Lucre, how sit you ? 
 
 Lucre. 
 
 Upon a heauy stone, not halfe so cold, not halfe so hot as theirs, 
 but of some secrete power, for I do find and sensibly feele. 
 That I from it exhale an earthly cold. 
 And it from me dooth draw a kindly heat. 
 
 Nemo. 
 
 Such force hath care of Lucre in it self 
 To coole the heart and draw the vital spirits ; 
 And such the true condition of you three : 
 Remorse of Conscience, charitie of Loue, 
 And care of Lucre ; such your vses be. 
 But, Ladies, now your sorrow lay aside : 
 FroUck, faire Dames ; an vnexpected good 
 Is imminent through me vnto you all. 
 Three Lords there be, your natiue countrimen, 
 In London bred, as you your selues haue bene, 
 Which couet you for honorable wiues. 
 And presently wil come to visite you. 
 Be not abashed at your base attire. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 29 1 
 
 I shall prouide you friends to decke you all. 
 If I commaund stand vp, els sit you still. 
 Lo, where they come. 
 
 Enter the 3 Lords. 
 
 My Lordes, the dames are here. 
 Pollicie. 
 Why are they wympled ? Shall they not vnmaske them ? 
 
 Nemo. 
 It is for your sake ; for PolUcie they doo it. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Much may their fortune and their feature be. 
 But what it is we cannot thus discerne. 
 
 Nemo. 
 You shall in time. Lord Pomp : be yet content. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Their fame is more then cause or reason would. 
 May one of these be Pleasures paragon ? 
 
 Nemo, 
 Pleasure, be pleas'd and vse no prejudice. 
 Madames, stand vp. — Mislike not their attire ; 
 That shal be mended as your selues desire. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Their port, and their proportion wel contentes. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Right stately dames, if they were wel attir'd. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 May we not see their beautie, what it is ? 
 
 Nemo. 
 Yes, Lordinges, yes. Lucre, lift vp thy veile. 
 
 Pollicie, 
 Of beautie excellent ! 
 
 Pompe. 
 Of rare perfection ! 
 
292 
 
 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 A daintie face ! 
 Unmaske, Loue. 
 Sweete Loue, indeed ! 
 A louely face ! 
 A gallant grace ! 
 Conscience, uncouer. 
 Beautie diuine ! 
 A face angelicall ! 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Nemo, 
 
 Pollicie, 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Nemo, 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Pompe, 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Sweet creature of the world ! 
 
 Nemo. 
 
 Enough for once : Ladies, sit downe againe. 
 As cunning chapmen do by curious wares, [To the audimce. 
 
 Which seldome showen do most inflame the mind. 
 So must I deale, being daintie of these Dames, 
 Who seldome seen shall best allure these Lords. 
 A while, my Lords, I leaue you with these three : 
 Conuerse, conferre on good conditions. 
 I will right soone retume with such good friends 
 As it concemes to cloath these daintie ones. 
 If any in my absence visit them. 
 Know their intent, and vse your skill therein. \Exit. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Ladies, to call to mind your former Hues, 
 Were to recount your sorrowes on a row. 
 Omitting, then, what you haue bene or bee. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 293 
 
 What you may be He speak, so it please you ; 
 Wiues to vs three, Ladies to London Lords, 
 Pompe, Pleasure, Pollicie, men of such regard, 
 As shall you guard from euil, once matched with us ; 
 And Pollicie presents this good to you. 
 
 Pompe. 
 With Londons Pomp may one of you be join'd, 
 Possessing more than Fortune can afFoord : 
 Fortune's a foole, but heauenly prouidence 
 Guards Londons Pompe, and her that shal be his. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 And Londons Pleasure, peerles in delightes, 
 Wil deigne to make one of these Dames his owne. 
 Who may with him in more contentment liue. 
 Than euer did the Queene of Ethiope. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Though silence, Lordes, our modestie inforce. 
 Nemo can tell the secretes of our thoughts : 
 Nemo, that womens minds can constant keepe. 
 He shal for vs you answere, good my Lordes. , 
 
 I speak for al, though il beseeming me. 
 
 Enter Falshod and Double-dealing. 
 Pollicie. 
 You speak but wel. — My Lordes, step we aside 
 To note these fellowes, what they do intend. 
 
 Enter Nemo, 
 Pompe. 
 Nemo can tel, for he doth follow them. 
 
 Falshod. 
 Ladies, to you, to some of you, we come, 
 Sent from such friends as much affect your good. 
 With garmentes, and with complements of cost. 
 Accordant well to dames of such degree. 
 I come to Lucre. 
 
294 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 * Double-Dealing, 
 
 I to Loue am sent. 
 With no lesse cost then could be got for coin, 
 Which with my message I dehuer would. 
 Could I desceme which of these dames were shee. 
 
 Loue. 
 Friend, I am Loue : what bringest thou there to me ? 
 
 Conscience. 
 Beware, good Loue, from whom, and what thou takest. 
 
 Nemo. 
 No whispering, friend, but shew it openly : 
 The matter good, you need not be ashamed. 
 From whom commest thou ? 
 
 Double-Dealing. 
 That I conceile from any but from Loue. 
 
 Nemo. 
 From whom come you, sir ? 
 
 Falshod. 
 That shal Lucre know, and none but she. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Then speak aloud, for whispering here is barred. 
 
 Falshod. 
 Then, neither will I do, nor speak at al. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Then I wil speake, and tel what you are both. 
 Thy selfe art Falshood, and art sent from Fraud, 
 To compasse Lucre with a cloake of craft. 
 With lawne of Hes, and calle of golden guile. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Packe you, my friend ; for if you stay a while, 
 You shal returne no more to him that sent you. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Thou from Dissimulation art sent, 
 And bringest a gown of glosing, hn'd with lust, 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 295 
 
 A vardingale of vaine boast, and fan of flatterie, 
 A ruffe of riot, and a cap of pride ; 
 And Double-deaKng is thy name and office both. 
 
 Dou ble-Dealing. 
 Falshood, let's go : we are deciphered. 
 
 Falshod. 
 Lucre, thou loosest here a princely gift. [Exeunt ambo. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Lucre consumes being won by Fraud or shift. 
 Thus, Lords, you see how these are qualified. 
 And how these ladies shun that sharp rebuke 
 Which some deserue by taking of such toies, 
 As women weake are tempted soone with giftes. 
 But here they come that must these ladies deck. 
 Lucre, arise ; come from the stone of Care. 
 
 Enter Honest-industrie, Pure-zeale, and Sincerity. 
 Honest-Industrie, 
 Fair Lucre, lo, what Honest-industry 
 To thee hath brought, to deck thy daintie self. 
 Lucre, by Honest-industrie atchieu'd, 
 Shall prosper, flourish, and continue long. 
 Come to thy chamber, to attire thee there. 
 
 \_Exit Lucre with Ho. Industrie. 
 Nemo. 
 Thou maiest depart with Honest-industrie. 
 
 Pure-Zeale. 
 And, Loue, arise from Charities cold flint : 
 Pure-zeale hath purchased robes to couer Loue. 
 Whiles Loue is single, Zeale shall her attire. 
 With kind affection mortifying lust. 
 Come, Loue, with me these garments to put on. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Loue, follow Zeal, and take his ornaments. 
 
 [Exit Loue with P. Zeale. 
 
296 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Sincerity. 
 Rise^ Conscience, from that marble of Remorse, 
 That weeping stone that scaldes thy partched skinne : 
 Sincerity such roabes for thee hath brought 
 As best beseemes good Conscience to adorne. 
 Come, follow, that thou maist goe put them on ; 
 For Conscience cloathed by Sinceritie 
 Is armed wel against the enemie. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Follow him Consc : feare not ; thou art right. 
 
 [Exit Con. with Sin. 
 Pollicie. 
 Most reverend Nemo, thanks for this good sight. 
 Lucre is cloathed by Honest-industrie. 
 
 Pompe, 
 Loue by Pure-zeale. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 And Conscience by Sincerity. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Lordings, thus haue you scene them at the first, 
 And thus you see them, trust me, at the worst. 
 Depart we now : come hence a day or two. 
 And see them deckt as daintie ladies should. 
 And make such choice as may content you al. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Thanks, righteous Nemo. We, the London Lordes, 
 Only to thee our selues acknowledge bound. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 Enter Painful-penury and Simplicity. 
 Penury. 
 Come on, gentle husband; let vs lay our heades together, our 
 purses together, and our reckonings together, to see whether wee 
 win or loose, thriue or not, goe forward or backward. Doo you keepe 
 a booke, or a skore ? 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 297 
 
 Simplicity. 
 A skore, wife? you meane for the alehouse, doo you not? I 
 would haue her examine me thereof no further, for I am in too farre 
 there, more then I would she should know. 
 
 Penury. 
 I meane no alehouse skore, but a note of your wares. Let me see : 
 first you began to set vp with a roiall. How much money haue ye ? 
 what ware, and what gaine ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 I haue fiue shillings in money, two shillinges in wares, or there 
 about, and I owe two shillings and eight pence vppon the skore: 
 how much is that? — fiue shillings, two shillings, and two shilhngs 
 and eight pence. 
 
 Penury. 
 That is nine shillings and eight pence : so, we are worse by a groat 
 then when we began. Wei, once againe He set ye vp : here is four 
 groates I haue got by bearing water this weeke : make vp your stock, 
 and run no more behind. Who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Fraud, like an artificer. 
 Simplicity. 
 What lacke ye ? What doo ye lack ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Me lacka da moones pour de feene, verie feene Frenche knack, de 
 feene gold buttoone, de braue bugla lace, a de feene gold ringa. You 
 be free man, mee un' forriner : you buy a me ware, you gaine teene 
 pownd by lay out teene shellengs. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Wife, what hard luck haue we, that cannot make x shillings now 
 to gain X pound. Why, x pound would set vs vp for euer. 
 
 Penury. 
 Husband, see the ware ; and if ten shilling wil buy it, it shal go 
 hard but we wil make that money. — Friend, show my husband your 
 wares. 
 
 p p 
 
298 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Looke you dere, mastra, de feene buttoone de la gold, de ringa de 
 gold, de bugla sheane : two shelleng une doozen de buttoone, una 
 shellenga une ring. Tis worth x shelleng, but mastra and matressa, 
 mee muss a make money to go ouer in my owne countrey, but mee 
 loose teene pownd pour hast to goe next tyde, or to morrow. 
 
 Penury, 
 Here is fiue shillings ; buy them of this straunger. 
 
 Simplicity, 
 Friend, you haue not stolne them, but you make them ? Well, He 
 buy them in the open market, and then I care not : here is ten shil- 
 Ungs ; deliuer me the wares. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Deer, mastra : Oh, pouer necessitie mak a me sel pour graund, 
 graund losse : you shal gein x pound at least. Gor boye. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 What's your name ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Mechant, I think I am euen with ye now for calling me Ostler. 
 You'il thriue wel with such bargaines, if ye buy yee knowe not 
 what. Fraud hath fitted you with worse than your ballades. 
 
 Penury. 
 You'il warrant them gold, sirra ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Wee ; so good goU as you pay for. Adieu, Mounsier. [Exit, 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Adieu, Mounsier. Adieu foole : sel such gold buttons and ringes 
 for so litle money. Good Lord! what peniworths these strangers 
 can aflford. Now, wife, let me see: x pound! when we haue ten 
 pound, we'il haue a large shop, and sell all maner of wares, and buy 
 more of these, and get ten pound more, and then ten pound, and ten 
 pound, and twenty pound. Then thou shalt haue a taflFata hat, and a 
 garded gown, and I a gown and new cap, and a silk doublet, and a 
 faire house. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 299 
 
 Penury* 
 I thanke ye, husband. Wei, till then looke wel to your wares, and 
 He ply my waterbearing, and saue and get, and get and saue, till we 
 be rich. But bring these wares home euery night with ye. 
 
 Sim'pVLcity. 
 Tush! I shall sel them afore night for ten pound. Gow, wife, 
 gow J I may tel you, I am glad this French fellowe came with these 
 wares : we had falne to examining the ale-skore els, and then wee 
 had falne out, and the alewife and my wife had scolded. Wel, a man 
 may see, he that's ordained to be rich shal be rich : gow, woman. 
 
 \JEixmnt. 
 Enter Nemo, and the three Lordes as though th£y had bene chyding. 
 
 Nemo. 
 From whence, good Lordes, grew this hot argument ? 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Thou knowest already ; yet, if thou wilt heare. 
 For this we striue : fond Pleasure makes account, 
 Somming his bils without an auditorie, 
 That Lady Lucre ought of right be his. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 So I afi&rme, and so I wil maintaine, 
 That Pleasure ought by right Dame Lucre haue, 
 To beare the charge of sportes and of delightes. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Nay, to support the haughty magnificence. 
 And lordly Pompe of Londons excellence 
 Befits it rather Lucre joine with me. 
 By whom her honor shal be more aduanced. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 More fit for Pompe than Pleasure ; but most fit 
 That Pollicie with Lucre should be matched, 
 As guerdon of my studies and my cares. 
 And high employments in the common wealth. 
 
300 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 What pleasure can be fostered without cost ? 
 
 Pompe. 
 What pompe or port without respect of gaine ? 
 
 PoUicie. 
 What pollicie without preferment hues ? 
 
 Pleasure, 
 Pleasure must haue Lucre. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Pomp hath need of Lucre. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Polhcy merits Lucre. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 Pleasure dies without Lucre. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Pomp decaies without Lucre. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 PoUicy droopes without Lucre. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Thus, Lordes, you showe your imperfections. 
 Subject to passions, straining honours boundes. 
 Be wel aduisde : you promised to be rulde, 
 And haue those Dames by me disposed to you. 
 But since I see that humaine humors oft 
 Makes men forgetfull of their greater good. 
 Be here a while : Dame Lucre shal be brought 
 By me to choose which Lord she liketh best, 
 
 So you allow her choice with patience. \Exit. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Go : we abide thy doome til thy retume. 
 
 Pompe. 
 If Lucre be not mad, she wil bemine. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 If she regard her good, she wil be mine. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 301 
 
 Pleasure. 
 If she loue happie Hfe, she wil be mine : 
 Women loue Pleasure. 
 
 Pompe, 
 Women loue Pompe. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Women vse Pollicie : and here she comes that must decide the 
 
 doubt. 
 Enter Nemo, with Conscience al in white. 
 Nemo. 
 Conscience content thee with a queint conceit : 
 Conceile thy name to work a speciall good. 
 Thou art not knowne to any of these Lordes 
 By face or feature : til they heare thy name. 
 Which must be Lucre for a fine deuice, 
 And Conscience cleare indeed's the greatest gaine. 
 Lo, Lordings, here faire Lucre whom ye loue. 
 Lucre, the choice is left vnto thy selfe, 
 Which of these three thou wilt for husband choose. 
 
 Conscience. 
 The modestie that dooth our sex beseeme 
 Forbids my tongue therin to tell my thought ; 
 But may it please my Lordes to pardon me. 
 Which of you three shall deigne to make such choice. 
 Him shall I answer to his owne content. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 If Lucre please to match with Pollicie, 
 She shall be mistresse ouer many men. 
 
 Pompe. 
 If Lucre like to match with Londons Pomp, 
 In stately port all others she shall passe. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 If Pleasure may for wife faire Lucre gaine. 
 Her life shall be an earthly paradice. 
 
302 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Nemo, 
 Lo, Lucre ; men, and port, and plesant life 
 Are here propounded. Which wilt thou accept ? 
 
 Conscience, 
 Lord PoUicie, Loue were the only choice, 
 Me thinks, for you, that all your cares imploy, 
 And studies for the loue of common wealth. 
 For you. Lord Pleasure, Conscience were a wife 
 To measure your delights by reasons rule : 
 In recreation Conscience helpe to vse. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Were Conscience halfe so sweete as is thy selfe. 
 Her would I seek with suites and seruices. 
 
 Nemo. 
 No lesse accomplisht in perfection 
 Is Conscience, then this lady, I protest. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 But on this dame hath Pleasure fixt his hart. 
 And this or death the period of his loue. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Lucre with Pompe most aptly might combine. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Lucre, or Loue, if case thou wilt be mine. 
 Let passe thy name, thy selfe doe I desire. 
 Thee will I haue except thy selfe denie ; 
 With thee to liue, or els for thee to die. 
 
 Nemo. 
 
 What if I denie ? 
 Then wil I haue her. 
 If we denie ? 
 So much the rather. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 PoUicie. 
 Pleasure. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 303 
 
 Pompe. 
 The rather in despight of vs ? Not so. 
 
 Nemo. 
 My Lords, no quarrell : let this lady goe ; 
 And if ye trust me, He content ye both. 
 Pleasure, this is not Lucre. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 She's Lucre vnto me ; 
 But be she Loue or Conscience, this is she. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Whom you wil haue ? 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Spight of the deuil, I wil. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Must it not be, my Lord, if I agree ? 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Agree. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Some further proofe it fits of you to see. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Receiue a pawn, my hart, my hand, and oth, 
 To be thy owne in loue, in faith, and troth. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Thus you are fast, and yet my selfe am free. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 I know in ruth thou wilt not me refuse. 
 
 Conscience. 
 I know not that, but other He not choose. 
 
 Nemo, 
 It is inough : Lord Pleasure, do not feare 
 Conscience will vse you as becomes her best. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 And art thou Conscience ? welcommer to me. 
 Than either Loue or Lucre. 
 
304 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Conscience. 
 
 God send grace I be. 
 
 Nemo. 
 
 My Lords, be pleasde : ere long shal you be sped, 
 As much to your contents as Pleasure is. 
 Say but the word, my selfe shall soone present 
 Lucre and Loue, wel worthy such as you. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Right thankfully those fauors we^il receiue. 
 Enter Diligence^ in hast. 
 Diligence. 
 
 My Lords, if your aflfaires in present be not great. 
 Greater than any, saue regard of life. 
 Yea, euen the greatest of the common wealth. 
 Prepare ye to withstand a stratagem, 
 Such as this land or London euer knew. 
 The Spanish forces, Lordings, are prepar'd 
 In brauerie and boast beyond all boundes, 
 T'inuade, to win, to conquer all this land. 
 They chieflie aim at Londons stately Pompe, 
 At Londons Pleasure, Wealth, and PoUicy, 
 Intending to dispoile her of them all. 
 And ouer all these louelie Ladies three, 
 Loue, Lucre, Conscience, peerlesse, of the rarest price. 
 To tyrannize and carie hardest hand. 
 From Spain they come with engine, and intent 
 To slay, subdue, to triumph and torment : 
 My selfe (so heauen would) spiall of them had. 
 And Diligence, dear Lords, they caU my name. 
 If you vouchsafe to credit my report. 
 You do me right, and to your selues no wrong, 
 Prouided that you arme you, being warnM. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Diligence, thy seruice shall be knowen, 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 305 
 
 And well rewarded. Nemo, for a time 
 Conceale this dame, and liue secure, unseene ; 
 Let vs alone, whom most it dooth concerne, 
 To meete and match our ouer weening foes. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 Nemo, keepe cloase, and Conscience pray for vs. 
 Bee gone, and recommend vs to our God. 
 
 Conscience. 
 
 My Lordes, if euer, show your honors now. 
 Those proud vsurping Spanish tyrants come. 
 To reaue from you what most you doo regard. 
 To take away your credit and your fame. 
 To race and spoile our right renowmed towne ; 
 And if you Loue or Lucre do regard. 
 Or haue of Conscience any kind of care, 
 The world shall witness by this action, 
 And of the loue that you to vs pretend 
 In this your valour shaU assurance giue. 
 More would I speake, but daungers in delay : 
 You know my mind, and heavens record my thoughtes. 
 When I with praiers for you wil penitrate. 
 And will in heart be present in your fight. 
 Now, Pleasure, show what you wil doo for me. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 
 I wil be tum'd to paine for thy sweet sake. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Faire Conscience, feare not, but assure thyselfe. 
 What kind affection we so euer beare 
 To Loue and Lucre in this action. 
 Chiefly for thee our seruice shall be done. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 For Conscience sake, more than for Lucre now. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 For Loue and Conscience, not despising Lucre. 
 
 Q Q 
 
306 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 Onely for Conscience will I hazard all. 
 
 Nemo. 
 And I from hence will her conuey a space, 
 Till you return with happy victory. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Farewell, my Lords : for me, my Lords, for me ! 
 
 {Exeunt Nemo and Conscience. 
 Pollicie. 
 Diligence, what number may there be ? 
 
 Dilligence. 
 A mighty hoste, and chieflie led by three. 
 Who braue it out in show, as men assured 
 Of victorie, sauns venture or repulse. 
 
 Pollicie, 
 How neere be they ? 
 
 Dilligence. 
 So neer, my Lords, that ech delay is death. 
 Stand on your guard : they come as challengers 
 To bruise your shieldes and beare away your prize. 
 Mounting the seas, and measuring the land 
 With strong imaginations of successe. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Wei, Diligence, go get in readines 
 Men and munition : bid our pages plie. 
 To see that all our furniture be wel : 
 
 Wit, Wealth and Wil to further wars be fit. [Exit Diligence. 
 
 My Lords, I would I might aduise ye now 
 To carrie, as it were, a carelesse regard 
 Of these Castilians, and their accustomed brauado. 
 Lord Pomp, let nothing thats magnificall. 
 Or that may tend to Londons graceful state. 
 Be vnperfourm'd ; as shewes, and solemne feastes, 
 Watches in armour, triumphes, cresset-lightes. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 307 
 
 Bonefiers, belles, and peales of ordinance. 
 And, Pleasure, see that plaies be published, 
 Mai-games and maskes, with mirth and minstrelsie. 
 Pageants and school-feastes, beares and puppit plaies. 
 My selfe wil muster vpon Mile-end Greene, 
 As though we saw, and feard not to be seene ; 
 Which wil their spies in such a woonder set. 
 To see vs recke so little such a foe. 
 Whom all the world admires, saue onely we, 
 And we respect our sport more than his spite. 
 That John, the Spaniard, wil in rage run mad 
 To see us bend like oakes with his vain breath. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 In this deuice such liking I conceiue. 
 As London shall not lack what Pomp can doe. 
 And well I know that worthy citizens 
 Doe carie mindes so franke and bountiful. 
 As for their honor they will spare no cost : 
 Especially to let their enemie know. 
 Honor in England, not in Spaine, doth grow. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 
 And for the time that they in pleasure spend 
 Tis limmitted to such an honest end, 
 Namely, for recreation of the mind. 
 With no great cost, yet Hberall in that kind. 
 That Pleasure vowes with all delightes he can 
 To doe them good, till death to be their man. 
 
 Pollicie, 
 
 Of Pollicy they triall haue at large. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 Then, let vs go, and each man to his charge. 
 
 [Exeunt the three Lords. 
 Enter Simplicity , led by Usurie, 
 Simplicity. 
 
 I Sir ? Why, alas, I bought them of a stranger, an old French man. 
 
308 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 for good gold, and to be worth ten pound, for so he told me. I haue 
 good witnesse, for my owne wife was by, and lent mee part of the 
 money. 
 
 Usurie. 
 And what did they cost you ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Ten shillings, euery penny. 
 
 Usurie. 
 That argues you are guilty. Why, could ye buy so many rings and 
 buttons of gold, thinke ye, for ten shillings ? Of whom did ye buy 
 them? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Of an olde French man, the olde French disease take him. 
 
 Usurie. 
 And where dwels that old French man ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 In Fraunce, I thinke, for he told me he was to goe ouer the next 
 tide, or the next day : my wife can tell as wel as I, if ye thinke I lie, 
 for she was by. 
 
 Usurie. ♦ 
 
 A good answere : he dwels in Fraunce, and you dwel here ; and 
 for vttering copper for gold you are like to loose both your eares vpon 
 the pillorie, and besides loose your freedome. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Nay, if I loose my eares, I care not for my freedome : keepe you 
 my freedome, so I may keep my eares. Is there no remedy for this, 
 M. Usury ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 None, except you can find out that old French man. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Peraduenture I can, if you^il let mee go into Fraunce to seeke him. 
 
 Usnrie. 
 So we may loose you, and neuer see him. Nay, that may not be. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Nay, good maister Usurie, take all my goodes, and let me go. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 309 
 
 Enter Fraud, Dissimulation, Simonie, in canvas coates like Sailers. 
 
 Fraud. 
 What's the matter, Usurie, that this poore knaue cries so ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 O, maister Fraud, speake to him to let me goe. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Fraud, ye villaine ! cal me not by my name, and ye shall see I wil 
 speak to him to let ye goe free. — Usury, of al old fellowship, let this 
 poor knaue packe, if the matter be not too hainous. 
 
 Usurie, 
 No: fie! his fault is odious. Look here what stuffe hee would 
 vtter for gold : flat copper ; and he saith he bought them of an old 
 Frenchman. 
 
 Fraud. 
 But thou didst not sel them, didst thou ? 
 
 Simonie, 
 No, sir; I would haue but laid them to pawne for fiue pounds 
 
 [to him. 
 Fraud. 
 That was more than they were woorth. I promise thee, a foule 
 matter. Wei, thou must loose thy ware, and be glad to escape ; so, 
 Usurie, at my request ye shal let the poore man goe. 
 
 Usurie. 
 Wei, for this once I will. — Sirra, get ye packing, and take heede 
 of such a peece of worke againe while ye liue. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 There is diuers peeces of work in that box : pray ye, giue me some 
 of my goods again, a ring or something. 
 
 Usurie. 
 Not an inch, and be glad to scape as ye doe. 
 
 Simplicity/. 
 Alas, I am vndone : ther's all the wealth and stock I haue. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Do ye long to loose your eares ? be gone, ye foolish knaue. 
 
310 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 I thanke ye, maister Fraud. lie not goe far, but He be neere to 
 heare and see what the meaning of these fellowes in this canuas 
 should be ; for I know Fraud, Dissimulation, and Simony to be those 
 three. Here, I think, I am vnseene. 
 
 [^Simplicity hides him neer them. 
 Fraud. 
 Usury, thanke me for this good bootie, for it is I that holp ye to 
 it, for I sould them to him for gold indeed, in the shape of an old 
 French artificer : come, giue me halfe, for I deserue it, for my part 
 was the first beginning of this comedie. I was euer afFraid least the 
 foole should haue knowne me ; for ye see now, though disguisde, hee 
 called me by my name. 
 
 Simplicity/. 
 Did I so ? I am glad I haue found the French man. • Now, He 
 raise the street, but He haue my wares again, and proue ye, as ye were 
 euer, both false knaues, I beleeue. [Exit Sim. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Kil him, stab him ! Out villaine ! he wil betray vs aU. 
 
 Usurie. 
 What a foole were you to speake before he was gone: now you 
 haue lost your part of this, too ; for he will goe complaine, you will 
 be sought for, and I made to restore these things againe. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Not, if thou be wise : thou wilt not tarie the reckoning, for seest 
 thou not vs three. Dissimulation, Simony and my selfe ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 Yes : what meanes these canuas suites ? WiU ye, be sailors ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Usury make one : this is our intent. Let's see that none heare vs 
 now. The Spaniards are coming, thou hearest, with great power : 
 here is no lining for vs in London ; men are growen so full of con- 
 science and religion, that Fraud, Dissimulation and Simony are 
 disciphered, and being disciphered are also dispised, and therefore we 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 31 1 
 
 will slip to the sea, and meet and joine with the enemie ; and if they 
 conquere, as they may, for they are a great armie by report, our 
 credite may rise againe with them : if they faile and retire, we may 
 either goe with them and Hue in Spaine, where we and such good 
 fellowes are toUerated and vsed, or come slily againe hither, so long 
 as none knows but friends. 
 
 Usurie. 
 
 But wil you do thus, you two ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 
 And thou too, I hope : why, what should we do ? 
 
 Usurie. 
 
 Whatsoeuer ye do, be not traitors to your natiue countrie. 
 
 Simony. 
 
 Tis not our natiue countrie, thou knowest. I, Simony, am a Roman : 
 Dissimulation a mongrel, half an Italian, halfe a Dutchman : Fraud so 
 too, halfe French and halfe Scottish ; and thy parentes were both 
 Jewes, though thou wert borne in London, and here, Usury, thou art 
 cried out against by the preachers. Joine with vs, man, to better thy 
 state, for in Spain preaching toucheth vs not. 
 
 Usurie. 
 
 To better my state ? Nay, to alter my state, for here, where I am, I 
 know the government : here I can liue for all their threatning. If 
 strangers preuaile, I know not their lawes nor their vsage : they may 
 bee oppressors and take al I haue ; and it is like they are so, for they 
 seek that's not their owne. Therfore here will I stay, sure to keepe 
 what I haue, rather than be a traitor vpon hap and had I wist : and 
 stay you, if ye be wise, and pray as I pray, that the preachers and all 
 other good men may die, and then we shall flourish, but neuer trust 
 to strangers curtesie. 
 
 Fraud. 
 
 We shal trust but to our friends and kin. Yo'il not go with vs, 
 yet for old acquaintance keep counsel ; betray vs not, for we'il be gone 
 to sea. I am afraid yon foolish knaue haue belaied the streets for vs. 
 
312 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Usurie. 
 Let me go afore ye : if any such thing be, I'le giue ye inkling. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Fraud. 
 
 Do : farewel, Usury ; and as he goes one way we'll go another. 
 Follow, sirs : neuer trust a shrinker, if he be your owne brother. 
 
 [Exeunt Omnes. 
 Enter the three Lordes with their Pages, and Fealtie, a herald, 
 
 before them, his coat hauing the armes of London before, and an 
 
 oliue tree behind. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Fealty, thou faithfull herald of our towne, 
 Thou true truce-keeper and sure friend in peace. 
 Take downe our shields, and giue them to our boies. 
 
 [He delivers them. 
 Now, Fealty, prepare thy wits for war. 
 To parlie with the proud Castillians, 
 Approaching fast the frontiers of our coast. 
 Wit, here, my page, in euerie message shall 
 Attend on thee, to note them and their deedes. 
 I need not tel thee, they are poore and proud, 
 Vaunters, vaineglorious, tyrants, truce-breakers, 
 Enuious, ireful! and ambitious ; 
 For thou hast found their facings and their brags. 
 Their backes, their coffers, and their wealth, their rags ; 
 But let me teU thee what we craue of thee : 
 To scanne with judgment what their leaders be, 
 To note their presence and obserue their grace. 
 And truly to aduertise what they seeme ; 
 Whether to be experienced in armes. 
 Or men of name, those three that lead the rest. 
 The rest referre we to thy owne conceit. 
 
 Fealtie. 
 
 I hope in this my dutie to discharge. 
 As heretofore. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 313 
 
 Simplicity make a great noise within, and enter with three or 
 
 four weaponed. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 
 Clubs ! Clubs ! Nay, come neighbours come, for here they bee : 
 
 here I left them, arrant theeues, rogues, cosoners. I charge ye, as 
 
 you wil answere, prehend them for they haue vndone me, and robb'd 
 
 me, and made me the poorest free man that euer kept a ballad stall. 
 
 A Constable, 
 I charge ye keepe the peace, and lay downe your weapons. 
 
 \To the three Lords, 
 Pompe. 
 Who rais'd this tumult ? Speake, what means this stir ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 O, I am vndone, robb'd, spoiFd of all my stocke ! Let me see, 
 where be they ? Keep euerie street and doore : samine all that comes 
 for Fraud that cosoner. 
 
 Pollide. 
 Maisters, what meane you in these troublous times 
 To keepe this coile ? 
 
 Constable. 
 Alas, my Lord, her's a poore man rob'd, or cosoned. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 I am rob^d. — O, my boies, my pretie boies, I am undone! Saw 
 ye no theeues, nor no craftie knaues ? What be all these ? 
 
 Wit. 
 Simplicity, away ! these be our Lordes ; offend them not for feare. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 I seeke not them : I seeke for Fraud that rob'd me. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Go, seeke els where, for here's no place for such. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 My friends, depart, and qualifie this stir, 
 And see peace kept within the walles, I charge ye. 
 
 R R 
 
314 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Constable. 
 I wil, my Lord. — Come Simp., we came too late to find your losses. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Pray for me, my boies; I thinke I shal hang my selfe. I come 
 
 [euer too late to speed. 
 \Exeunt. 
 Pollicie. 
 Now LordeSj let honors fire enflame our thoughtes, 
 And let vs arme our courage with our cause. 
 And so dispose ourselues to welcome them. 
 Doe me the fauour (if I may intreat) 
 To be the first to front the foe in face : 
 The vauntgard let be PoUicies this once, 
 Pompes the maine battaile, Pleasures the rereward ; 
 And so bestow vs, if you thinke it good. ^ 
 
 Pompe. 
 I think it good, and time that it were done. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 I think it good, and wish the enemie come. 
 Enter Diligence. 
 Diligence. 
 And here they come, as braue as Philips sonne 
 And his Ephestion, woont to be arraied 
 In glittering gold and party coloured plumes ; 
 With curious pendents on their lances fixt. 
 Their shieldes ymprez'd with gilt copertiments ; 
 Their Pages carelesse plaieng at their backes. 
 As if with conquest they triumphing came. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 If they be conquered, greater is their shame. 
 But, Diligence, go post alongst the coast 
 To tell the newes ; and looke to welcome them. 
 Let vs alone. My Lords, you heare the newes : 
 Mere words were vaine ; I know ye wel resolu'd. [Exit Dil. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 315 
 
 Pompe, 
 And here they come. — Oh, proud Castillians ! 
 
 Enter first, Shealty, the Herald: ^^ew Pride, bearing his shield 
 himself, his ympreze a Peacocke ; the worde Non par illi : his 
 Page, Shame, after him with a launce, hauing appendent gilt, with 
 this word in it Sur le Ciel. Ambition, his impress a blacJce 
 Horse salliant, with one hinder foote vpon the globe of the earth, 
 one fore foote stretching towardes the cloudes, his woorde Non 
 sufficit orbis : his Page, Treacherie after him, his pendent ar- 
 gent and azure, an armed arme catching at the sunne beames, the 
 woorde in it Et gloriam Phoebi. Last Tyrannie, his ymprese a 
 naJced childe on a speares point, bleeding ; his looord Pour sangue : 
 his Page, Terrour, his pendent gules, in it a Tygers head out of 
 a cloud, licking a bloody heart; the woord in it Cura cruor. 
 March once about the stage, then stand and viewe the Lords of 
 London, who shall march towardes them, and they giue backs : then, 
 the Lords of London wheels about to their standing, and th'other 
 coms agains into their places : then, Pollicie sendes Fealtie : their 
 heraldes coate must haue the armes of Spaine before, and a burning 
 ship behind. 
 
 Poinds. 
 My Lords, what meane these gallants to perfourme ? 
 
 Come these Castilian cowardes but to braue ? 
 
 Doo all these mountaines moue to breede a mouse ? 
 
 Fealty, goe fetch their answer resolute, 
 
 How they dare be so bold, and what they dare doo here. 
 
 As Feal. is going toward them, they sendfoorth Sheal. 
 Shealtie, 
 What wouldst thou, herald ? 
 
 Fealtis. 
 ParUe with those three, herald. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 They scome to grace so meane a man as thou 
 
 With parlie, or with presence. 
 
316 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Fealtie. 
 Do they scome ? 
 What, are thy masters raonarchs euerie one ? 
 Or be they gods ? or rather be they deuils ? 
 Scome they a heraldes presence and his speech ? 
 Name them, that I may know their mightines, 
 And so auoid of duties some neglect. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 Monarches in minds, and Gods in high conceites. 
 That scome you English as the scomme of men, 
 Whom I ne dare without their Hcense name. 
 Fore whom thy duties all are few and base. 
 
 Fealtie. 
 Imperious Spaniard, doo a herald right : » 
 
 Thy selfe art one : their trouch man if thou be, 
 Be thou my trunke, that I my message may 
 Through thee conveigh to them from London Lords. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 Base English groome, from beggars sent, belike. 
 Who for their mate thee malapert account, 
 Dare I (thinkst thou) these Lords magnificent, 
 Without their special pleasure vnderstood, 
 Once mooue with message, or with show of speach ? 
 
 Fealtie. 
 More seruile thou to loose a heraldes due. 
 That is in field a kinges companion. 
 But if thou dare not my ambassage doo, 
 Stand by, and stop not ray accesse to them. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 Rather wil I retume, and know their mindes. 
 
 [When Sheal. goes to them, Wit goes to the 3 Lords of London, 
 Pollicie. 
 Now, boy, what newes ? 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 317 
 
 Wit. 
 
 The fearful herald of yen famous crue 
 Durst not your message to his maisters tell. 
 Til Fealtie, with contumelious wordes 
 (Yet was the Spaniard braue and hot in tearmes) 
 Enforced him for their answeare resolute. 
 
 [The Span, whisper with their Her. 
 Pompe. 
 Which now, belike, our herald shall receiue. 
 For theirs comes to him. 
 
 Shealtie, 
 It pleaseth them to be magnifical, 
 And of their speciall graces to vouchsafe 
 A counteruiew of Pages and of shields, 
 And countermessage by vs heralds dons ; 
 A fauour which they seldome graunt to foes. 
 Go thou for those ; I meete thee will with these. 
 
 Fealtie. 
 My Lords, yon brauing Spaniards wish 
 A counteruiew of Pages and of shieldes, 
 But [what] they meane, or be, I know not yet. 
 Haply you may by their ymprezes view, 
 Or I by parlie some conjecture giue. 
 So please it you your Pages and your shieldes 
 With me to send : their herald comes with theirs. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Our shields I reck not, but to send our Wealth — 
 
 Fealtie. 
 Accompanied with Wit and Will no peril. 
 
 Pompe. 
 It is my Wealth ; but keep him if they dare : 
 He fetch him double, if they doo, my Lordes. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Boies, take our sheildes and speares, for they come on. 
 
318 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 WiL 
 Vaile, Spaniard : couch thy launce and pendent both. 
 Knowest where thou art ? Here wil we beare no braues. 
 
 [ When the English botes meet the other, cause them to put 
 downe the tops of their lances, but they beat vp theirs. 
 Wealth. 
 Downe with your point : no loft borne lances here. 
 By any stranger, be he foe or friend. 
 
 Wil. 
 Wei doest thou note the couching of thy lance ; 
 Mine had ere this els goar'd your Spanish skin. 
 
 Fealtie, 
 Wei done, my boies ; but now all reuerence. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 Aduance againe your launces now, my boies. [Hold vp again. 
 
 S. Pride. 
 Dicito nobis ideo qui ades, quid sibi velint isthsBC emblemata ? 
 Dicito (inquam) lingua matema : nos enim omnes belle intelligimus, 
 quamuis Anglice loqui dedignamur. 
 
 Fealtie. - 
 
 Then know, Castillian Cavalieros, this. 
 The owners of these emblemes are three Lordes, 
 Those three that now are viewing of your shieldes : 
 Of London, our chiefe citie, are they Lordes ; 
 Pollicie, Pompe and Pleasure be their names ; 
 And they in honour of their mistresses, 
 Loue, Lucre, Conscience, London Ladies three. 
 Emblazoned these scutchens, challenging 
 Whom durst compare, or challenge one of them. 
 And Pollicie a Tortoys hath emprez'd, 
 Encompast with her shel, her natiue walles, 
 And prouidens securus is his word : 
 His Page is Wit, his mistresse Lady Loue. 
 Pomp in his shield a Lilly hath pourtrai'd. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 319 
 
 As paragon of beautie and boone grace : 
 Glorie sauns peere his word, and true it is ; 
 With Londons Pompe Castile cannot compare : 
 His Page is Wealth, his maistresse Lucre hight. 
 Pleasure, the daintie of that famous towne, 
 A Faulcon hath emblazoned, soaring hie, 
 To showe the pitch that Londons Pleasure flies : 
 His word Pour temps, yet neuer stoupes to traine, 
 But vnto Conscience, chosen for his deere : 
 His Page is Will ; and thus th' effect you heare. 
 
 S. Pride. 
 
 Buena, buena, per los Lutheranos Angleses. 
 
 Fealtie. 
 
 Mala, mala, per Catholicos Castillianos. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Loqueris Anglice. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 
 Maxime, Domine. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Agedum : Go too, then ; and declare 
 Thy Lords, their shields, their Pages and their purpose. 
 Speake man ; feare not : though Spaine vse messengers il, 
 Tis Englands guise to entreat them curteously. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 
 Three Cavalieros Castillianos here. 
 Without compeeres in compasse of this world. 
 Are come to conquer, as ful wel they shal. 
 This mool-hill Isle that little England hight. 
 With London, that proud paltrie market towne, 
 And take those dames, Loue, Lucre, Conscience, 
 Prisoners, to vse, or force, as pleaseth them. 
 The first (now quake) is Spanish Majesty, 
 That for his ympreze giues Queene Junoes bird, 
 Whose traine is spangd with Argus hundred eies ; 
 
320 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 The Queene of Gods scornes not to grace him so : 
 His woord is Non par illi, none his hke ; 
 Yet is his Page, or hench-man, Modesty, 
 Lucre the lady that shal be his prize : 
 And in his pendent on his lances point 
 Sur le del, his word, aboue the heavens. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Whilome, indeed, aboue the heavens he was. 
 Could he haue kept him in that blessed state. 
 From thence for pride he fell to pit of paine ; 
 And is he now become the pride of Spaine ? 
 And to his Page, not Modesty, but Shame. 
 Wei, on ; the rest. 
 
 Shealiie. * 
 
 Don Honor is the next grand peere of Spain, 
 Whose ympreze is a courser saHant, 
 Of colour sables, darkening aire and earth. 
 Pressing the globe with his disdainfull foot. 
 And sallieng to aspire to rowling skies : 
 Non sufficit orbis is his haughtie woord. 
 The world sufficeth not high Honors thoughtes ; 
 And on the pendent, fixed on his lance, 
 A hand is catching at the sunnie beames : 
 Et gloriam Phoebi, and the suns bright coatch 
 Honor would guide, if he might haue his wil. 
 His Page is Action, tempering stil with state. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Himselfe Ambition, whom the heavens do hate. 
 
 Shealiie. 
 And Loue the lady that he hopes to gaine. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 His thoughts, distract from foul distempered braine, 
 Prooues him the verie firebrand of Spaine : 
 And in his shield his blacke disordered beast. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 321 
 
 Scaling the skies, scomfull to tread the ground, 
 And both his words, proud words, proue perfectly 
 Action, his Page, to be but Treachery, 
 Euer attendant on Ambition. 
 But to the third. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 
 The third grand Cavaliero is Gouemment, 
 Seuere in justice and in judgment deepe % 
 His ympreze is a naked infant, goard 
 Upon a lance, signifing Seueritie. 
 His word pour sangue ; for blood of enemies 
 He bendes his forces : on his pendent is 
 A Tyger licking of a bleeding heart ; 
 And cura cruor is the word thereon : 
 His care's for blood of those that dare resist. 
 Yet hight his Page, that foUowes him, Regard, 
 And he for Conscience to this conquest comes. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 The Gouemment of Spaine is Tyrannic, 
 As doo his ympreze and his words declare : 
 His Page is Terror ; for a Tyrant feares 
 His death in diet, in his bed, in sleepe. 
 In Conscience spight the Spanish Tyrannic 
 Hath shed a sea of most vnguilty blood. 
 Well ; whaf s the end ? 
 
 Shealtie, 
 
 The end is best you yeeld. 
 Submitting you to mercy of these Lords. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 Before we fight ? soft, sir ; ye braue too fast. 
 Castihans, know that Enghshmen wil knock. 
 But say, 
 
 Dooth Spanish Pride for London's Lucre gape ? 
 
 s s 
 
322 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 And would their Tyranny Conscience captiue haue ? 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Doth their Ambition Londons Loue affect ? 
 
 Shealtie. 
 All this they will, and pray vpon your towne, 
 And giue your landes away before your face. 
 Alas, what's England to the power of Spaine ? 
 A molehil, to be placed where it pleaseth them. 
 
 Pompe. 
 But in this molehil many pismyres be. 
 All which will sting before they be remoou^d. 
 What is thy name ? 
 
 Shealtie. 
 Shealty. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 An Irish word, signifieng liberty ; 
 Rather remisnes, loosnes, if ye wil. 
 Why hath thy coat a burning ship behind ? 
 
 Shealtie. 
 To signify the burning of your fleet 
 By vs CastUhans. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 It rather means your common wealth's on fire 
 About your eares, and you were best looke home. 
 A common wealth's compared to a ship : 
 If yours do flame, your countrey is hot ; beware. 
 
 Fealtie. 
 I see, Castilians, that you maruel much 
 At this same embleme of the oliue tree, 
 Upon my backe : lo, this it signifies. ^ 
 
 Spaine is in warres, but London Hues in peace : 
 Your natiue fruit dooth wither on your soile, 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 323 
 
 And prospers where it neuer planted was. 
 This Londons Fealty dooth auouch for trueth. 
 Herald of war, and porter of their peace, 
 Commaund ye me no seruice to my Lords ? 
 
 S. Pride. 
 Quid tibi cum domini mox servient miseri nobis : discede. 
 
 Fealtie. 
 Quid mihi cum dominis servietis miseri meis ? 
 
 Pompe. 
 Shealty, say unto yen Thrasos three, 
 The Lords of London dare them to the field, 
 Pittieng their pride and their ambition. 
 Scorning their tiranny, and yet fearing this, 
 That they are come from home and dare not fight ; 
 But if they dare, in joint or seueral armes, 
 Battaile or combat, him that Lucre seekes. 
 Your Spanish Pride, him dare I from the rest. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 That bloodie curre, your Spanish Tyranny, 
 That Londons Conscience would force with crueltie, 
 I challenge him for Conscience sake to fight 
 A Lord of London, and I Pleasure hight. 
 And, Shealty, when Citizens dare them thus. 
 Judge what our nobles and our courtiers dare. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Say, if thou wilt, that London^s PoUicy 
 Discemes that proud Ambition of Spaine ; 
 And for he comes enflamde with Londons Loue, 
 In combat let him conquere me, and haue her. 
 This is Loues fauour ; I her seruant am. 
 
 Pompe. 
 This Lucres fauour : Pomp for her will fight. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 This Conscience fauour : she my mistresse is. 
 
324 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Shealtie, 
 You crauen English on your donghils crowe. 
 
 Pompe. 
 You Spanish fesants crow upon your pearch : 
 But when we fire your coates about your eares, 
 And take your ships before your walled townes. 
 We make a donghill of your rotten boanes, 
 And cram our chickens with your graines of gold. 
 
 Shealtie, 
 
 You will not yeeld ? 
 Yes, the last moneth. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Shealtie. 
 Farewel. [Retire Heraldes, with the Pages, to their places. 
 
 S. Pride. 
 Vade. 
 
 Pollicie, 
 Herald, how now ? 
 
 Fealtie. 
 Yen proud Castillians looke for your seruice. 
 
 Pompe. 
 So do we for theirs. 
 But, Fealtie, canst thou declare to me 
 The cause why all their Pages follow them. 
 When ours in showes do ever goe before ? 
 
 Fealtie. 
 In war they foUowe, and the Spaniard is 
 Warring in mind. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 But that's not now the cause. *» 
 
 Yen three are Pride, Ambition, Tyranny : 
 Shame followes Pride, as we a prouerbe haue. 
 Pride goes before and Shame comes after. 
 Treachery euer attendes vpon Ambition ; 
 And Terrour alwaies with a fearfuU watch 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 325 
 
 Doth wait vpon il conscienced Tyranny. 
 
 But why stay we to giue them space to breath ? 
 
 Come ; Courage ! let vs charge them all at once. 
 
 [Let the three Lordes passe towards the Spaniards, 
 and the Spaniardes make show of comming 
 forward, and sodainly depart. 
 Pompe 
 What brauing cowards these Castillians be ! 
 My Lordes, let's hang our scutchens vp againe, 
 And shroud our selues, but not farre off, vnseene. 
 To prooue if that may draw them to some deed. 
 Be it to batter our ymprezed shieldes. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Agreed. — Here, Fealty, hang them vp a space. 
 
 [They hang up their shieldes, and step out of sight. The 
 Spaniardes come, and flourish their rapiers neer them, but 
 touch them not, and then hang up theirs ; which the Lords 
 of London perceiuing, take their owne and batter theirs .- 
 The Spaniards, making a little showe to rescue, do sodenly 
 slippe away, and come no more. 
 Pollicie. 
 Facing, faint-hearted, proud, and insolent. 
 That beare no edge within their painted sheaths. 
 That durst not strike our sillie patient shieldes ! 
 
 Pompe. 
 Up haue they set their owne : see if we dare . 
 Batter on them, and beat their brauing Lordes. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Let them not yonder hang vnhackt, my Lords. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 With good aduise that we be not surprised, 
 And good enough. 
 
 PompeK 
 My selfe will onset giue 
 On Prides. At your Peacock, sir. 
 
326 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 At Tyrannies wil I bestow my blow, 
 Wishing the maister. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 I at Ambitions strike. Have at his pampered jade. 
 Enter S. Pride. 
 S. Pride. 
 Fuoro ViUagos ! fuero Lutheranos Angleses ! fuoro, sa, sa, sa ! 
 
 Pompe. 
 Their shieldes are ours : they fled away with shame. 
 But, Lordings, whiles the stratagem is fresh. 
 And memorie of their misfortune greene. 
 Their hartes yet fainting with the nouel griefe. 
 Let vs pursue them flieng : if you say it. 
 Haply we may prevent their passage yet. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 With speed and heede the matter must be done. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Therefore you, Pollicie, shall our leader be. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes. 
 Enter three Ladies and Nemo. 
 Nemo, 
 The day is ours : faire Ladies, let vs joy 
 The joyfiill day that all men may rejoice ; 
 Yet onely I am thankftdl for this good, 
 And your good day at hand approcheth fast. 
 Wherein you shall be joinde to three such Lordes, 
 As all the cities vnder heauens bright cope 
 Cannot, with all their glorie, match in worth. 
 Lucre, Lord Pomp a victor comes to thee : 
 Loue, looke thou for Lord Pollicy as well ; 
 And Conscience for her well reformed fere. 
 Pleasure, that onely made his choice of her. 
 Upon that day triumphant shall we feast. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 327 
 
 Wherein, Madames, your honors nil be least. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Against their comming, might my read be hard, 
 Prepare would we garlands of laurell greene. 
 To welcome them ; more for the common good, 
 Than for affection priuate that we beare. 
 
 Love. 
 To meet them comming wil not be amisse ; 
 But what know we how they will take such work. 
 
 Conscience, 
 Report may be much more than there is cause. 
 We may them meete and greet with joyfull heartes, 
 And make them garlands when we know their mindes. 
 
 Enter the three Lords, with the Spanish shieldes, 
 and Diligence. 
 Nemo, 
 And here they come with new ympresed shields. — 
 My Lords, wel met, and welcome from your foes. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Lord Pomp, wel met, and welcome home againe. 
 
 Loue. 
 Lord PoUicy, wel met, and welcome home againe. 
 
 Conscience. 
 Lord Pleasure, welcome with vnfained heart. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Faire joy, and Lady xx thousand thankes. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Faire Loue, and Lady twise as many thankes. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Faire and beloued Lucre, though I speake last. 
 As kindly I thy welcome do accept. 
 As heart can thinke, pen write, or tongue can teU. 
 
 Nemo, 
 Now, speak, my Lords, how haue ye sped ? 
 
328 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Pollicie, 
 Right wel ; thanks vnto him that gaue the day to vs. 
 The Pride of Spaine was cloak'd with Majestic, 
 And Shame, his Page, nicknamed Modestie : 
 Spanish Ambition Honor would be cal'd. 
 And Treacherie, his Page, term'd Action : 
 Their Tyranny was cleped Gouemment ; 
 Terror, his Page, was falsly nam'd Regard ; 
 But God aboue hath giuen them their reward. 
 They with dishonor left their shields behind, 
 The onely prises purchast by vs now, 
 And those, faire Ladies, we present to you. 
 Loue, this is thine, and he that giues it thee. 
 
 Nemo, 
 In lieu whereof your gift and her I giue 
 Againe to you, that merite more than both. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 The greatest gift and good could me befall. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Faire Lucre, loe, my present and my self. 
 
 Lucre. 
 Which I, with Nemos license, gladly take. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Take her. Lord Pomp ; I giue her vnto thee. 
 Wishing your good may ten times doubled be. 
 
 Pompe. 
 The wished good this world could giue to me. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Of dutie I, my deere, must giue thee this : 
 That art my comfort, and my earthly blisse. 
 
 Nemo. 
 Now, Lords, I hope you are contented all : 
 Pomp with his Lucre, Pollicie with Loue, 
 Pleasure with Conscience : joy fall you from aboue. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 329 
 
 And thus to you my promise is perfourm'd. 
 And I expect that yours as well be kept, 
 That present preparation may be made 
 To honour those with holy mariage rites. 
 That I, in presence of the world, may giue 
 These as my daughters vnto you, my sonnes. 
 
 PoUicie. 
 By my consent one day shall serue vs all, 
 Which shall be kept for euer festivall. 
 
 Pompe. 
 And on that day, in honor of these dames. 
 These shields in triumph shall be borne about. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 With pageants, plaies, and what delights may be. 
 To entertaine the time and companie. 
 
 Nemo. 
 So it please you, Lordings, me thinks it wer meet. 
 That the Ladies tooke care to prouide their own toies. 
 My selfe neede to helpe them, who know their mindes well. 
 For I can keepe women both quiet and constant. 
 
 PoUicie. 
 It pleaseth vs well that you will take the paines. 
 Faire ones, for a while we betake you to your busines. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Ladies, adue. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Beloued, farewel. 
 
 [The Lords being then to the doore, and they go out, and Ne. 
 [Fra. giues Pol. a paper ^ which he reads and then saies. 
 PoUicie. 
 It seemes by this writing, sir, you would serue me. 
 Is your name Skil ? whom did you serue last ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 An ill maister, my Lord : I serued none but my selfe. 
 
 T T 
 
330 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Polliciet 
 Haue ye neuer serued any heretofore ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Yes, diuers, my Lord, both beyond sea and here. With your 
 patience, my good Lord, not offending the same, I thinke I am your 
 poore kinsman : your Lorship PolUcy, and I Skil, if it Hke ye. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 You say verie well, and it is verie hke. 
 I will answere yee anon. 
 
 \lDiss. gives Plea, a paper, which he reades and sales. 
 Pleasure. 
 Is your name Faire-semblance, that wish to serue me ? 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Please your Lordship, Fair-semblance. I am wel seen, though I 
 I say it, in sundry languages meet for your Lordship, or any noble 
 seruice, to teach diuers tongues, and other rare things. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 I Uke ye verie well : stay a while for your answere. 
 
 Enter Usurie and giu^s a paper to Pompe, which he reades 
 and saith. 
 Pompe. 
 Maister Usury, I thanke ye that ye offer me your seruice ; it seemes 
 to me to be for your old maistresse sake, Lady Lucre. Stay but a 
 while; I will answere you with reason. 
 
 Tike three Lords go together and whisper, and call Diligence. 
 Diligence goes out for a marking yron, and returnes. 
 Fraud. 
 How now my hearts, think ye we shal speed ? 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Diligence, come hether. 
 
 Usurie. 
 I cannot tell what you shal, but I am sure I shal. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 I am as like as anie of ye both. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 331 
 
 Usurie. 
 Fraud ! 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Whist, man ; he's SkU. 
 
 Usurie, 
 Skil, why doest thou seeke to seme Lady Loue ? What profite 
 wil that be ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Tut, hold thee content : He seme but a while ; and seme mine 
 owne tume, and away. 
 
 Ponvpe. 
 Maister Usury, come hether. You desire to seme me : you haue 
 done Lady Lucre good semice, you say, but it was against God and 
 Conscience you did it: neither euer in your hfe did ye anie thing 
 for Loue. Well, to be short, seme me you shall not ; and I would I 
 could banish you from London for euer, or keepe you cloase pri- 
 soner ; but that is not in me, but what is, or may be, that strait you 
 shall see. By PoUicies counsell this shall be done. Diligence ! bring 
 that yron. Helpe me, my Lords. 
 
 Enter Diligence. 
 Pollicie. 
 Giue me the yron. Pomp, cosen Skil, help to hold him. 
 
 [Fraud laies hold on him, but Diss, slip away. 
 Sirra, PoUicy gives you this marke, doo you see ; 
 A litle X standing in the midst of a great C, 
 Meaning thereby to let men vnderstand, 
 
 That you must not take aboue bare x pound in the hundred, at any 
 
 [hand : 
 And that too much too ; and so be packing quietly, 
 And know that Londons Pomp is not sustained by Usury, 
 But by well ventured marchandize, and honest industrie. 
 
 Usurie. 
 I would I had neuer seene ye, if this be your curtesie. 
 
 \^Exit Usurie. 
 
332 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Now, Cosen Skil, alias Filthy Fraud, 
 No kinsman to Pollicie, nor friend to the state : 
 In steed of seruing me, Diligence, take him to Newgate. 
 Aske me not whie, sir : but. Diligence, if he doe striue, 
 Raise the street; he's vnweaponed and thou hast a weapon on. — - 
 And now, Lordes, when ye wil, about our affaires let's be gone. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Agreed ; but what's become of Faire-semblance, my man ? 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 A craftie villain e, perceiuing how we meant to Usurie, slipt away. 
 
 Enter SimpUcitie in hast, and giue the Lords a paper to read. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 All hail, all raine, all frost, and all snow 
 Be to you three Lordes of London on a row ! 
 Read my supplantation, and my suit yee shall know. 
 Even for Gods sake aboue, and three Ladies sakes below. 
 
 Fraud. 
 M. Diligence, do me a fauour : you know I am a gentleman. 
 
 Diligence. 
 Step aside til my Lordes be gone ; He doo for you what I can. 
 
 l^Slip aside. 
 Pompe. 
 What's here, my boy, what's here ? Pleasure, this suit is sure to 
 you ; for it's mad stuffe, and I know not what it meanes. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Neither doe I. — Sirra, your writing is so intricate, that you must 
 speake your mind ; otherwise we shall not know your meaning. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 You sue for three things here, and what be they ? tell them. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Cannot you three tell, and the suit to you three? I am glad a 
 simple fellow, yet can go beyond you three greate Lordes of London. 
 Why, my suite, looke yee, is such a suite, as you are bound in honor 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 333 
 
 to beare, for it is for the puppet hke wealth. I would haue no new 
 orders, nor new sciences set vp in the citie, whereof I am a poore 
 freeman, and please ye, as ye may read in ray bil ther — Simplicity 
 freeman. But, my Lords, I would haue three old trades, which are 
 not for the common wealth, put downe. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 And, after all this circumstance, sir, what be they ? 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 They be not three what lacke yees, as what do yee lacke? fine 
 lockerome, fine canvas, or fine Holland cloath, or what lacke ye ? 
 fine Ballades, fine sonets, or what lacke ye ? a purse or a glasse, or a 
 paire of fine knives ? but they be three haue ye anies, which mee 
 thinks are neither sciences nor occupations ; and if they be trades, 
 they are very malapert trades, and more than reason. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 As how, sir ? name them. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 Wil you banish them as readily, as I can name them ? The first 
 is, haue ye any old yron, old male, or old harneis ? 
 
 Pompe. 
 And what fault find ye with this ? 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 What fault ? I promise ye, a great fault : what haue you, or any 
 man els, to doo to aske me if I haue any old yron ? What if I haue, 
 or what if I haue not, why should you be so saucie to aske ? 
 
 Pleasure. ♦ 
 
 Why, foole, tis for thy good to giue thee money for that that might 
 lie and rust by thee. 
 
 SimpUcitie. 
 No, my Lord, no ; I may not call you foole : it is to marke the 
 houses where such stuffe is that, against rebels rise, there is harneis 
 and weapon ready for them in such and such houses ; and what then ? 
 The rustic weapon doth wound past surgerie, and kils the Queens 
 good subjects ; and the rest of the old trash wil make them guns 
 
334 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 too : so it is good luck to find old yron, but tis naught to keep it, and 
 the trade is crafty. And now, my L. PoUicy, I speake to you ; t'were 
 to put it downe. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Wisely said. Which is your second ? Is that as perillous ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Yea, and worse. It is, haue ye any ends of gold and siluer ? This 
 is a perillous trade, couetous, and a ticement to murther ; for, marke 
 ye, if they that ask this should be euill given, as Gods forbod, they see 
 who hath this gold and siluer : may they not come in the night, brake 
 in at their houses, and cut their throates for it ? I tell ye, gold and 
 siluer hath caused as much mischiefe to be done as that: down 
 with it. 
 
 Pompe. 
 They that haue it need not shew it. 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 Tush ; they need ask no such question : many a man hath delight 
 to shew what he hath. The trade is a ticing trade ; downe with it. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Now, your third, sir ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 That is the craftiest of all, wherein I am disbus^d, for that goes 
 vnder the colour of Simplicity : haue ye any wood to cleaue ? 
 
 Pleasure. 
 A perillous thing : what hurt is there in this, sir ? 
 
 Simplicitie. 
 O, do you not perceiue the subtiltie ? Why, sir, the woodmongers 
 hires these poore men to goe vp and downe, with their betles and 
 wedges on their backs, crieing, haue ye any wood to cleaue? and 
 laugh to see them trauell so loden with wood and yron. Now, sir, if 
 the poore men go two or three dales, and are not set a worke (as 
 sometimes they doo) the woodmongers pay them, and gaine by it ; 
 for then know they theres no wood in the citie : then raise they the 
 price of billets so hie, that the poore can buy none. Now, sir, if these 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 335 
 
 fellowes were barr'd from asking whether there were any wood to 
 cleaue or not, the woodmongers need not know but that there were 
 wood, and so billets and fagots woulde be sold al at one rate. Downe 
 with this trade : we shall sit a cold els, my Lords. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 I promise you, a wise suit, and done with great discretion. 
 
 Simplidtie. 
 Yea, is it not ? might ye not do wel to make me of your counsel ? 
 I beleeue I could spie moe faults in a weeke, than you could mend in 
 a moneth. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Wel, for these three faults the time serues not now to redresse. 
 
 Simplidtie. 
 No, marie ; for you three must be maried sodainly, and your feast 
 must be drest. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Against which feast repaire you to Diligence, and hee shal appoint 
 you furniture and money, and a place in the show : till when, fare- 
 well. 
 
 Simplidtie. 
 Farewell, my Lords : farewell, my three Lords ; and remember that 
 I haue set ech of yee a fault to mend. Wel, He go seek M. Dili- 
 gence, that he may giue me forty pence against the feast, sir re- 
 verence. [Eont. 
 Diligence and Fraud step out. 
 
 Diligence. % 
 
 What is it, M. Fraud, ye would demaund of me ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 Sir, this you know, though your selfe be a man of good reckoning, 
 yet are yee knowen an officer vnto these three Lords, and what dis- 
 credit it were to me, being a noted man, to passe through the streets 
 with you, being an officer j or if any of my friends should suspect 
 me with you, and dog vs, and see me committed to Newgate, I were 
 
336 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 vtterly discredited. Here is a purse, sir, and in it two hundred 
 angels : looke, sir ; you shall tell them. 
 
 Diligence. 
 Here are so indeed. What meane yee by this ? I will not take 
 these to let ye escape. 
 
 \Deliuer Fraud the purse againe. 
 Fraud. 
 I meane not so, sir ; nor I wil not giue halfe of them to be suf- 
 fered to escape ; for I haue done none offence, though it please them 
 to imprison me, and it is but on commaundement. I shal not stay 
 long ; but I will geue you this purse and gold in pawne to be true 
 prisoner, onely giue me leave to goe some other way, and home to my 
 lodging for my bootes and other necessaries; for there He leaue 
 word I am ridden out of towne, and with al the hast that possibly 
 I may, I wil meet you at Newgate, and giue you an angel for your 
 curtesie. There is the purse. 
 
 [Fraud giues him a purse like the other. 
 Diligence. 
 I hazard, as you know, my Lords displeasure herein ; and yet, to 
 pleasure you, I will venture this once : but I pray ye, make hast that 
 I be not shent. I would not for ten Angels it were knowen. 
 
 Fraud. 
 If I tarie aboue an hower, take that gold for your tarieng. [Encii, 
 
 Diligence. 
 I do not feare that you'l forfeit so much for so litle cause. {Exit. 
 Enter Nemo, with Desire, Delight, and Devotion, the three 
 Lordes of Lincolne. 
 Nemo, 
 My Lords of Lincolne, 
 Haue you such tytle, and such interest 
 To Loue, Lucre and Conscience, as you say ? 
 Who gaue you leaue to haue accesse to them ? 
 I am their father by adoption : 
 1 neuer knew of loue twixt them and you ', 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 337 
 
 And to perpetuall prison they were doom'd. 
 From whence I onelie might deliuer them : 
 Which at the suit of three most matchlesse Lordes, 
 Their countrimen, in London bred as they, 
 I haue perfourmd, and freed them from their bonds ; 
 And yet haue bound them in their freedome, too, 
 To PoUicie, to Pleasure and to Pomp, 
 Three Lords of London, whose they are in right. 
 Contracted wiues, and done by my consent ; 
 And euen to morrow is the mariage day. 
 Except your comming stay, or break it off. 
 I wil go call their Lords to answere you : 
 
 They (vnder couert Baron) medle not. [Exit. 
 
 Desire. 
 Fetch them, Lord Nemo : we will here attend. 
 
 Delight. 
 Attend we may, but vnto litle end : 
 The Ladies are in hucksters handling now. 
 
 Deuotion. 
 I would I had my time in praeing spent. 
 That I in woing Conscience did consume. 
 
 Enter the three Lordes of London and Nemo. 
 Desire. 
 Here come the Lords : let's show good countenance, man. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Yet more adoe before we can injoy 
 The joies of mariage with our mistresses ? 
 Be these the Lords that tytle doo pretend ? 
 My Lords of Lincolne, so we heare you be, 
 What are your names ? 
 
 Delight, 
 Deuotion, Desire and Delight. 
 
 Pompe. 
 Which comes for Lucre ? 
 
 u u 
 
338 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Desire* 
 
 1, Desire. 
 
 Which for Conscience ? 
 \, Deuotion. 
 Which for Loue ? 
 I, DeUght. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Deuotion. 
 Pollicie, 
 Delight. 
 
 Pollicie, 
 You shall be answered straight. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 I can answere them quickly. Ye cannot haue them, nor ye shall 
 not haue them. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Stay, Pleasure ; soft. My Lord Desire, you Lucre seeke : Desire 
 of Lucre (be it without reproch to you, my Lord) is couetousnes, 
 which cannot be separated long from that. Read, my Lord. 
 
 [Point to the stone of Care. 
 Desire. 
 In golden letters on this stone is written Care. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Care with desire of Lucre well agrees ; the rather for that Londons 
 Lucre may not be seperated from London's Pompe : so you may take 
 that stone, if ye will, but the Lady you cannot haue. 
 
 Desire. 
 And a stone is a cold comfort, in steed of Lucre. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 Deuotion to Conscience (I speake now to you, my Lord, that are 
 learned) is sorrow for sinne ; or in one word, read. 
 
 [Point to the stone of Remorse. 
 Deuotion. 
 On this sweating stone in brasse is set Remorse. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 339 
 
 Pollicie. 
 And that is your portion ; for Conscience is bestowed on Londons 
 Pleasure, because London makes a conscience what pleasure they 
 vse and admit, and what time they bestowe therein, and to what end : 
 so, my Lord Deuotion, either that or nothing. 
 
 Deuotion. 
 A stone is a hard lot, in steed of a Ladie. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 My Lord Delight, that do delight in Loue, 
 You must I loue for making choice of mine. 
 Loue is my portion, and that flint is yours. 
 
 Delight. 
 Here in lead is written Charitie : and what of this ? 
 
 Pollicie. 
 If you be (as I doubt not) honest DeUght in loue, then in the best 
 sense you can haue but cheiritie : if you be (which I suspect not) 
 other Delight in loue, you must be noted for concupiscence, and that 
 you will blush to be. Wei, Charitie is your best : then, that is your 
 portion ; for, marke ye, Londons Pollicy joines with London's Loue, 
 to shew that all our pollicie is for loue of Londons common wealth ; 
 and so our loue cannot be seperate from our poUicy. You heare 
 this. 
 
 Delight, 
 A flinfs a hard change for so faire a wife, 
 
 Pollicie. 
 And thus, Lords, Desire of Lucre may take Care ; Deuotion of 
 Conscience may haue Remorse; and DeUght of Loue may haue 
 Charitie : other recompence none. 
 
 Pleasure* 
 And so we three leaue you three with Care, Remorse, and Charity. 
 
 \Eweunt, 
 Desire. 
 With Care and Remorse, I sweare, ye doo leaue us; but what 
 Charitie I cannot tell. 
 
340 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 Beuotion. 
 Wei, yet we must vse Charity, though we faile of our desire ; and 
 we are answered with such reason as is not to be gainsaid. 
 
 Delight. 
 Indeed, my Lord, your calling is to perswade to charity ; but if I 
 vse patience it shall be perforce. 
 
 Devotion. 
 But being so wisely warn'd, me thinks, wee should be arm'd, and 
 take this in worth : that the world wonder no further, I wil take vp 
 my hard burden of Remorse, and be gone. [Exit. 
 
 Desire. 
 It is good to follow examples of good. He take this heauy burden 
 of Care, and follow as I may. [Eooit. 
 
 Delight. 
 Because He not be singular, He frame my selfe to follow, taking 
 this cold portion of Charitie as my share. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Simplicity vnth Diligence, 
 Simplicity. 
 Come on, M. Diligence : I haue bene seeking ye, as a man should 
 seek a load of hay in a needles eie. 
 
 Diligence. 
 And why hast thou sought me (I pray thee) so earnestly ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Why? For this ointment, these shels, these pictures: do you 
 not know this countus mountus cum this da mihi ? 
 
 Diligence. 
 What, money ? Why, do I owe thee any money ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Owe me ? Tush, no man ; what do ye talke of owing ? Come, and 
 yet I must haue some certaine sigillatum, and deliberatum in pre- 
 sentia. Doo you not vnderstand, sir ? Fourty pence and furniture 
 by my Lord Pompes pointment against the wedding day, to bee one 
 of the show-makers. I doe not say shoo-makers, and yet they be 
 honest men. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 341 
 
 Diligence. 
 I vnderstand thee now; and thou shalt want neither mony nor 
 furniture for that. Sawest thou not Fraud lately ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 No, a fox ferit him ; for if I could find him, I would make him 
 fast enough for cosoning me of ten shillings for certain copper buttons 
 and rings. I thought to haue bene a haberdasher, and he hath made 
 me worse than a hay-maker. 
 
 Diligence. 
 I may say to thee in councell, but He haue no words of it, hee 
 hath overreacht me too : but if thou spie him first, let me vnder- 
 stand ; and if I see him first, thou shalt haue knowledge, for He tell 
 thee, but laugh not, he shewed me a purse with a hundred pound in 
 angels, which he would deliuer me in pawne to be my true prisoner, 
 because, for his credite, he was loth to goe with me through the 
 streetes to Newgate. I refused at first ; but at last by his intreatie I 
 was content to take his pawne, and thinking he had giuen me the 
 right purse of golde, he had another hke it, which he gaue me, with 
 counters, and so went away. I never did see him since ; but mum, 
 no words of it. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 No words, quoth a ; that's a stale jest : would you be coson'd so ? 
 
 Diligence. 
 Wei, so it is now. Come follow me for thy furniture and money. 
 
 \Exeuni. 
 Enter Dissimulation and Fraud in caps, and as the rest 
 must be for the showe. 
 Dissimulation. 
 The coast is cleare : come, follow. Fraud, and feare not, for who 
 can discipher vs in this disguise? Thus may we shufle into the 
 showe with the rest, and see and not be scene, doing as they doo that 
 are attired like our selues. 
 
 Fraud. 
 That is, to stand amongst them, and take as they take, torches or 
 
342 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 any thing to furnish the showe. Now, if we can passe but this day 
 vnseene, let tomorrow shift for it selfe, as it may. I promise thee. 
 Dissimulation, thou art verie formall. 
 
 Dissimulation. 
 Not more than thy self. Fraud. I would thou sawest thy picture. 
 
 Fraud. 
 Picture here, picture there, let vs follow our busines. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Enter a Wench, singing. 
 Strowe the faire flowers and herbes that be greene, 
 To grace the gaiest wedding that euer was scene. 
 If London list to looke, the streetes were nere so cleene, 
 Except it was, when best it might, in welcome of our Queene. 
 Three louely Lords of London shall three London Ladies wed : 
 Strowe sweetest flowers upon the stones ; perfume the bridall bed. 
 Strowe the faire flowers &c. 
 
 Enter first Diligence with a truncheon, then a boy with Pollicies 
 launce and shield: then Pollicie and Loue, hand in hand: then 
 Fraud in a blue gowne, red cap and red sleeves, with Ambitions 
 lance and shield : then a boy with Pomps launce and shield : then 
 Pompe and Lucre, hand in hand : then Dissimulation with Prides 
 launce and shield: then a boy with Pleasures lance and shield: 
 then Pleasure and Conscience, hand in hand : then Simplicitie with 
 Tirannies lance and shield. They all going out, Nemo staies and 
 speaker. 
 
 Nemo. 
 These Lordes and Ladies thus to church are gone. 
 
 An honoured action to solemnize there : 
 
 With greater joy wil they return anone. 
 
 Than Caesar did in Rome his laurell weare. 
 
 Lord Pollicy hath Loue unto his fere : 
 
 Lord Pompe hath Lucre, to mainetaine his port ; 
 
 Lord Pleasure Conscience, to direct his sport. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 343 
 
 Usury is marked to be knowen ; 
 
 Dissimulation like a shadow fleetes, 
 
 And Simony is out of knowledge growen, 
 
 And Fraud vnfound in London, but by fits. 
 
 Simplicity with Painefull-Penury sits; 
 
 For Hospitality, that was wont to feed him. 
 
 Was slaine long since, and now the poore doo need him. 
 
 That Hospitality was an honest man. 
 
 But had few friendes (alas) if he had any ; 
 
 But Usury, which cut his throat as than, 
 
 Was succoured and sued for by many. 
 
 Would Liberality had bene by thy side, 
 
 Then, HospitaUty, thou hadst neuer died. 
 
 But what meane I, one of the mariage traine. 
 
 To moume for him wil nere be had againe ? 
 
 His ghost may walke to mocke the people rude : 
 
 Ghostes are but shadowes, and doe sense delude. 
 
 I talke too long ; for loe, this loueUe crue 
 
 Are conning backe, and haue perfourm'd their due. 
 
 \Returne as they went, sauing that the blue gownes, that bare shields, 
 must now beare torches : Simplicity going about spies Fraud, and 
 falleth on his knees before Pleasure and Conscience, saieng, 
 Simplicity. 
 
 O Lady Conscience, that art maried to Lord Pleasure, 
 Help thy seruant, Simplicity, to recouer his lost treasure. 
 A boone, my Lords, all for Loue and Lucre sake : 
 Euen as you are true Lordes, help a false lout to take. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Thou shalt haue helpe : speake, what is the matter ? 
 
 Simplicity. 
 
 See you yen fellow with the torch in his hand ? 
 One the falsest villaine[s] that is in this land. 
 Let him be laid hold on, that he run not away, 
 
344 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 And then yee shall heare what I haue to say. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 Dihgence, bring him hether. — Good Lordes and Ladies, stay. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 O, Maister Fraud, welcome to the huts : 
 Now He haue my ten shillings in spite of your guts. 
 The French canker consume ye, you were an old Frenchman ; 
 Da goU buttoone, goll renga, bugla lase : you cosend me than. 
 My Lords, I beseech ye, that at Tybome he may totter, 
 For in steed of gold, the villaine sold me copper. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 Is this true, M. Skil ? 
 
 Fraud. 
 It is true in a sort, my Lord. I thought to bee pleasant with him, 
 being my old acquaince, and disguis'd my selfe like an old French 
 Artificer; and having a few copper knacks, I sold them to him, to 
 make sport, for ten shillings, which money I am content to pay him 
 againe : so shall he haue no losse, though we haue made a litle sports 
 
 Pleasure. 
 First, giue him an angeU before my face. 
 Simplicity, art thou pleased ? 
 
 Simplicity, 
 Truly I am pleas'd to take a good angell for ten shillinges, spe- 
 ciouslie of such a debtor as M. Fraud ; but now I am to be pleased 
 otherwise, that is, to see him punished. I promise yee the people loue 
 him wel, for they would leaue work and make halfe hoUday to see 
 him hanged. 
 
 Pleasure, 
 That his punishment may please thee the better, thou shalt punish 
 him thy selfe : he shall be bound fast to yen post, and thou shalt bee 
 blindfold, and with thy torch shalt run, as it were, at tilt, charging 
 thy light against his lips, and so (if thou canst) burne out his tongue, 
 that it neuer speake more guile. 
 
The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 345 
 
 Simplicity. 
 O, singnlariter nominativo, wise Lord Pleasure: genitivo, bind 
 him to that poste : dativo, giue me my torch : accusat. for I say he's 
 a cosoner: Vocat. O, giue me roome to run at him: Ablat. take 
 and bhnd me. PluraUter per omnes casus. 
 Laugh all you to see me, in my choUer adust. 
 To bume, and to broile that False Fraud to dust. 
 
 [Bind Fraud, blind Simplicity : turne him thrise about ; set his face 
 towards the contrarie post, at which he runnes, and all to burnes 
 it. Dis. standing behind Fraud, imbindes him, and whiles all 
 the rest behold Simp, they two slip away: Pleasure, missing 
 Fraud, saith : — 
 
 Pleasure. 
 Wisely perfourm'd ! but soft, sirs ; where is Fraud ? 
 O, noble villaine I gone whiles we beheld 
 The other. Who loosed him ? Who let him slip ? 
 Wei, one day he will pay for all. Uhblind 
 SimpUcity. 
 
 Simplicity, 
 How now! Haue I heated his lips? Haue I warmM his nose, 
 and scortched his face ? Let me see : how lookes the villaine ? Haue 
 I burned him ? 
 
 Diligence. 
 Thou hast done more; for thou hast quite consumed him into 
 nothing. Looke, here is no signe of him ; no, not so much as his 
 ashes. 
 
 Simplicity. 
 Verie few ashes, if there be any. Ye may see what a hot thing 
 anger is : I thinke that the torche did not waste him so much as my 
 wrath. Wei, al London, nay al England is beholding to me for 
 putting Fraud out of this world. I haue consumed him and brought 
 him to nothing, and He tread his ashes vnder my feet, that no more 
 Frauds shal euer spring of them. But let me see : I shal haue much 
 anger ; for the tanners wil misse him in their lether, the tailors in 
 
 X X 
 
346 The three Lords and three Ladies of London. 
 
 cutting out of garments, the shoo-maker in closing, the tapsters in 
 filling pots, and the verie oistermen to mingle their oisters at BUlins- 
 gate : yet it is no matter ; the world is well rid of such a craftie 
 knaue. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Well, now thou art satisfied, I wish all here as wel contented : 
 And we, my Lords, that praise this happie day. 
 Fall we on knees, and humbly let vs pray. 
 
 Pompe. 
 
 First that from heauen vpon our gratious Queene 
 All maner blessings may be multiplied. 
 That as her raigne most prosperous hath bene. 
 During worlds length so may it stil abide. 
 And after that with saintes be glorified. 
 Lord ! graunt her health, hearts-ease, joy and mirth, 
 And heauen at last, after long life on earth. 
 
 Pollicie. 
 
 Her counsel wise, and Nobles of this land 
 Blesse and preserue, O Lord ! with thy right hand. 
 
 Pleasure. 
 
 On all the rest that in this land doo dwell, 
 Chiefly in London, Lord ! poure downe thy grace. 
 Who liuing in thy feare, and dying well, 
 In heauen with angels they may haue a place. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
NOTES TO THE THREE LORDS AND THREE 
 LADIES OF LONDON. 
 
 P. 249. 1. 22. My former fruites were louely Ladies three] Alluding to the play, 
 by the same author, immediately preceding in this volume. 
 
 P. 255. 1. 34. Thou mightest see it was no buzzard, man, by the bels] i. e. the 
 bells attached to the Falcon, the impress of Pleasure. 
 
 P. 256. 1. 26. This yong mast. Wit] i. e. This young master Wit. On the next 
 page " maist." is, of course, maister. 
 
 P. 258. 1. 24. Wei, let vs accord] We follow the division of the lines in the old 
 copy, but the rhime shews that a new line ought to begin at " For Wits 
 a good thing" &c. 
 
 P. 259. 1. 2. Yes, he weares a chaine]. Referring to the chains of gold, formerly 
 worne by persons of rank and property. 
 
 P. 261. 1. 4. Soft ; whose wares are these that are vp already] Alluding to the 
 manner in which ballad-sellers of that day used to expose their goods, 
 by hanging them up in the same way that the three Lords had hung up 
 their shields. 
 
 P. 266. 1. 29. Didst thou neuer know Tarlton ?J The best, and indeed what may 
 be considered the only, account of Tarlton, the Actor, precedes the 
 edition of his " Jests " reprinted by the Shakespeare Society in 1844. 
 
 P. 267. 1. 23. There is no such finenes in the picture, that I see.] Alluding, to 
 some wood-engraving of Tarlton, which Simplicity had in his basket. 
 To the reprint of Tarlton's " Jests " by the Shakespeare Society are pre- 
 fixed two wood-cuts, made from a drawing of the time of Elizabeth, 
 and, no doubt, soon after the death of Tarlton, of the plague, in 1588. 
 
 P. 277. 1. 30. Like two mice in an amderie] An ambry or aumbry is a pantry 
 or closet : the next line explains the word. 
 
 P. 278. 1. 7- Ladies should be sued for, I ame come &c.] The preposition /or 
 is reduplicated here, before " I ame come," by an obvious error of the 
 press in the old copy. 
 
348 
 
 p. 284. 1. 26. Than in this life, our light &c.] For " our" we ought probably 
 to read or. 
 
 p. 285. 1. 8. Paire of cardes] i. e. pack of cards ; the expression was very com- 
 mon : dech, six lines lower, was also often used for pack. 
 
 P. 286. 1. 3. Though I be rich, and she be poore] By an error the old copy 
 here reads, " Though I be rich, and / she be poore." 
 
 P. 289. 1. 25, Exeunt omnes] Excepting, of course, such characters as remain 
 on the stage and continue the dialogue. 
 
 P. 291. 1. 7. Why are they wympled? Shall they not vnmaske them?] The 
 wimple is generally explained as a covering for the neck, or for the 
 neck and shoulders; but Shakespeare (Love's Lab. Lost, ActllL sc. 1) 
 seems to use it as a covering for the eyes also, when he calls Cupid " This 
 wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy." Steevens in his note states 
 that " the wimple was a hood or veil, which fell over the face." The 
 passage in our text, and what follows it, supports this description of 
 the wimple. 
 
 P. 295. 1. 1. A vardingale of vaine boast] This is the only part of female dress 
 mentioned in this speech that seems to require a note. The " varding- 
 ale (or Farthingale) of vain boast" is peculiarly appropriate, since 
 a Farthingale consisted of a very wide, expanded skirt, puffed out to 
 shew off the attire, and distort the figure of a lady. In modern times 
 it bears a diflferent name. 
 
 P. 304. 1. 17. The Spanish forces, Lordings, are prepar'd] This and the follow- 
 ing lines afford a note of time, and shew that the drama was written and 
 acted during the preparation of the great Armada, and perhaps before 
 its total defeat. 
 
 P. 305. 1. 21. fFhen I with praiers for you wil penitrate] Perhaps we ought to 
 read " which I with praiers " &c. 
 
 P. 306. 1. 34. Watches in armour, triumphes, cresset-lightes] See 1 Henry IV. 
 Act III. sc. 1, respecting " burning cressets." In a note Steevens 
 quotes the above line in explanation of Shakespeare. 
 
 P. 313. 1. 4. Clubs, clubs !] The ordinary cry of the apprentices of London, 
 when they wished to raise their fellows to take their part in any com- 
 motion. It is mentioned in many old writers. 
 
 P. 315. 1. 5. Hauing appendent] i. e. Hauing a pendant. 
 
 P. 316. 1. 15. Their trouch man if thou be] A trouchman was an interpreter. 
 " For he that is the Trouchman of a Straunger's tongue may well de- 
 clare his meaning, but yet shall marre the grace of his Tale." G. Whet- 
 stone's "Heptameron" 1582. 
 
349 
 
 P. 31 ?• 1. 2. Of yen famous crue] Sic in orig., it occurs again in the same form 
 on pp. 323, 324 and 344, 
 
 P. 318. 1. 2. Faile, Spaniard] To " vail " means to lower, in token of in- 
 feriority and submission. 
 
 P. 318. 1. 17. Dicito nobis &c.] The Latin and Spanish here spoken by S. (i. e. 
 Spanish) Pride and others, we print as it stands in the old copy. 
 
 P. 321. 1. 10. Signifing seueritie] Sic in orig. 
 
 P. 326. 1. 32. Her well reforraed/er^] Companion, husband, or wife : it occurs 
 ag-aine on p. 342.— See Collier's Shakespeare, V. 327. VIII. 272. 
 
 P. 327. 1. 1. Your honors nil be least] i. e, will not be least. 
 
 P. 327. 1- 3. Might my read be hard] Read, or rede, is advice — might my 
 advice be heard. 
 
 P. 329. 1. 28. The Lords being then to the doore &c.] Thus it stands in the old 
 copy ; but, no doubt, we ought to read The Lords bring them &c. 
 
 P. 333. 1. 1. For it is for the puppet like wealth.] The absurdities of Simplicity 
 are not always transparent : here, by " puppet like wealth," he must 
 mean public wealth. 
 
 P. 335. 1. 25, Diligence and Fraud step out] They " slipped aside" on p. 332, 
 and now re-enter. The preceding stage-direction ought to be Exeunt, 
 because the Lords go out, as well as Simplicity. 
 
 P. 336. 1. 21. That I be not shent.'\ Shent is generally used for scolded, abused, 
 reproved, but it sometimes means ruined or destroyed. The word is of 
 frequent occurrence in Shakespeare, and in authors before and after his 
 time. 
 
 P. 337. 1. 13. They (vnder couert Baron) raedle not] That is, under the pro- 
 tection of their husbands — a legal phrase, not yet strictly applicable, 
 as the Ladies are not to be married to the Lords until the next day — 
 "And even tomorrow is the manage day." 
 
 P. 344. 1. 15, Being my old acquaince\ Sic in orig : and perhaps so pronounced 
 by the performer. 
 
 P. 345. 1. 15. O, noble villaine !] Most likely misprinted for O, notable villaine ! 
 
A most pleasant and 
 
 merie new Comedie, 
 Intituled 
 
 A Knacke to Knowe a Knaue, 
 
 Newlie set foorth, as it hath sundrie 
 
 t)nnes bene played by Ed: Allen 
 and his Companie. 
 
 With Kemps applauded Merrimentes 
 
 of the men of Goteham, in receiuing 
 
 the King into Goteham. 
 
 Imprinted at London by Richard lones, dwelling 
 
 at the signe of the Rose and Crowne, nere 
 Holbome Bridge, 1594. 
 
A merie Knacke to 
 
 knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Enter King Edgar, bishop Dunston, and Perin a courtier. 
 King. 
 
 Dunston, how highlie are we bound to praise 
 The Etemall God that still prouides for vs. 
 And giues vs leaue to rule in this our land ; 
 Lyke wise Vaspasian, Romes rich Emperour, 
 Suppressing sinne, that daylie raignes in vs. 
 First, murther we rewarde with present death. 
 And those that doe commit feUonious crimes. 
 Our lawes of England doe awarde them death : 
 And hee that doeth dispoyle a Virgins chastitie. 
 Must lykewise suflfer death by lawes decree. 
 And that decree is irrreuocable. 
 Then, as I am Gods Vicegerent heer on earth. 
 By Gods appointment heere to raigne and rule. 
 So must I seeke to cut abuses downe, 
 
 That, hke to Hydras heades, daylie growes vp, one in anothers place. 
 And therein makes the land infectious. 
 Which if with good regard we looke not to. 
 We shall, lyke Sodom, feele that fierie doome. 
 That God in Justice did inflict on them. 
 
 Dunston. 
 
 Your Graces care herein I much cummend. 
 And England hath just cause to praise the Lorde, 
 That sent so good a King to goueme them. 
 
 Y Y 
 
354 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Your lyfe may be a Lanteme to the state. 
 By perfect signe of humilitie. 
 Howe blest had Sodome bene in sight of God, 
 If they had had so kinde a Gouernour ; 
 They had then vndoubtedlie escapt that doome. 
 That God in justice did inflict on them. 
 Then, England, kneele vpon thy hartie knee. 
 And praise that God that so prouides for thee. 
 And, vertuous Prince, thou Salomon of our age. 
 Whose yeares, I hope, shall double Nestor's raigne. 
 And bring a thousand profits to the land. 
 My selfe (dread Prince) in token of my loue. 
 And dutifull obedience to your Grace, 
 Will studie daylie, as my dutie willes. 
 To roote sinnes from the flourishing common wealth, 
 That Fame, in euery angle of the world. 
 May sound due praise of Englands ve[r]tuous King. 
 
 King. 
 
 Dunston, liue thou, and counsell still the King 
 To maintaine Justice, were it on himself. 
 Rather than soothing him in his abuse, 
 To see subuersion of his common wealth. 
 I tell thee, Dunston, thou hast pleased the King, 
 And prooued thy selfe a vertuous counsellour : 
 Thy counsell is to me as North stars light, 
 That guides the Sayler to his wished port ; 
 For by that starre he is so comforted. 
 That he sailes daungerlesse on daungerous seas. 
 And in his deepest sadnes comforts him. 
 So Dunstons knowledge is that starre of joy, 
 That will with helpe conduct me to my happinesse. 
 
 Honesty, 
 
 And yet thou art not happy, Edgar, 
 Because that sinnes, lyke swarmes, remaine in thee. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 355 
 
 King. 
 Why, tis impossible ; for I haue studied still. 
 To root abuses from the common wealth, 
 That may infect the king or communaltie. 
 Therefore, base Peasant, wilfull as thou art, 
 I tell thee troth, thou hast displeasd the King. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Nay, the King hath displeased himselfe, 
 In trusting euery one that speaks him faire : 
 For through faire words Kings manie tymes are faine 
 To countenance Knaues by their authoritie. 
 I will not say your Grace doeth so. 
 
 Perin. 
 No, sir J you were not best. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Why, if I should, I might make good my word, 
 And fynd a Knaue, I fear, before I part. 
 
 King. 
 Why, what art thou ? 
 
 Hon£sty, 
 Mary, I goe plaine, and my name is Honesty : 
 A friend to your Grace, but a foe to Flatterers, 
 And one that hath a Knacke to know a Knaue. 
 
 Perin. 
 As how, sir ? by art, or by some foolish gift God hath giuen you ? 
 You are some Vissitian, or skild in Visognomy, or in palmestry ; 
 For, I am sure, you can neuer do it by Astronomic, 
 Because there are no starres to knowe a knaue. 
 
 Honesty. 
 True, but many an honest man knowes a knaue to his cost. 
 And is neither Visician, Visognoraer, palmester, nor astronomer. 
 But a plaine man of the country, lyke me. 
 That knowes a knaue, if he doe but see his cap. 
 
356 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Perin. 
 That wer pretie, I faith, to see Honesty know a knaue by his cap : 
 Tis more than I can do with al the skil I haue. 
 But tel me, I pray thee, how I should know a knaue. 
 
 Honesty. 
 I beleeue you wel ; for oflFenders neuer bewray their oflfences. 
 Til the Law fynd them, and punish them. 
 But you would faine tell how to know a knaue : 
 Then thus ; the first man you meet in the morning, 
 If he salute you, drawe neere him, 
 And smell to his hat, and after smell to your owne ; 
 And, my cap to a noble, if his smel lyke yours, he is a knaue. 
 I thinke I spoke with you now. 
 
 Perin, 
 Base Villain, were it not that the Kinges presence 
 Doth priuilege thy presumption, I wold teach you to jest with your 
 
 [fellows. 
 King, 
 Forbear, honesty : thou art a good plain fellow. 
 And I commend thy wit, that hast such waies to know a knaue. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Honesty is plaine, my Lord, but no good fellow, 
 For good fellowes be purse-takers now a dales : 
 And there be so manie of such good fellowes, 
 That Honesty may walke the streets without company. 
 Not that there wants company, but honest company, I mean ; 
 Yet Honesty can clap a knaue on the shoulder for all his brauerie. 
 
 Perin, 
 Why (base companion) meane you me ? 
 
 Honesty. 
 Not base (sir) because I was truelie begotten. 
 For Honesty may be suspected, but neuer detected. 
 But you think I had a bayliefe to my father, as you had. 
 And that my mother could returne a writ of error. 
 As yours did, when such a Gallant as you were gotten. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 357 
 
 King.. 
 
 Beleeue me, Perin, he hath toucht you now ; 
 And, I perceiue, though Honesty be simple. 
 Yet manie tymes he speakes trueth. 
 
 Honesty. 
 
 True, if it please your Grace, for honest men wil not lie. 
 But, if your Grace vouchsafe to giue me leaue. 
 You shall see me finde more knaues than one. 
 If my cunning faile me not ; or els say Honesty had no honesty. 
 
 King. 
 
 But tel me, Dunston, how thinkest thou of this motion ? 
 Were it not good, thinkest thou, we gaue him leaue 
 To stifle such Catterpillers as corrupt the common welth ? 
 For manie tymes such simple men as he 
 Bewray much matter in simplicitie. 
 
 Then, tell me, Dunston, what thinkest thou of his motion ? 
 
 Dunston. 
 
 If it please your Grace to thinke it good, 
 Dunston will say, as once Hefestion did 
 When Alexander wan rich Macedone ; 
 That what so ere the King himselfe thought meete. 
 He would in dutifuU obedience yeeld vnto. 
 And so saith Dunston to your Maiestie : 
 For many times such simple men bring that to passe. 
 That wiser heads cannot attaine vnto ; 
 For doubtlesse he hath some deuice in hand. 
 Whereby to fynde such subtle knauerie. 
 
 King. 
 
 Well, Dunston, then, as thou hast counseld me, 
 I will for once make proofe of Honesty. — Sirra, come hither : 
 I hope you wil, as your profession is 
 In honest sort to fynde deceiuers out. 
 And, fynding them, to giue vs notice straight. 
 That we may punish them for their amisse. 
 
358 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 We giue thee leaue to work what means thou maist, 
 So it be not preiudice to the state nor vs. 
 
 Honesty. 
 
 My gracious Lord, if Honestie oiFend 
 In anie thing that he hath promised, 
 And doe not, as your Grace hath giuen in charge, 
 Stifle such Caterpillers as corrupt the state, 
 Let Honestie receiue such punishment. 
 As he deserues that leases to the King. 
 
 King. 
 
 Honesty, it is ynough : but tel me, now, what moued thee first. 
 To vndertake this taske to visit vs ? Speak truth desemble not : 
 
 Honesty. 
 
 If I shuld tel your Grace, twold make you laugh 
 To heare how Honesty was entertainde. 
 Poore, lame and bhnde when I came once ashore. 
 Lord, how they came in flocks to visit me ; 
 The shepheard with his hooke, and Thrasher with his flaile. 
 The very pedler with his dog, and the tinker with his male : 
 Then comes a souldier conterfeit, and with him was his Jug, 
 And Wil, the whipper of the dogs, had got a bounsing trug ; 
 And coging Dick was in the crue, that swore he cam from France : 
 He swore that in the Kings defence he lost his arm by chance ; 
 And yet in conscience, if I were put to sweare, 
 I would be bound to lay a pound, the knaue was neuer there. 
 And hapning mongst this companie by chance one day, 
 I had no sooner namde my name, but they ran all away. 
 But now I wlQ to my taske, and leaue your Grace ; 
 And so I take my conge of your Majestic. [Exit. 
 
 King. 
 
 Honestie, farewel, and looke vnto your charge. 
 
 Perin. 
 
 My gratious Lord, if I might not offiend, 
 I would intreat a fauour at your hand. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 359 
 
 Tis so, I heard of late, my gracious Lord, 
 That my kinde father lay at poynt of death. 
 And if (my Lord) I should not visite him. 
 The world (I feare) would fynd great fault with me. 
 
 King. 
 
 Nay, Perin, if your businesse bee of waight, 
 We are content to giue you leaue to goe : 
 Prouided this, that you returne againe. 
 When you haue scene your Father and your friends. 
 
 Perin. 
 
 My gratious Lord, I will not stay there long, 
 Only but see my father and returne againe : 
 
 Till when, my gratious Lord, I take my leaue. [Exit. 
 
 King. 
 
 Perin, farewel. — And tel me, Dunston, now we are alone. 
 What doest thou thinke of beauteous Alfrida, 
 For she is reported to be passing faire ? 
 They say she hath a white pit in her chin. 
 That makes her looke lyke to the Queene of loue. 
 When she was daljdng with Endymion. 
 Beleeue me, Dunston, if she be so faire. 
 She will seme our turne to make a Concubine : 
 Me thinks tis good some tyme to haue a loue, 
 To sport withall, and passe away the tyme. 
 
 Dunston. 
 
 I, my good Lord ; Dunston could well allow of it, 
 If so your Grace would marrie Alfrida. 
 
 King. 
 
 What, wouldst thou haue me marie her I neuer saw ? 
 Then, men would say I doted on a wench : 
 But, Dunston, I haue found a policie. 
 Which must indeed be followed to the full. 
 
 Enter Ethenwald. 
 Earle Ethenwald, welcome : I thought to send for you. 
 
360 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 You must goe doe a message for vs now : 
 Tis nothing but to woo a Wench, which you can doe. 
 You must not woo her for your selfe but me : 
 Tell her, I sit and pine lyke Tantalus ; 
 And, if you can, straine foorth a teare for me. 
 Tell her, she shall be honoured in my Loue, 
 And beare a childe that one day may be King. 
 Bid her not stand on tearmes, but send me word. 
 Whether she be resolued to loue me, yea or no. 
 If she say no, tell her I can enforce her Loue : 
 Or tis no matter though you leaue that out. 
 And tell her this : we heare she is as wyse, 
 
 As eloquent and ful of Oratory, as Thaly was, daughter of Jupiter, 
 Whose speaches were so pleasing mong the Greeks 
 That she was tearmde a second Sacrates. 
 For some report, women loue to be praised ; 
 Then, in my cause, I pray thee, loue thou Alfrida. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 
 My gratious Lord, and Ethenwald shall not faile 
 To shew his humble dutie to your Maiestie. 
 I wiU, my Lord, woe her in your behalfe, 
 Plead loue for you, and straine a sigh to show your passions : 
 I will say, she is fayrer than the Dolphins eie. 
 At whom amazde the night stars stand and gaze. 
 Then, will I, praise her chin, and cheke, and prety hand. 
 Long, made lyke Venus when she vsde the harp. 
 When Mars was reueling in Joues high house. 
 Besides, my Lord, I will say she hath a pace 
 Much hke to Juno in Idea vale. 
 When Argus watcht the Heifer on the mount. 
 These words, my Lord, will make her loue, I am sure ; 
 If these will not, my Lord, I haue better far. 
 
 King. 
 
 Nay, this is well : now, Ethenwald be gone, 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 361 
 
 For I shall long to heare of thy retume. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 My gratious Lord, I humbly take my leaue. \_Exit. 
 
 King. 
 Ethenwald farewel. — Dunston, how likest thou this ? 
 "What, haue I done well in sending Ethenwald ? 
 But in good tyme, how if he lyke the mayde ; 
 Beleeue me, Dunston, then my game is mard. 
 
 Dunston. 
 I doe not thinke, my gratious Lord, 
 My Nephew Ethenwald beares that bad mind, 
 For hetherto he hath bene tearmed just, 
 And kept your Grace his gratious fauourer. 
 
 King. 
 True, Dunston ; yet haue I read that Loue 
 Hath made the sonne deceiue the father oft. 
 But, Dunston, leauing this, come, lets to court. 
 
 Dunston. 
 I will attend vpon your Maiesty. Exeuni. 
 
 Enter Baylief of Hexam, and his foure sonnes ; to wit, a 
 Courtier, a Priest, a Conicatcher, and a Farmer. 
 Baylief. 
 My sonnes, you see how age decaies my state. 
 And that my lyfe, lyke snow before the sun. 
 Gins to dissolue into that substance nowe. 
 From whose inclosure grew my fyre of lyfe ; 
 The earth I meane, sweet mother of vs all. 
 Whom death, authorised by heauens high power. 
 Shall bring at last, from whence at first I came. 
 Yet, ere I yeeld my selfe to death, my sonnes, 
 Giue eare, and hear what rules I set you downe. 
 And first to thee my sonne, that liuest by wit : 
 I know thou hast so many honest sleights 
 To shift and cosen smoothly on thy wit, 
 
 z z 
 
362 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 To cog, and lie, and braue it with the best. 
 
 That twere but labour lost to counsell thee. 
 
 And therfore to the next, Walter, that seemes in shew a husbandman 
 
 My Sonne, when that thy master trusts thee most. 
 
 And thinks thou dealest as truelie as himselfe, 
 
 Be thou the first to worke deceit to him ; 
 
 So, by that means thou maist inrich thy selfe, 
 
 And liue at pleasure when thy maister's dead : 
 
 And when to market thou art sent with woU, 
 
 Put sand amongst it, and twill make it weigh, 
 
 The waight twise double that it did before : 
 
 The ouerplus is thine into thy purse. 
 
 But now my sonne, that keeps the Court ; 
 
 Be thou a means to set the Peeres at strife, 
 
 And currifauour for the commons loue : 
 
 If any, but in conference, name the King, 
 
 Informe his Maiestie they enuie him ; 
 
 And if the King but moue, or speake to thee, 
 
 Kneele on both knees, and say, God saue your Maiestie. 
 
 If any man be fauoured by the King, 
 
 Speake thou him faire, although in heart thou enuie him. 
 
 But who is next ? 
 
 Priest. 
 
 That am I father, that vse the word of God, 
 And liue only by the heauenly Manna. 
 
 Baylief. 
 
 Who ? the Priest ? Giue eare, my sonne, 
 I haue a lesson yet in store for thee. 
 Thou must (my son) make shew of holinesse ; 
 And blinde the world with thy hipocrosie ; 
 And sometime giue a pennie to the poore. 
 But let it be in the Church or market place. 
 That men may praise thy liberalitie. 
 Speak against usurie, yet forsake noe pawnes. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 363 
 
 So thou may^st gaine three shilUngs in the pound. 
 Wame thou the world from sin and vile excesse, 
 And now and then speak against drunkennes : 
 Soe, by this means thou shal be tearmed wise, 
 And with thy purenes blind the peoples eies. 
 But now (my sonnes) discourse to me in briefe 
 How you haue hued, and how you meane to die. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Then (father) thus I liue that vse my wit. 
 Unto my selfe I loue still to be wise ; 
 For when I am driuen to shift for meat or coine, 
 Or gay apparell to maintaine me braue, 
 Then doe I flaunt it out about the change, 
 As if I were some landed Gentleman ; 
 And falling in with some rich merchant there, 
 I take commodities for sixe months day : 
 The bill being made, I must set to my hand ; 
 Then, if I pay not, they may burne the band. 
 
 Farmer. 
 
 Then, father, hark how I haue profited, 
 Walter, your son that keeps the countrie. 
 I haue raised the markets and opprest the poore. 
 And made a thousand goe from dore to dore. 
 And why did I (think you) vse this extremitie ? 
 Because I wood haue come ynough to feed the enemie. 
 Father, you know we haue but a while to liue. 
 Then, while wee liue let each man shift for one ; 
 For he that can not make shift in the world. 
 They say hees vnworthy to liue in it : 
 And he that Hues must still increase his store. 
 For he that hath most wealth of all, desireth more 
 
 Perin, 
 
 Brethren you haue spoken wel, I must needs say ; 
 But now giue eare to mee that keeps the Court. 
 
364 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Father, I liue as Aristipus did, and vse my wits to flatter with the king. 
 If any in priuate conference name the king, 
 I straight informe his Grace they enuie him. 
 Did Sinon liue, with all his subtiltie 
 He could not tell a flattering tale more cuningUe. 
 Some tyme I moue the King to be effeminate. 
 And spend his tyme with some coy Curtizan. 
 Thus, with the King I curry fauour still, 
 Though with my heart I wish him any ill : 
 And sometime I can counterfeit his hand and scale, 
 And borrow money of the communalty; 
 And thus I liue and flaunt it with the best. 
 And dice and carde inferiour vnto none : 
 And none dares speake against me in the court, 
 Because they know the King doth fauour me. 
 
 Preist. 
 And I, among my brethren and my Freinds, 
 Doe still instruct 'em with my doctrine, 
 And Yea and nay goes through the world with us. 
 
 Fie ! not an oath we sweare for twentie pound : 
 
 Brethren (say we) take heed by Adams fal ; 
 
 For by his sinnes we are condemned all. 
 
 Thus preach we still vnto our brethren, 
 
 Though in our heart we neuer meane the thing : 
 
 Thus doe wee blind the world with holinesse, 
 
 And so by that are tearmed pure Precisians. 
 
 Baylief. 
 Full well and wisely haue you said, my sonnes. 
 
 And I commend you for your forward mindes. 
 
 That in your liues bewray whose sonnes ye are. 
 
 Here haue I bene a Bayliefe three score yeares, 
 
 And vsde exaction on the dwellers by ; 
 
 For if a man were brought before my face. 
 
 For cosenage, theft, or liuing on his wit. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 365 
 
 For counterfeiting any hand or seales, 
 The matter heard, the witnesse brought to mee, 
 I tooke a bribe, and set the prisoners free : 
 So, by such dealings I haue got the wealth, 
 Which I would haue disburst among you al. 
 With this proviso, that you all shall liue. 
 And lead such liues as I haue set you downs. 
 Carue to your selues, and care not what they say 
 That bid you feare the fearfull Judgment day. 
 Liue to your selues while you haue tyme to liue : 
 Get what you can, but see ye nothing giue. 
 But hearke, my sonnes : me thinks I heare a noyse. 
 And gastlie visions makes me timerous. 
 Ah, see my sonnes, where death, pall Death, appeares. 
 To summon mee before a fearfull Judge. 
 Methinks reuenge stands with an yron whip. 
 And cries, repent or I will punish thee. 
 My heart is hardened, I cannot repent. 
 And I am damned to euer burning fyre. 
 
 Soule, be thou safe, and bodie flie to hell. [He dyeth, 
 
 < Enter Deuil, and carie him away. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Brother, why doe you not read to my father ? 
 
 Preist. 
 
 Trulie, my book of exhortation is at my place of exercise, 
 And without it I can doe nothing. 
 Gods peace bee with him. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter the King, P hilar chus, his father, Dunston and Attendants. 
 
 King. 
 
 Father, say on ; for now my leisure serues. 
 And Edgar giues thee leaue to tell thy minde ; 
 For I perceiue thine eies are full of teares. 
 Which shews that manie inward passions troubles thee. 
 If anie here haue wronged thine aged yeares, 
 
366 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 In keeping that from thee that is thy due, 
 Name but the man, and, as I am England's King, 
 Thou shalt haue all the favour I can shew. 
 
 Father-. 
 Then, vertuous Prince, mirrour of curtesie, 
 Whose Judgements, and whose lawes for gouemment. 
 And punishing of euerie foule abuse. 
 Is Uke the judgement of great Alexander, 
 Third of that name, whom some tearmed the Severe ; 
 Or lyke Vaspasian, Romes vertuous gouernour, 
 Who, for a blowe his sonne did giue a Swaine, 
 Did straight commaund that he shoold loose his hand. 
 Then, vertuous Edgar, be Vaspasian once. 
 In giuing sentence on a gracelesse childe. 
 Know (vertuous Prince) that in my pride of yeares, 
 When lustfull pleasure prickt my wanton minde, 
 Euen in the April of my flourishing time, 
 I was betroth'd and wedded to a wyfe. 
 By whome, too soone, I had that vnkind boy. 
 Whose disobedience to his aged Syre 
 The Lord will plague with torments worse than death. 
 This disobedient child, nay base abstrauogant, 
 Whome I with care did nourish to this state, 
 Puft with a pride that vpstart Courtiers vse, 
 And seeing that I was brought to pouertie. 
 He did refuse to know mee for his Syre ; 
 And when I challenged him by Natures Lawes 
 To yeeld obedience to his Fathers age. 
 He told me straight, he took it in great scome 
 To be begot by one so base as I. 
 My age, that ill cood brook this sharpe replie, 
 Did with this wand (my lord) reach him a blow ; 
 But he, contrary lawes of God and men, 
 Did strike mee such a blowe in vild disdaine. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 367 
 
 That with the stroke I fel to earth againe. 
 
 King. 
 
 Unkind Philarchus, how hast thou misdon * 
 
 In willfull disobedience to thy Syre ! 
 Art thou growne proud because I fauoured thee ? 
 Why, I can quickUe make thee bare againe. 
 And then, I think, being in thy former state. 
 Thou wilt remember who thy father was. 
 And, gentle Sophocles, in good tyme I recount 
 Thy antient saying, not so old as true. 
 For saith, he that hath many children 
 Shall neuer be without some myrth. 
 Nor die without some sorrowe ; for if they 
 Be vertuous, he shall haue cause to reioyce. 
 But if vitious, stubburne, or disobedient, 
 Euer to Hue in continuall sadnesse. 
 
 I am sorie (Philarchus) that my fauours haue made thee insolent : 
 Wei, I wil see now, if my frownes wil make thee penitent. 
 Now, Father, see how Nature gins to worke. 
 And how salt teares, lyke drops of peely dew, 
 Fals from his eies, as sorrowing his amisse. 
 
 Philarchus. 
 
 Most gratious Prince, vouchsafe to heare me speake. 
 I cannot but confesse (most gratious Soueraigne) 
 That I haue erd in being obstinate in wilful disobedience to my syre, 
 Wherin I haue wrong'd nature and your Maiesty ; 
 But I am not the first, whom ouersight 
 Hath made forgetfuU of a Fathers loue. 
 But Fathers loue shall neuer be forgot. 
 If he but daine to pardon my amisse : 
 But if your wrath will no waies be appeased, 
 Rip vp this breast, where is inclosde that heart, 
 That bleeds with griefe to thinke on my amisse. 
 Ah Father ! pardon, sweet Father, pardon me. 
 
368 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Father, 
 
 No (gracelesse Impe, degenerate and vnkinde) 
 Thou art no sonne of mine, but Tygers whelp, 
 That hast bene fostred by some Lyons pap : 
 But as the tallest Ash is cut down, because it yeelds no fruit, 
 And an vnprofitable cow, yeelding no milke, is slaughtered. 
 And the idle Drone, gathering no honie, is contemned, 
 So vngrateful children, that will yeeld no naturall obedience. 
 Must be cut oflf, as vnfit to beare the name Christians, 
 Whose liues digresse both from reason and humanitie. 
 But as thou hast dealt vnnaturallie with me. 
 So I resolue to pull my heart from thee. 
 Therefore, dread Prince, vouchsafe to pitie me, 
 And grant I may haue Justice on my sonne. 
 
 King. 
 
 Dunston, how counsailest thou the King in this ? 
 I promise thee, I am sorie for the youth. 
 Because in heart I euer wisht him well. 
 
 Dunston. 
 
 My gratious Lord, if I might counsell you, 
 I would counsell you to judge as he deserues. 
 He that disdaines his Father in his want. 
 And wilfuUie will disobey his Syre, 
 Deserues (my Lord) by Gods and Natures lawes. 
 To be rewarded with extreamest illes : 
 Then, as your Grace hath stablisht lawes for gouernment. 
 So let offenders feele the penalties. 
 
 King. 
 
 I, Dunston ; now thou speakest as fits a counsellor, 
 But not as friend to him whom Edgar loues. 
 Father, what wouldest thou haue me doe in this ? 
 Thou seest thy sonne is sory for his fault, 
 And I am sure thou would not wish his death. 
 Because a fathers care commands the contrarie. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 369 
 
 Then (gentle Father) let me plead for him, 
 And be his pledge for shunning wilfull illes. 
 
 Fatfier. 
 
 Wil Edgar now be found a partiall Judge, 
 In pleading pardon for a gracelesse childe ? 
 Is it not true, that one cole of fyre will burne many houses. 
 And one small bracke in finest cloath that is, 
 Will both disgrace and blemish the whole peece ? 
 So wilfull children, spotted with one ill, 
 Are apt to fall to twentie thousand more ; 
 And therefore (mightie Soueraigne) leaue to speake. 
 And passe just sentence on Philarchus lyfe. 
 
 Philarchus. 
 
 My life (dear father) ? that sentence wer too hard : 
 Let me be banisht from my countries bounds. 
 And Hue as exilde in some wildernes, 
 Bard from societie and sight of men ; 
 Or let me hazard fortunes on the seas. 
 In setting me aboord some helmlesse ship. 
 That either I may split upon some rocke. 
 Or els be swallowed in the purple Maine, 
 Rather than die in presence of my King, 
 Or bring that sorrow to your aged yeares. 
 If this suffise not, then, let me be armde. 
 And left alone among ten thousand foes ; 
 And if my weapon cannot set me free. 
 Let them be means to take my lyfe from me. 
 
 King. 
 
 Father, what say you to Philarchus now ? 
 Are you content to pardon his amisse ? 
 Dunston, I promise thee, it greeues me much, 
 To heare what piteous moane Philarchus makes : 
 Me thinks I see sad sorrow in his face, 
 And his humilitie argues him penitent. 
 
 3a 
 
370 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 But, Father, for I will not be the Judge, 
 To doome Philarchus either lyfe or death, 
 Here, take my robes, and judge him as thou wilt. 
 
 Father. 
 
 Then, vertuous Prince, seeing you will have it so. 
 Although the place be farre vnfit for me, 
 I am content your Grace shall haue your mind. 
 Thus, lyke an Asse attyred in costlie robes. 
 Or lyke a ring thrust in a foule Sowes snout. 
 So doe these robes and Scepter fit mine age. 
 But for I am Judge, Philarchus, stand thou foorth, 
 And know, as ther is nothing so good, but it hath some inconuenience. 
 So there is no man whatsoeuer without some fault : 
 Yet this is no argument to maintaiue thy wilfull disobedience. 
 As the Rose hath his prickle, the finest Veluet his bracke, 
 The faryest flower his bran, so the best wit his wanton will. 
 But (Philarchus) thou hast been more than wanton, 
 Because thou hast disobeyed the lawes both of God and nature : 
 The teares that thou hast shed, might warrant me 
 That thou art penitent for thy amisse. 
 Besides (my sonne) a fathers naturall care. 
 Doth chalenge pardon for thy first amisse. 
 
 King. 
 
 Father, well said : I see thou pitiest him. 
 
 Father. 
 
 Nay, stay my Lord : this did I speak as father to Philarchus ; 
 But now, my (Lord) I must speake as a Judge. 
 And now, Philarchus, marke what I set downe. 
 Because thou hast bene disobedient. 
 And wronged thy aged father wilfuUie, 
 And giuen a blow to him that nourisht thee, 
 And thereby hast incurd thy mothers curse. 
 And in that curse to feele the wrath of God, 
 And so be hated on the earth mongst men ; 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 371 
 
 And for I will be found no partiall Judge, 
 
 Because I sit as Gods Vizegerent now, 
 
 Here I doe banish thee from Englands bounds, 
 
 And neuer to 
 
 King. 
 
 There stay : now, let me speake the rest. 
 Philarchus, thou hast heard thy fathers doome, 
 And what thy disobedience mooued him to ; 
 Yet for thou wast once bedfellow to the King, 
 And that I loued thee as my second selfe, 
 
 Thou shalt go liue in France, in Flanders, Scotland, or els where. 
 And haue annual pension sent to thee. 
 There maist thou liue in good and honest sort, 
 Untill thou be recalled by the King. 
 
 Philarchus. 
 
 Thanks, gratious King, for this great fauour showne ; 
 And may I neuer liue, if I forget 
 Your Graces kind and vnexspected loue. 
 In fauouring him whom all the world forsooke : 
 For which my Orisons shall still be spent. 
 Heauens may protect your princelie Maiestie. 
 And, louing Father, here vpon my knee. 
 Sorry for my amisse, I take my leaue 
 Both of your selfe, my King, and countrimen. 
 ^Ingland, farewell, more dearer vnto me. 
 
 Than pen can write, or hart can think of thee. [Exit. 
 
 King. 
 
 Farewell Philarchus ; and, father, come to Court ; 
 And, for Philarchus sake, thou shalt not want. 
 
 Father. 
 
 Thanks (vertuous king) : I humblie take my leaue. \Exit. 
 
 King. 
 
 Dunston, I promise thee, I was lyke to weepe, 
 To heare what piteous mone Philarchus made. 
 
372 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Dunston. 
 
 Here your Grace hath shewed your selfe to be 
 Edgar, so famed for loue and vertuoiis gouemment ; 
 And I pray God your Grace may liue to be 
 
 Long Englands king to raigne with veritie. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Honestie, Conicatcher, Broker, a Gentleman. 
 
 Honesty, 
 
 Tis strange to see how men of honestie 
 Are troubled manie tymes with subtil knauery : 
 For they haue so many clokes to collour their abuses. 
 That Honesty may well suspect them, but dares not detect them ; 
 For if he should, they haue by their knauerie 
 Got so many friends, that though neuer so bad. 
 They will stand in defence with the best. 
 I was at the water side, where I saw such deceit, 
 I dare not say knauerie, in paying and receiuing 
 Custome for outlandish ware, that I wondred to see, 
 Yet durst not complaine of: the reason was. 
 They were countenanced with men of great wealth. 
 Richer than I a great deale, but not honester. 
 Then I went into the markets, where I saw petie knauerie 
 In false measuring corne, and in scales 
 That wanted no lesse than two ounces in the pound. 
 But all this was nothing, scant worth the talking of; 
 But when I came to the Exchange, I espyed in a corner of an lie 
 An arch-cosoner ; a Conicatcher, I meane. 
 Which vsed such grose cosoning, as you would wonder to heare. 
 But here he comes fine and braue : 
 Honesty markes him downe for a knaue. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 ' Why so, tis an il wind blowes no man to profit ; 
 And he is but a foole that, when al failes, cannot liue vpon his wit. 
 I haue attyred my selfe lyke a very ciuill citizen, 
 To drawe four score pound from a couple of fooles. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaiie. 373 
 
 A Gentleman, hauing made ouer his land by deed of gift, 
 Means to cosen a broker with a false conueiance. 
 All's one to me ; I shall loose nothing by the bargaine. 
 But here comes the Broker : I wil walk as I regarded him not. 
 
 Broker. 
 
 God saue you, sir : I see you keep your houre. 
 But, heare you, sir : hath the Gentleman that conueiance you told me 
 of redy ? I hope, sir, I shall need misdoubt no deceit in the matter, for 
 I meane plainly and so, I hope, do you. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Sir, as concerning the conueiance, I assure you, tis so good. 
 And he hath such good interest in it, 
 That, were I fumisht with so much money presently. 
 No man in the world should haue it but my selfe. 
 And for owne part, you need not suspect me. 
 For I would not discredit my selfe for a thousand pound ; 
 For the Gentleman is my very friend, 
 And, being in some want, is enforst to pawne lande 
 For the supplying of a present necessitie. 
 Tush, the interest is good, I warrant you. 
 
 Honesty. 
 
 And that's much worth : some wil say, 
 A crafty knaue needs no broker. 
 But here is a craftie knaue and a broker to : 
 Then, imagin there wants not a knaue. 
 
 Broker. 
 
 But tell me sir, when did he promise to be here ? 
 What, will it be long ere he come ? 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Nay, it will not be long ere he come. 
 For the conueyance was made ere I came from the scriuenars. 
 And in good time here he comes. — God saue you, sir : 
 Here is the man I told you of, that wold lend you the money. 
 He is a very honest man, and but for my sake, I know. 
 
374 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 He would not do it. But is the land dispatcht another way ? 
 If you be ready to seale, he is readie with the money. 
 Heare you (sir) you haue a good bargain ; dispatch it quicklie. 
 
 Broker, 
 Being aduertised by my friend, this honest merchant. 
 That you haue certain land to pawne for present money, 
 Now, I had not so much money of mine owne at this tyme. 
 But I made meanes to borrow so much of a friend of mine, 
 Because I would not haue you fal in bad mens handling. 
 
 Gentleman. 
 I thank you sir for this vnspeakeable fauour. 
 If you deale amisse with me, I am vndone for euer. 
 
 Broker, 
 I would not deal amisse with any man for a thousand pound. 
 
 Honestie. 
 And yet he wil cut a mans throte for twelue pence. 
 Here is a cluster of knaues : here lackes but the baily of Hexham. 
 
 Broker. 
 Wei, sir, here is the mony : wil it please you seale the assurance. 
 
 Gentleman. 
 With all my heart. 
 
 Honestie. 
 God saue her, sirs, and her good friends ; is a poore Welshman, 
 come as far as Carnaruan, in Wales, to receiue a little money, and 
 here a has paid her I cannot tell what. 
 Here you, master ; wat, is it not brasse money ? 
 
 Broker. 
 No, honest fellow ; tis a good Angel in gold. 
 
 Honestie. 
 Who told him my name ? heare you, maister : a has a great deal 
 more in her bosome, but a wiU take her leaue. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 Nay, stay and dyne with me. I must fetch him ouer for all his 
 golde. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 375 
 
 Honestie. 
 Mary, I thank her, good maister : I wil waight vpon her, I warrant 
 you. 
 
 Broker. 
 Now, sir, haue you sealde and subscribed ? 
 
 Genileman. 
 I haue, sir. 
 
 Broker. 
 And you deliuer this as your deed to my vse ? 
 
 Gentleman. 
 With all my heart, Syr ; and hope you wil vse me well. 
 
 Broker. 
 We wil talk of that another time : here is your money. 
 
 Gentleman. 
 I thank you, sir : He be gone. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 Heare you, sir ; was not this brauely done ? 
 
 Gentleman. 
 Excellent : hold, here is fourty pound, as I promised thee. [Exit. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 I thank you, sir. Do you heare Sir, you haue got a thousand pound 
 by the bargaine ; but much good may it doe you. 
 
 Broker. 
 God a marcy ; and here^s fourty pound for thy paines. 
 Such another match, and He giue thee a hundred pound. [Exit. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 I thank you sir, God bwy. Now to my Welshman. 
 Sirra, let me see thy peece of gold ; 
 He tell thee whether it be weight or no. 
 Hast thou anie more ? He giue thee white mony for it. 
 
 Honestie. 
 Yes, a has a great deale more in her bosom e, 
 But a will haue no wit money : O, a loues led mony. 
 
376 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Wei, He keep them for thee, til thou come to my house. 
 
 Honestie. 
 
 Why, Cutbert, wilt thou neuer leaue thy old knauery ? 
 Why, we should gree together lyke belles, 
 If thou wert but hanged first 
 Why, we are as neere kin together 
 As the Cats of Banbery be to the bels of Lincolne. 
 Why man, we are all birds of a feather, 
 And whosoeuer sales nay, we wil hold together. 
 Come, you mad slaue, thou doest not know me : 
 Tush, I haue done many better trickes than this. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Why (you base slaue) take you me for your fellow ? 
 Why, I am of good reputation in the citie. 
 And held in account with the best. 
 
 Honestie, 
 
 And yet thou art Cutbert, the Conicatcher, 
 The Bailiefs sonne of Hexham ; whose father being dead. 
 The deuill carried to hell for his knauerie. 
 How sayest thou, art not thou his sonne ? 
 This graue blacke cloake makes you so proud. 
 You haue forgotten who was your father. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Nay, I haue not forgotten that my father was a Bailiefe, 
 A man that would Hue to himselfe. 
 And yet, in faith, he gaue me nothing at his death. 
 But good counsell, how to liue in the world. 
 But, sirra, as thou knowest me, I pray thee, bewray me not, 
 And in any thing I can commaund me. 
 
 Honestie. 
 
 Tush, feare not me, I wil be as secrete as thy selfe. 
 But, sirra, tis thus, if thou wilt doe one thing. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 377 
 
 I shall tell thee, I will giue thee an hundred pound : 
 Tis nothing with thee, I am sure, 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 Tush, tel me what it is ; He doe it, I warrant thee. 
 
 Honestie. 
 Nothing but this ; to sweare vpon a booke 
 That thou sawest a Gentleman pay a Farmer 
 Foure hundred pound, as the last payment of a Farme 
 That the said Gentleman bought of him. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 Tush ; if this be all, let me alone, I will doe it. 
 Why, tis nothing for me to sweare. 
 For I am forsworne already : but when is the day ? 
 
 Honestie. 
 Why, to morrow. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 But where shall I meet you. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Why, vpon the exchange at eight a olocke. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 I will not misse : til that time farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Farewel ? nay, you will scant farewel 
 By that tyme I haue done : but I must about my busines, 
 To fynd some knacke to know this knaue at large. [Eant. 
 
 Enter Ethenwald. 
 Ethenwald. 
 The night drawes on, and Phoebus is declining towards the West. 
 Now shepheards bear their flocks vnto the folds. 
 And wintred Oxen, fodered in their stalles. 
 Now leaue to feede, and gin to take their rest : 
 Blacke duskie cloudes inuyron round the globe, 
 And heauen is couered with a Sable robe. 
 Now am I come to doe the Kings command j 
 
 3 iJ 
 
378 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 To court a Wench, and win her for the King : 
 
 But if I lyke her well, I say no more, 
 
 Tis good to haue a hatch before the dore. 
 
 But first I will moue her Father to prefer 
 
 The earnest suit I haue in canuasing, 
 
 So may I see the Maid, woo, wed, I, and bed her to. 
 
 Who is here ? what ho ! 
 
 Enter Osricke, 
 Osricke. 
 Earl Ethenwald, welcome. How fares our friends at court ? 
 What cause constrains your Honor, that thus late 
 You visite vs, that dreame not of your coming ? 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 My Lord, I am come vnlooked for, very true ; 
 So is my cumming yet conceald from you. 
 
 Osricke. 
 Your Honor shall repose you here to night, 
 And earlie as you please begin your taske ; 
 Tyme semes not now. Come Ethenwald, 
 As welcome as the King himselfe to me. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Now, Ethenwald, if Fortune fauour thee, 
 Thou maist prooue happie loue to Alfrida. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Honestie, and the King disguised. 
 Honestie. 
 This is the place, and this the appointed tyme : 
 I know heel keep his word, for he thinks me his friend. 
 
 King, 
 But tell me, Honestis, am I not well disguised ? 
 Can any man discerne me by my lookes to be the King ? 
 Take heed of that, for then our game is mard : 
 And hast thou promised him what reward he shall haue. 
 
 Honestie. 
 Tush, fear not you ; for you neuer knew honest man dissemble with 
 
 [his friend, 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 379 
 
 Though many friends dissemble with honest men. 
 But, my Lord, the cards be shuffled, and here comes a knaue. 
 
 Enter Conicatcher, 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Tis strange to see how men of our knowledge liue, 
 And how we are hated of the baser sort. 
 Because (forsooth) we liue vpon our wit : 
 But let the baser sort thinke as they will, 
 For he may best be termed a Gentleman, 
 That, when all fayles, can liue vpon his wit. 
 And if all fayles, then haue I got a wench 
 That cuts and deales to maintaine my expence. 
 Now, I vse her, as men vse sweetest flowers. 
 That while they are sweet and pleasant to the eie, 
 I doe regard them for their pleasant smell ; 
 But when their cullour fades, and sent decaies, 
 I cast them off for men to trample on. 
 But to the purpose : here is the Gentleman, 
 My honest friend did lately tell me of. — 
 Sir, though I had another businesse of import. 
 That might haue hindred me for comming here. 
 Yet in regard I am loth to breake my word, 
 I haue set my other businesse cleane apart. 
 Because you should not judge amisse of me. 
 
 Honestie. 
 
 I finde you kind. Sir, and your self shal see 
 How I will labour to requite your curtesie. 
 This is the honest man I told you of, 
 One that will doe you pleasure in the cause. 
 So be it you will content him for his paines. 
 
 King. 
 
 Els God forbid : and, good sir, thus it is. 
 I bought a farme of one that dwels here by. 
 And for an earnest gaue an hundred pound : 
 
380 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 The rest was to be paid as sixe weekes past. 
 Now, sir, I would haue you as witnesse. 
 That at my house you saw me pay three hundred pound, 
 And for your paines I will giue you a hundred pound ; 
 Besides, I will stand your friend in what I may. 
 You heare the cause ; what, will your conscience serue you to do it ? 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 How say you, sir, my conscience ? then, you touch me : 
 I tell you, sir, my conscience wil serue me to doe more than tliis. 
 Why, I haue bene a poste knight in Westminster this xii. year, 
 And sworne to that which no one els would venture on. 
 Why, I haue sworne against mine owne father for mony : 
 I haue sworne right or wrong, any wayes for money, 
 When I haue receiued mony before witnes, I swore to the contrary ; 
 And do you misdoubt me in so sleight a matter as this. 
 When I haue sworne against father, mother, and all my kin ? 
 
 Honestie. 
 
 I told you, sir, how resolute you should find him : 
 He doeth it without feare, I warrant you. 
 
 I think that in London you could not haue found a man so fit for 
 
 [your purpose. 
 I knew his father (sir) a man of honest reputation, 
 And one whose lyfe was witnesse to the lyfe he led : 
 He was a BaiUefe (sir) though I say^t, but no Bayhefe that used deceit ; 
 He had too good a conscience for that. 
 
 King. 
 
 Al the better for that ; for it should seem by his behaueor. 
 That he hath had good bringing vp. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 Indeed, my father in his lyfe time was a man 
 Giuen to the feare of God, and to vse much deuotion. 
 
 Honestie. 
 
 I, but he gaue nothing for Gods sake, except it were hard words, 
 or blowes ; and they had bene better kept then giuen. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 381 
 
 But husht ; here comes the Judge. 
 
 Enter Perin a Judge, and Dunston a Farmer. 
 King, 
 Heare you sir ; if you be in readines, here is the Judge. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 I sir ; fear not, I warrant you : is that your aduersary ? 
 What an old crust it is ? 
 
 Honestie. 
 I think the villaine hath a face hardened with steel ; 
 He could neuer be so impudent els. 
 
 Dunston, 
 If it please your Worship, this is the man, 
 That wrongfully would haue my farrae from me, 
 Facing me downe that he hath paid me that 
 Which he neuer offired, nor I neuer receiued : 
 And this day he hath promised to make proofe, 
 That he hath paid me ful foure hundred pound. 
 
 King. 
 And so I can ; and heres my witnes to it, 
 That saw me when I paid the money. 
 
 Dunston. 
 Why, I am sure he wil not say it. 
 I neuer saw the man in all my lyfe. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 No sir ? but I saw you, and was a witnes 
 When this Gentleman paid you three hundred pound. 
 As the last paiment for the farme he bought. 
 
 Perin. 
 But where was the money tendered ? 
 
 Conicatchery. 
 At the Gentlemans house. 
 
 Perin. 
 You see, father, this marchant wil be witnes. 
 That he saw so much money tendred, . 
 
382 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 And you receiued it, being full satisfyed, 
 As the last payment for the farme he bought. 
 And if this marchant take his oath against you, 
 That seuen daies past he saw the mony tendered, 
 I must passe sentence, then, against you needs. 
 But wil you sweare on the bible this is true ? 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 
 I sir, and to that intent I came hether ; 
 For I wil neuer refuse to swear a truth while I Hue. 
 
 Dunston. 
 
 Yet ere thou speake, vouchsafe to heare me speake. 
 Full three score Winters, Gentle sir, I haue past, 
 And age hath brought gray haires vpon my head : 
 Looke but vpon my face, and thou shalt see 
 The perfect patterne of humilitie. 
 Thou man of worth, or citizen, what ere thou be. 
 Weigh but my charge, and then thou wilt not swear. 
 I haue fine sonnes, al pretie tender babes. 
 That liue vpon the farme that he would haue ; 
 Twelue hundred sheep do feed vpon the plaines. 
 That yearlie bring a great increase to me. 
 Besides a hundred Oxen, fatly fed. 
 That euerie Winter feed within my stalles. 
 And twentie poore men, liuing neere my house, 
 I daylie feed, and all vpon my Farme. 
 Go but among my neighbours, where I dwell. 
 And heare what good report they giue of me. 
 The poore man neuer yet went from my dore, 
 But to my power I did releeue his want : 
 I was no Farmer that inricht my selfe. 
 By raysing markets and oppressing poore. 
 But I haue sold my come ftdl manie tymes 
 At better rate, than I could wel atfoord, 
 And all to help my needie brethren. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 383 
 
 Then, ere thou swearst, cal al these things to mind, 
 And thou wilt weep, and leaue to sweare vntrueths, 
 Confusion to thy bodie and thy soule. 
 
 Perin. 
 Wei, if thou be wel aduised, take thy oath ; 
 But yet remember before whome thou swearest, 
 The God of trueth and perfect equitie. 
 Which will reuenge wrong to the innocent, 
 With thousand plagues, and tortors worse than death. 
 
 Conicatcher, 
 By the holy contents of this Byble, 
 And by that just God before whome I stand, I saw this man — 
 
 King. 
 Peace ! shamelesse villain, execrable wretch. 
 Monster of nature, degenerate miscreanti 
 Who euer knew, or heard so vile an oath, 
 Vildly pronounc'd by such a damned slaue ? 
 Haue I such monstrous vipers in my land, 
 That with their verie breaths infect the aire? 
 Say, Dunston, hast thou euer heard the lyke ? 
 
 Dunston. 
 My Liege, such lothsome weeds must needs infect the come j 
 Such Cankers perish both the root and branch. 
 Unless they be soon spied, and weeded out. 
 
 King. 
 lie be the husbandman to mowe such Tares. — 
 Here, Honesty ; let him be manacled. 
 And scar his forehead that he may be knowne. 
 As Cain for murder, he for perjurie. 
 
 Conicatcher, 
 I beseech your Grace, be good to me. 
 
 Honestie. 
 I, you shal haue a cold yron clapt in your forehead ; 
 
384 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 A hot one, I would say : you are a slaue indeede. 
 
 Conicatcber, 
 
 Good Honesty ! 
 
 Honestie. 
 
 Good villaine, theres no help for you. \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Ethenwald alone, 
 Ethenwald. 
 
 My fancies thoughts, like the labouring Spyder, 
 That spreads her nets to entrap the sillie Flie, 
 Or lyke the restlesse billowes of the seas, 
 That euer alter by the fleeting ayre. 
 Still houering past their woonted passions, 
 Makes me amazed in these extremities. 
 The King commands me on his embassage 
 To Osricks daughter, beauteous Alfrida, 
 The height and pride of all this bounding ill ; 
 To poste amaine, plead loue in his behalfe. 
 To court for him, and woo, and wed the mayd. 
 But haue you neuer heard that theame, 
 Deceit in loue is but a merriment 
 To such as seeke a riuall to preuent ? 
 Whether (distraught) romes my vnruly thoughts ? 
 It is the King I cosen of his choise. 
 And he nil brook Earl Ethenwald should prooue 
 False to his Prince, especially in loue. 
 Then thus it shall be : He tel the King the maid is fair. 
 Of nut browne cuUour, comelie and faire spoken, 
 Worthie companion to an Earle or so. 
 But not a Bride for Edgar, Englands King. 
 This will alay the strong effects in loue 
 Fame wrought in Edgars mind of Alfrida. 
 Wei, He to court, and dallie with the King, 
 And worke some means to draw his mynde from loue. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 385 
 
 Enter a Knight, Squire, and Farmer. 
 
 Knight. 
 Neighbour Walter, I cannot but admire to see 
 How housekeeping is decayed within this thirtie yeare ; 
 But where the fault is God knowes, I knowe not. 
 My father in his lyfe time gaue hospitalitie to all strangers, and 
 Distressed traueillers ; his table was neuer emptie of bread, beefe 
 And beere ; he was woont to keep a hundred tall men in his hall. 
 He was a feaster of all commers in generall, 
 And yet was he neuer in want of money : 
 I thinke God did blesse him with increase for his bountiful mind. 
 
 Farmer. 
 Truly, sir, I am sorrie you are fallen into decay, 
 In that you want to maintaine houshould charge ; 
 And whereof comes this want ? I will tell you, sir : 
 Tis only throw your great housekeeping. 
 Be ruled by me, and doe as I aduise you. 
 You must leame to leaue so great a traine of men. 
 And keepe no more than needs of force you must. 
 And those you keepe, let them be simple men. 
 For they will be content with simple fare. 
 Keepe but a boy or two within your house, 
 To run of errants, and to wait on you. 
 And for your kitchen, keep a woman cooke, 
 One that will serue for thirtie shillings a yeare ; 
 And by that means you saue two liueries. 
 And if ye will keep retainers towards you, 
 Let them be Farmers, or rich husbandmen. 
 For you shal find great profit (sir) in keeping them : 
 For if you stand in need of come or hay. 
 Send but to them, and you may haue it strait. 
 And if you kill a Beefe, let it be so leane, 
 The Butcher nor the Grasyer will not buy it. 
 
 3 c 
 
386 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Your drinke is too strong, and tastes too much of malt : 
 Tush, single beere is better far, both for your profit, and your seruants 
 
 [health. 
 And at a Christmasse time feast none at al. 
 But such as yeeld you some commoditie ; 
 I meane such as will send you, now and then, 
 Fat Geese and Capons to keep house withall : 
 To these and none els would I haue you liberall. 
 
 Knight. 
 
 Why, neighbor, my goods are lent me to no other end, 
 But to releeue my needie brethren ; but God, I hope, hath in store 
 for me. 
 
 Farmer. 
 
 I ; trust you to that, and you may hap die a begger. 
 
 Squire. 
 
 Why, sir, if he should not trust in God, in whom should he trust, 
 for God is the giuer of all good whatsoeuer ? 
 
 Farmer. 
 
 True ; and yet tis good for a man to trust to himselfe now and 
 then ; for if you be downe, and bid God help you vp, and do not 
 help your self, you may fortune lie and perish : and, therefore, seme 
 God on Sundaies, as you are appointed, and thereby hope to be saued ; 
 for by your almes deeds you cannot, for if you giue to the poore, 
 there be manie wil say, he thinks to bee saued by his almes deedes : 
 and thus you shal be ill thought on for your good wil ; and therefore 
 learn to prouide for your self : let God prouide for the pore. 
 
 Knight. 
 
 I tel you, neighbor, my great grandfather, and all my predecessors 
 haue bene held in good regard for their good housekeeping ; and (God 
 willing) their good names shal neuer take an exigent in me, for I wil 
 (God willing) keepe such hospitalitie to my death, as my state can 
 maintaine : and I will rather sell my land to maintain hous-keeping, 
 then, keeping my land, make sale of my good name for housekeeping. 
 But stay, who comes here ? 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 387 
 
 Enter two poore old men, and a Bayliefe. 
 One old man. 
 God saue you sir ; I pray be good to me, for cham a poore man, 
 and I cannot tell what you will doe, for you say my horse hath broken 
 into your corn, or your corne into my horse ; 
 But, indeed, my neighbor saw your boy driue my horse into a field. 
 But He stand to nothing, nowe I am warnd with a peece of paper 
 and a litle waxe, to prepare to proceed to London ; 
 And there I am inuented, I cannot tell for what. 
 The Bailiefe here hath arested me, ere I was weary, against my will : 
 he said it was vpon your suit, and yet he laid his hands on me ; 
 Nay more, on my shoulder. 
 
 Another old. 
 And sir, and it may please you, I borrowed certen corn ; and I 
 brought you your corne again, and yet you rest me. 
 
 Farmer. 
 True, sir ; but then was corne sold for foure shillings a bushell, and 
 now tis sold for two. 
 
 Knight. 
 I sir, but he borrowed come, and promised to pay you com againe, 
 and you can haue but so much as you lent ; 
 For if he should pay you at the rate you demande. 
 You wold haue for the twentie bushels you lent, fourtie. 
 Which were neither right nor conscience. 
 
 Farmer. 
 O, sir, I pray let me alone with my conscience. 
 You would haue me giue al I haue away to the poore, and want as 
 you do. I pray, let me alone to deale for my selfe. — Heare you, haue 
 you rested them ? 
 
 Bailiefe 
 I haue sir, as you commanded me. 
 
 Farmer. 
 Then, to prison with them, til they haue paid such dammages as the 
 law shal award them. 
 
388 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 One poor. 
 Hear you, sir : if you shuld bid your boy break downe a gap, and 
 driue in my horse, twere litle better than plaine knauerie ; for my 
 horse is as honest a horse as any is in this towne. 
 
 Another. 
 Wei neighbor, we wil haue the horse examined before an Officer, 
 and my boy Jack shal write what the horse speaks ; and if the horse 
 say a was driuen in against his wil, 
 Then you may haue the law of him, neighbor ; 
 For all the horses in the parish will be sworne for his horse. 
 But He stand to nothing. 
 
 Farmer. 
 Wei, to prison with them, til they haue paid your due : away with 
 them. 
 
 One poor. 
 Nay, I pray, be more miserable to me, and I wil giue you fourtie 
 shillings, when I haue it. 
 
 Farmer. 
 By the Mas, the knaue hath a pretie cottage : 
 lie see and I can get that. — Sirra, you haue an old cottage ; 
 If you will make me that ouer by deed of gift, 
 I am content to draw my action. 
 
 Another p. 
 My house ? why tis my goods, my wyfe, my land, 
 My horse, my asse, or any thing that is his. No, you Caterpiller, 
 I will neuer make away my house ; I wil die first. 
 
 Squire. 
 But tel me, sir, how much wold you haue of them for their trespasse ? 
 
 Farmer. 
 Mary, for fourtie shillings, and yet I befriend them. 
 Why sir, I hope you will not pay it for them ? 
 
 Knight. 
 But I wil. — Sirra Bailie, I will answere the poore mens debts, and 
 come home to me for thy fee anon. Go, old men j ♦ 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 389 
 
 Get you home, and praise God. 
 
 One poor. 
 Mary Jesus blesse you. — Naibor, how many such good Knightes 
 haue you now a dayes ? 
 
 Another. 
 Too few, neighbor ; the more is the pitie. 
 But come, lets away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Knight. 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Perin, and Honesty, 
 Perin. 
 God saue you, gentlemen. The king greets you, and at this time, 
 Hauing some occasion to vse mony, hath sent to know 
 What you that be Knightes and Squires wil lend his Grace ; 
 And you, maister Farmer : be brief (sir) for I cannot stay. 
 
 Knight. 
 Sir, though hous-keeping be some hindrance to my willing mind, 
 by reason it robs me of that, which shuld bewray my louing mind 
 both to my prince and country, money I meane, which at this time I 
 stand in some want of; yet of that small store that I haue, am willing 
 to impart the lending of the king xx. pound ; and more, I assure you, 
 I am not able. 
 
 Perin. 
 Very wel ; and what say you, maister Squire ? 
 
 Squire. 
 I say that my reuenewes are but small, yet I will lend his Maiestie 
 ten pound. 
 
 Perin. 
 Very wel ; but what saith the Farmer ? 
 What can he spare the King ? 
 
 Farmer. 
 Marry sir, I am a poore Farmer, and yet I can aflFoord 
 To lend the King a hundred or two of pounds. 
 And, heare you, sir ; if you prefer a suit I haue to the King, 
 
390 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 I will giue you fourtie Angels for your paines : 
 Besides, I will giue you the keeping of a dozen jades. 
 And now and then meat for you and your horse. 
 If you come to my house and lie a whole yeare. 
 
 Perin. 
 Why, thats well said, and I commend thy honest mind. 
 Would all men were of thy mind : 
 
 I warrant thee, thou art an honest man, and one that loues the King. 
 But tel me, what wouldst thou haue me doe ? 
 
 Farmer. 
 Nothing, but procure me the Kings letter to conuey com beyond 
 seas ; for in England it is so good cheap, that a man can make no 
 lining by seUing thereof: therfore, if the King wil grant me his letter, I 
 will at any time lend him fiue or six hundred pound, and perhaps 
 neuer ask it again ; and I wil not forget your paines. 
 
 Perin. 
 Sir, feare not, I wil do it for you, I warrant you ; 
 For, I tel you, I can do much with the king. 
 
 Honesty. 
 1 beleeue you wil do more than you wil be commended for. 
 The Courtier resembleth the Jay, that decketh her self with the 
 feathers of other birds, to make her self glorious ; 
 So the Courtier must be braue, tho he be hangd at the gallous. 
 
 Farmer. 
 Wei sir, wil it please you to come and dine with me ? 
 
 Perin. 
 I thanke you, sir, hartily. 
 
 Farmer. 
 But whats he, there, in your company ? 
 
 Perin. 
 A plaine fellow, and his name is Honesty. 
 
 Farmer. 
 O, let him go where he will, for he shal not dine with me. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 391 
 
 Honesty. 
 See how the Farmer feares my name ; 
 What wold he doe^ if he knew my nature ? 
 But hear you (maister Courtier) shall I dine with you ? 
 I promise you, sir, I am very hungrie. 
 
 Perin. 
 TruUe, Honesty, if I were furnisht with money, 
 I would not stick to giue the thy dinner ; 
 But now, thou seest, I am but a guest my selfe. 
 
 Farmer, 
 Truly, honest fellow, if I were certaine of my cheere, I wold bid 
 thee to dinner, but know not my provision, I promise thee. 
 
 Knight. 
 Heare you, sir ; will it please you to take part of a peece of beefe 
 with me ? you shal be welcome. 
 
 Perin. 
 I thank you, sir, but I must dine with my honest friend here, els I 
 would not refuse your gentle offer. 
 
 Honesty. 
 See how he can vse my name and not me : 
 But I perceiue I may goe dine with Duke Humfrie. 
 God bwy, Gentlemen ; for none heere hath occasion to vse Honesty. 
 
 Knight. 
 Yes, Honesty ; thou shalt be my brothers guest and mine. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Mary, and I thank you to ; for now the world may say. 
 That Honesty dines with Hospitahty to day. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Osrick and Alfrida ; and to them Ethenwald. 
 Osrick, 
 Daughter, see that you entertaine the Earle, 
 As best beseemes his state and thy degree. 
 He comes to see, whether Fame haue worthily 
 Bene niggard in commending thee, or no : 
 So shall thy vertues be admired at the court. 
 
392 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 And thou be praised for kind and debonair ; 
 For curtesie contents a Courtier oft, 
 When nothing els seemes pleasant in his eies. 
 
 Alfrida, 
 
 Father, you shall perceiue that Alfrida 
 Will doe her best, in honouring of your age, 
 To entertaine the Earle of Cornwell so, 
 That he shall think him highlie fauoured, 
 Throw louing speech, and curteous entertain. 
 
 Osrick. 
 
 How fares my L. of Cornwel ? What, displeased, 
 Or troubledwith a mood thats male content ? 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 
 Not male content, and yet I am not well, 
 For I am troubled with a painfull rume. 
 That, when I would be mery, troubles me ; 
 And commonlie it holds me in my eies. 
 With such extreames that I can scantly see. 
 
 Osrick. 
 
 How long haue you bene troubled with the pain ? 
 Or is it a pain that you haue vsuall ? 
 Or is it some water that, by taking cold. 
 Is falne into your eies, and troubles you ? 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 
 I cannot tel, but sure it paines me much. 
 Nor did it euer trouble me till nowe ; 
 For till I came to lodge within your house. 
 My eies were cleare, and I neuer felt the paine. ^ 
 
 Osrick. 
 
 I am sory that my house shuld cause your grief. 
 Daughter, if you haue any skil at all, 
 I pray you, vse your cunning with the Earle, 
 And see if you can ease him of his paine. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaiie. 393 
 
 Aljrida, 
 Father, such skill as I receiued of late, 
 By reading many pretie pend recites, 
 Both for the ache of head, and paine of eyes, 
 I wil, if so it please the Earle to accept it, 
 Indeuour what I may to comfort him. 
 My Lord, I haue waters of approoued worth, 
 And such as are not common to be foimd ; 
 Any of which, if it please your honour vse them, 
 I am in hope will help you to your sight, 
 
 JSthenwald. 
 No (matchlesse Alfrida) they will doe me no good, 
 For I am troubled only when I looke. 
 
 Alfrida, 
 On what (my Lord) or whome ? 
 
 Eihenwald. 
 I cannot tell. 
 
 Alfrida. 
 Why let me see your eies (my Lord) : looke vpon me. 
 
 Eihenwald. 
 Then, twil be worse. 
 
 Alfrida. 
 What, if you looke on me ? then. He be gone. 
 
 Eihenwald. 
 Nay stay, sweet loue, stay, beauteous Alfrida, 
 And giue the Earle of Cornwel leaue to speake. 
 Know, Alfrida, thy beautie hath subdued, 
 And captivate the Earle of Cornwels heart : 
 Briefly, I loue thee, seeme I neere so bold. 
 So rude and rashlie to prefer my sute ; 
 And if your father giue but his consent. 
 Eased be that paine that troubles Ethenwald : 
 And this considered, Osricke shall prooue. 
 My father, and his daughter be my loue. 
 
 3 D 
 
394 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Speake, Osrick, shall I haue her, I or no ? 
 
 Osrick. 
 My Lord, with al my hart : you haue my consent, 
 If so my daughter please to condiscend. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 But what saith Alfrida ? 
 
 Alfrida, 
 I say (my Lord) that seing my father grants, 
 I wiU not gainsay what his age thinks meet : 
 I do appoint my selfe (my Lord) at your dispose, 
 
 Ethenwald, 
 Wei, Osrick, nowe you see your daughter's mine ; 
 But tel me when shall be the wedding day ? 
 
 Osrick. 
 On Monday next ; till then you are my guest. 
 
 Ethenwald, 
 Well Osricke, when our nuptiall rites are past, 
 I must to Court of businesse to the King. 
 
 Alfrida. 
 Let that be as you please my Lord ; 
 But stay not long, for I shall hardlie brooke your absence then. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 
 Feare not, Alfrida, I will not stay there long. 
 
 But come, let vs in ; Father, pray lead the way. [Exeunt, 
 
 Enter the King and Dunston, 
 
 King. 
 
 Tel me, Dunston, what thinkest thou of the fauors of Kings ? 
 
 Dunston. * 
 
 I think of Kings fauors as of a Marigold flower. 
 That as long as the Sun shineth openeth her leaues, * 
 And with the least cloud closeth againe : 
 
 Or lyke the Violets in America, that in Sommer yeeld an odifferous 
 
 [smell. 
 And in winter a most infectious sauour : 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 395 
 
 For at euery ful sea they flourish, or at euery dead ope they vade. 
 The fish Palema, being perfect white in the calme, 
 Yet turneth blacke with euery storme. 
 Or lyke the trees in the deserts of Africa, 
 That flourish but while the sou[t]hwest wind bloweth : 
 Euen so (my Lord) the fauours of Kings to them they fauour ; 
 For as their fauours giue lyfe, so their frownes yeeld death. 
 
 King. 
 
 Wei said Dunston : but what merits he, that dissembles with his 
 Soueraigne ? 
 
 Dunston. 
 
 In my opinion (my Lord) he merits death. 
 
 King. 
 
 Then, assure thy selfe, if Ethenwald dissemble, he shall die. But 
 who comes here ? — Perin, what newes, that thou commest in such 
 hast ? and what is he that beares thee company ? 
 
 Perin. 
 
 It is, my gratious Lord, an honest man. 
 And one, it seemes, that loues you[r] Maiestie j 
 For as your Grace gaue me in charge, 
 
 I went about into the countrey, to see what summes of money I could 
 
 [make 
 Among the cheefest of the communaltie : 
 And mongst the richest Knights that I could fynd, 
 They would lend your Grace at most but twenty pounds 
 And euery Squire would lend your Grace but ten. 
 Then came I, mongst the rest, to this plaine man, 
 And asked him what he would lend the King. 
 He aunswered. Sir, you see I am but poore. 
 Not halfe so wealthy as a Knight or Squire, 
 And yet, in signe of dutie to his Grace, 
 I wil lende his Maietie two hundred pound. 
 
 King. 
 
 Thanks, honest fellow, for thy loue to vs ; 
 
396 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 And if I may but pleasure thee in ought, 
 Command me to the vttermost I may. 
 England hath too few men of thy good mind. 
 
 Enter Honestie and Piers plowman. 
 Honesty, what newes ? where hast thou bene so long ? 
 
 Honesty. 
 
 A, my Lord, I haue bene searching for a priuie knaue ; 
 One (my Lord) that feeds vpon the poore commons, 
 And makes poore Piers ploughman weare a thread bare coate. 
 It is a farmer (my Lord) which buyes vp all the corn in the market. 
 And sends it away beyond seas, and thereby feeds the enemie. 
 
 King. 
 
 Alas, poore piers plowman, what ailest thou? why doest thou 
 weep ? peace, man : if any haue oiFended thee, 
 Thou shalt be made amends vnto the most. 
 
 Piers plowman. 
 
 I beseech your Grace to pitie my distresse. 
 There is an vnknowne theefe that robs the common wealth, 
 And makes me and my poore wife and children beg for maintenance. 
 The tyme hath bene (my Lord) in diehus illis. 
 That the Plowmans coat was of good homespun russet cloth, 
 Whereof neither I nor my seruants had no want. 
 Though now, both they and I want. 
 And all by this vnknown Farmer ; 
 For there cannot be an Aker of ground to be sold. 
 But he will find money to buy it : nay, my Lord, he hath money to 
 buy whole Lordships, and yet but a Farmer. 
 I haue kept a poore house, where I dwel, this four score yeare. 
 Yet was I neuer driuen to want till now : 
 I beseech your Grace, as you haue still bene just, 
 To seek redresse for this oppression. 
 I beseech your Grace, reade my humble petition. 
 
 King. 
 
 Let me see : the humble petition of poor piers plowman. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 397 
 
 Alasse, poore piers ! I haue heard my father say. 
 
 That piers plowman was one of the best members in a common wealth; 
 
 For his table was neuer emptie of bread, beefe, and beere, 
 
 As a help to all distressed traueilers. But where thou tellest mee, 
 
 I harbour him, and he is dailie vnder my elbow, 
 
 I assure thee, tis more than I know ; for I harbour none but this, 
 
 which is my honest friend. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Is this your honest friend ? the deuill a is (my Lord). 
 This is he : if you doubt my word to be true, call in Clarke of the 
 Assyses. Now shall your Grace see. 
 How Honesty can shake out a knaue in this company. 
 
 Enter Clarke of the Assyse. 
 Sirra, tell me who hath most poore men in Suit at this Syses ? 
 
 Clark. 
 That hath Walter would haue more : 
 He hath one poore man in suit for certain Barlie, 
 And another, for that his horse was taken in his corne. 
 
 Honesty. 
 But what inditements are against him ? read them. 
 
 [Read the Inditement. 
 Clark, 
 First, he hath conueyed corne out of the land to feede the Enemie. 
 Next, he hath turned poore Piers Plowman out of dores by his great 
 raising of rents. 
 
 Next, he is knowne to bee a common disturber of men of their quiet, 
 by seruing Writs on them, and bringing them to London, to their 
 vtter vndoing. 
 
 Also, he keeps corne in his barne, and suffers his brethren and 
 Neighbours to he and want ; and thereby makes the market so deare, 
 that the poore can buy no corne. 
 
 King. 
 Ynough ! — Now, fie vpon thee, thou monster of nature. 
 To seeke the vtter vndoing of manie, to inrich thy selfe. — 
 
398 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Honesty, take him, and vse him as thou wilt. 
 
 Honesty, 
 Come, sir, I thinke I found out your knauerie : 
 Away, sir, and beare your fellow companie. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes, but the King and Dunston. 
 Enter Ethenwald, 
 Ethenwald. 
 Health and good hap befall your Maiestie. 
 
 King. 
 Ethenwald, welcome : how fares our beautious loue ? 
 Be breefe, man : what, will she loue or no ? 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Then, as your Grace did giue to me in charge, 
 I haue dischargde my dutie euery way, 
 And communed with the maid you so commend : 
 For when the Sun, rich Father of the day, 
 Eie of the world. King of the spangled vale, 
 Had run the circuit of the Horizon, 
 And that Artofelex, the nights bright star, 
 Had brought fair Luna from the purpled mayne. 
 Where she was dallying with her wanton loue, 
 To lend her light to wearie traueilers. 
 Then, twas my chance to arriue at Osricks house : 
 But being late, I could not then vnfolde 
 The message that your Grace had ^uen in charge ; 
 But in the morne Aurora did appeare. 
 At sight of whom the Welkin straight did cleare. 
 Then was the spangled vale of heauen drawne in. 
 And phcebus rose, lyke heauens imperiall King ; 
 And ere the Sun was mounted fiue degrees. 
 The maid came downe, and gaue me the good day. 
 
 King. 
 But being come, what said she then ? 
 How lykest thou her ? what, is she fair or no ? 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 399 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 My Lord, she is coUoured lyke the Scythia Maide, 
 That challenged Lucio at the Olympian games. 
 Well bodied, but her face was something blacke, 
 Lyke those that follow houshold businesse : 
 Her eies were hollow, sunke into her head. 
 Which makes her haue a clowdie countenance. 
 She hath a pretie tongue, I must confesse, 
 And yet (my Lord) she is nothing eloquent. 
 
 King. 
 Why then (my Lord,) theres nothing good in her. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Yes, my Lord ; she is fit to serue an Earle or so. 
 But far vnfit for Edgar, Englands King. 
 
 King. 
 So then, she is fit for Ethenwald, our Cornish Earle, 
 But far vnfit for Edgar, Englands king. 
 Well, Ethenwald, I sound your policie : 
 But tell me, ifaith, doest thou loue the maide ? 
 Speake trueUe, man ; dissemble not. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 I doe (my gratious Lord) and therewithall 
 Intreate your Maiestie to pardon me. 
 
 King. 
 Ethenwald, I am content to pardon thee. 
 And will be with thee my selfe ere long, 
 To doe thee honour in thy mariage : 
 And, therefore, Ethenwald, thou maist depart. 
 And leaue vs, til we visite thee at home. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 My gratious Lord, I humbly take my leaue. 
 
 Dunston. 
 If it please your Grace pardon me, and giue me leaue, 
 I would gladlie bring my Nephew on the way. 
 
400 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 King. 
 
 With all my heart, Dunston ; but stay not long. 
 
 EtJienwald, 
 
 I humbly take my leaue of your Maiesty. 
 
 [Exeunt Dunst. and Ethenwald. 
 King. 
 
 Farewell Ethenwald. — But, Perin, tell me now, 
 What doest thou thinke of Alfrida ? 
 Is she so foule as Ethenwald reports her ? 
 Beleeue me, then, she had bene vnfit for me. 
 
 Perin. 
 
 My gratious Lord, Ethenwald hath dissembled with your Maiestie, 
 For Alfrida is fair and vertuous ; 
 For last night, being in priuate conference. 
 He tould me he had deuised a mean 
 To coUour with the King by forged excuse. 
 No, no, (quoth he) my Alfrida is faire, 
 As is the radiant North star Christaline, 
 That guides the wet and wearie Traueller, 
 Soust with the surge of Neptunes watery main. 
 And thus, my Lord, he fell to praising her. 
 And from his pocket straight he drew this counterfeit. 
 And said twas made by beauteous Alfrida. 
 
 King, 
 
 A face more faire than is the suns bright beames. 
 Or snow white Alpes beneath fair Cynthea ! 
 Who would refuse with Hercules to spin, 
 When such faire faces bears vs compemie ? 
 Fair Pollyxena neuer was so faire ; 
 Nor she that was proud loue to Troylus. 
 Great Alexanders loue. Queen of Amazons, 
 Was not so faire as is faire Alfrida. 
 But, Perin, be thou secrete to the King, 
 And I will sound these subtill practizes. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 401 
 
 And, Ethenwald, be sure I will quittance thee. 
 And teach thee how to dallie with thy King. 
 But, Perin, lets to Court vntiU to morne, 
 
 And then weele take horse and away. ^Exeunt. 
 
 Enter mad men of Goteham, to wit, a Miller, a Cobler, and a Smith. 
 
 Miller. 
 Now, let vs constult among our selues. 
 How to misbehaue our selues to the Kings worship, 
 Jesus blesse him, and when he comes, to deliuer him this petition. 
 I think the Smith were best to do it, for hees a wise man. 
 
 Cobler, 
 Neighbor, he shall not doe it, as long as Jeflferay the 
 Translater is Maior of the towne. 
 
 Smith. 
 And why, I pray ? because I would haue put you from the Mace ? 
 
 Miller. 
 No, not for that, but because he is no good fellow ; 
 Nor he will not spend his pot for companie. 
 
 Smith. 
 Why (sir) there was a god of our occupation ; and I charge you by 
 vertue of his godhead to let me deliuer the petition. 
 
 Cobler. 
 But soft you : your God was a Cuckold, and his Godhead was the 
 home, and thats the Armes of the Godhead you call upon. Go, you 
 are put down with your occupation ; and now I will not grace you so 
 much as to deliuer the petition for you. 
 
 Smith. 
 What, dispraise our trade ? 
 
 Cobler. 
 Nay, neighbour, be not angrie, for He stand to nothing onlie but this. 
 
 Smith. 
 But what ? beare witnesse a giues me the But, and I am not willing 
 to shoot. Cobler, I will talke with you: nay, my bellowes, my 
 
 3 E 
 
402 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 coletrough, and my water shall enter armes with you for our trade. 
 
 O neighbour, I can not beare it, nor I wil not beare it. 
 
 Miller. 
 
 Heare you, neighbour ; I pray conswade your self and be not wilful, 
 
 and let the Cobler deliuer it : you shal see him mar all. 
 
 Smith. 
 
 At your request I will commit myselfe to you. 
 
 And lay my selfe open to you, lyke an Oyster. 
 
 Miller. 
 
 He tell him what you say. — Heare you, neighbor, we haue con- 
 
 stulted to let you deliuer the petition : doe it wisely, for the credite of 
 
 the towne. 
 
 Cobler. 
 
 Let me alone, for the Kings Carminger was here ; 
 
 He sayes the King wiU be here anon. 
 
 Smith. 
 
 But heark ! by the Mas, he comes. 
 
 Enter the King, Dunston, and Perin. 
 
 King. 
 
 How now, Perin ; who haue we here ? 
 
 Cobler. 
 
 We, the townes men of Goteham, 
 
 Hearing your Grace would come this way. 
 
 Did thinke it good for you to stay. — * 
 
 But hear you, neighbours, bid somebody ring the bels. — 
 
 And we are come to you alone, to deliuer our petition. 
 
 King. 
 
 What is it, Perin ? I pray thee reade. 
 
 Perin. 
 
 Nothing but to haue a license to brew strong ale thrise a week ; and 
 
 he that comes to Goteham, and will not spende a penie on a pot 
 
 of Ale, if he be a drie, that he may fast. 
 
 King. 
 
 Well, sirs, we grant your petition. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 403 
 
 Cobler. 
 We humblie thanke your royall Maiesty. 
 
 King. 
 Come, Dunston j lets away. Exeunt omnes. 
 
 Enter Ethenwaldj alone. 
 Ethenwald. 
 Ethenwald, be aduised : the King hath sent to thee ; 
 Nay, more, he means to come and visite thee. 
 But why ? I, theres the question. 
 Why, tis for this ; to see if he can fynd, 
 A front whereon to graft a paire of homes : 
 But in plain tearms he comes to Cuckold me. 
 And for he means to doe it without suspect. 
 He sends me word he means to visite me. 
 The King is amorous, and my wife is kinde, 
 So kind (I feare) that she will quickly yeeld 
 To any motion that the King shal make. 
 Especially if the motion be of loue ; 
 For Pliny writes, women are made lyke waxe, 
 Apt to receiue any impression. 
 Whose mindes are lyke the Janarayst, 
 That eates, yet cries, and neuer is satisfied. 
 Well, be as it is, for He be sure of this. 
 It shall be no waies preiudice to me ; 
 For I will set a skreene before the fyre, 
 And so preuent what otherwyse would ensue. 
 Twere good I questioned with my father first. 
 To heare how he ['s] affected towards the King. 
 What ho ! 
 
 Enter Osrick and Alfrida. 
 Ossrick. 
 Ethenwald, my sonne, what newes ? 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Why aske you ? I am sure you haue heard the newes. 
 
404 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Osrick. 
 Not yet, I promyse you, my Lord. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Why then tis thus : the King doth meane to come and visit you. 
 
 Osrick. 
 And welcome shal his Majesty be to me. 
 That in the wane of my decreasing yeares, 
 Vouchsafes this honour to Earle Osricks house. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 So then, you meane to entertaine him well ? 
 
 Osrick. 
 What els, my sonne ? 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Nay, as you will : but heare you, wyfe : what do you think in this, 
 that Edgar means to come and be your guest ? 
 
 Alfrida. 
 I thinke, my Lord, he shall be welcom, then, 
 And I hope that you will entertaine him so, 
 That he may know how Osrick honours him. 
 And I wiU be attyred in cloth of Bis, 
 Beset with Orient pearle, fetcht from rich Indian, 
 And all my chamber shall be richly 
 With Arras hanging, fetcht from Alexandria. * 
 Then, will I haue rich counterpoints and Muske, 
 Calamon, and Casia, sweet smelling Amber Greece, 
 That he may say, Venus is come from heauen. 
 And left the Gods to marie Ethenwald. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Zwouns ! they are both agreed to cuckold me. — 
 But heare you, wyfe ; while I am master of the Bark; 
 I meane to keepe the helmster in my hand. 
 My meaning is, you shall be rulde by me. 
 In being disguised till the King be gone ; 
 And thus it shall be, for I will haue it so. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 405 
 
 The King hath neuer scene thee, I ana sure. 
 Nor shall he see thee now, if I can chuse ; 
 For thou shalt be attyrde in some base weedes. 
 And Kate the kitchen maid shall put on thine : 
 For being richly tyred, as she shall be, 
 She will serue the turne to keep him companie. 
 
 Osrick. 
 Why, men that heare of this will make a scome of you. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 And he that lies with this wil make a home for me. 
 It is ynough : it must be so. 
 
 Alfrida, 
 Me thinks twere better otherwaies. [Exit Alfrida. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 I think not so. Will you be gone ? — 
 Father, let me alone ; He breake her of her will. 
 We that are maried to yong wiues, you see, 
 Must haue a speciall care vnto their honestie ; 
 For should we suflFer them to haue their will. 
 They are apt, (you know) to fall to any ill. 
 But here comes the King. 
 
 Enter the King, Dunston, and Perin, to Ethenwald* 
 King. 
 Earle Osricke, you must needs hold vs excused. 
 Though boldly thus vnbid we visite you : 
 But knowe, the cause that mooued vs leaue our Court 
 Was to doe honour to Earle Ethenwald, 
 And see his louche Bride, faire Alfrida. 
 
 Osrick. 
 My gratious Lord, as welcome shall you be. 
 To me, my Daughter, and my sonne in Law, 
 As Titus was vnto the Roman Senators, 
 When he had made a conquest on the Goths ; 
 That in requittall of his seruice done. 
 
406 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Did oflfer him the imperiall Diademe. 
 As they in Titus, we in your Grace still fynd 
 The perfect figure of a Princelie mind. 
 
 King. 
 Thankes Osrick ; but I thinke I am not welcome, 
 Because I cannot see faire Alfrida. 
 Osricke, I will not stay, nor eat with thee. 
 Till I haue scene the Earle of Cornwels wife. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 If it please your Maiestie to stay with vs, 
 My wyfe shall wayt as handmaid on your Majestic, 
 And in her dutie shew her husbands loue. 
 And in good tyme, my Lord, see where she comes. 
 
 Enter the Kitchen maid, in Alfridas apparel. 
 Alfrida, you must leaue your kitchin tricks. 
 And vse no words but princelie Maiestie. 
 
 Maid. 
 Now, Jesus blesse your honourable Grace. 
 Come, I pray, sit down : you are welcome by my troth. 
 As God saue me, heres neuer a napkin : fie fie ! 
 Come on ; I pray eat some plums, they be sugar. 
 Heres good drinke, by Ladie : why do you not eate ? 
 
 King. 
 Nay, pray thee, eat Alfrida : it is ynough for me to see thee eat. 
 
 Maid. 
 I thank you hartily. By my troth, heres neuer a cushen. 
 By my troth. He knock you anon ; go to. 
 
 Perin. 
 My Lord, this is not Alfrida : this is the Kitchin maid. 
 
 King, 
 Peace, Perin, I haue found their subtiltie. — 
 Ethenwald, I pray thee, let me see thy kitchin maid. 
 Me thinks it is a pretie homely wench : 
 I promise thee, Ethenwald, I hke her welL 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 407 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 My Lord, she is a homelie kitchin maid, 
 And one whose bringing vp hath bene but rude. 
 And far vnfit for Edgars companie ; 
 But if your Grace want merrie companie, 
 I will send for Ladies, wise and curteous. 
 To be associates with your Majestic. 
 Or if your Grace will haue Musitians sent for, 
 I will fetch your Grace the best in all this land. 
 
 King. 
 Ethenwald, no : I will haue the kitchin maid ; 
 And therefore, if you loue me, send for her. 
 For till she come I cannot be content. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Father, I wil not fetch her. — Zwouns ! see where she comes. 
 Enter Alfrida in the kitchin maids attyre. 
 Alfrida. 
 Successful fortune, and his hearts content. 
 Daily attend the person of the King. 
 And Edgar know, that I am Alfrida, daughter to Osrick, 
 And lately made the Earle of Comwals wyfe. 
 
 King, 
 Why, is not this Alfrida ? 
 
 Alfrida. 
 No, my good Lord ; it is the kitchin maid. 
 Whom Ethenwald, in too much loue to me. 
 Hath thus attyrde to dallie with the King. 
 
 Maid, 
 By my troth (my Lord) she lies. — Go to ; He course you by and by. 
 
 King, 
 Away (base strumpet) get the from my sight. 
 
 Maid. 
 Go your waies ; you are a cogging knaue 1 warrant you. [Eant. 
 
408 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 King. 
 Base Ethenwald, dissembler that thou art. 
 So to dissemble with thy Soueraigne ; 
 And afterward, vnder a shewe of loue, 
 Thou camst to sooth thy leasing to the King, 
 Meaning by that to make me to conceiue, 
 That thy intent was just and honourable. 
 But see, at last thou hast deceiued thy selfe. 
 And Edgar hath found out thy subtiltie ; 
 Which to requite thinke Edgar is thy enemie. 
 And vowes to be reuenged for this ill. — 
 Go to thy husband, beauteous Alfrida, 
 For Edgar can subdew affects in loue. 
 
 Alfrida, 
 Thanks, gratious King, myrrour of curtesie, 
 Whose vertuous thoughts bewray thy princely mind. 
 And makes thee famous mongst thy enemies : 
 For what is he that heares of Edgars name. 
 And will not yeeld him praise as he deserues. 
 Nor hath your Grace euer bene praised more. 
 Or tearm'd more just in any action. 
 Than you shall be in conquering your desires, 
 And yeelding pardon to Earle Ethenwald. 
 
 King. 
 Will you be gone ? 
 
 Alfrida. 
 My gratious Lord, I humbly take my leaue. 
 
 [^Alf. and Eth. Exeunt. 
 King, 
 How am I wronged, and yet without redresse ! 
 
 Dunston, 
 Haue patience, good my Lord, and call to mind. 
 How you haue liued praised for vertuous gouemment. 
 
,A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 409 
 
 You haue subdued lust vnto this day, 
 And bene reputed wyse in gouernment, 
 And will you blemish all your honours got, 
 In being tearmed a foule Adulterer ? 
 
 King. 
 Dunston, forbeare for I will haue it so : 
 It bootes thee not to counsaile me in this, 
 For I haue sworne the death of Ethenwald ; 
 And he shall die, or Edgar will not liue. 
 
 Dunston, it is ynough ; I am resolued. [Exit. 
 
 Dunston. 
 Nay, if it be so, then Ethenwald shall not die : 
 And since in treaties can not serue the turne, 
 I will make make proofe for once what arte will doe. — 
 Asmoroth ascende ! veni Asmoroth, Asmoroth veni ! 
 
 Enter the Deuill. 
 Deuill. 
 What wilt thou? 
 
 Dunston. 
 Tel me, what means the King ? 
 
 Deuill. 
 I wil not tell thee. 
 
 Dunston. 
 I charge thee by the eternall lining God, 
 That keeps the Prince of darkness bound in chaines, 
 And by that Sun that thou wouldst gladly see, 
 By heauen and earth, and euery lining thing, 
 Tel me that which I did demand of thee. 
 
 Deuill. 
 Then thus : the King doth mean to murther Ethenwald. 
 
 Dunston, 
 But where is the King ? 
 
 Deuill. 
 Seeking for Ethenwald. 
 
 3f 
 
410 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Dumton. 
 But He preuent him : follow me, inuisible. 
 
 DeuilL 
 I wil. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter the Priest. 
 Priest. 
 I haue bene this morning with a friend of mine. 
 That would borrow a small summe of money of me ; 
 But I haue learned, the best assurance a man can haue 
 In such a matter is a good pawn of twise the valew. 
 Or bonds sufficient for fiue times the quantitie. 
 He is my neere kinsman, I confesse, and a Clergie man, 
 But fiftie shillings is money ; and though I think I might trust him 
 simply with it for a tweluemonth, where hee craues it but for a 
 moneth, yet simply I will not be so simple ; 
 For I will borrow his gelding to ride to the Terme, 
 And keep away a just fortnight.. 
 
 If then he pay me money, I will deliuer him his horse. 
 I wold be loth to lose my mony, or craue assurance of my kinsman. 
 But this may be done to trie me, and I meane lykewise to try him. 
 This is plain, though trulie (brethren) somthing subtill. 
 But here comes one would faine take my house of me. 
 
 Neighbor. ' 
 Sir, I am a poore man, and I will giue you thirty shillings a yere : 
 if I may haue it, you shal be sure of your money. 
 
 Priest. 
 Trulie, brother in Christ, I cannot afFeord it of the price ; 
 A must let my house to Hue, I ask no gains. But who comes here ? 
 Enter Honestie and a Beggar. 
 Beggar. 
 I beseech you (good maister) for Gods sake giue one penie to the 
 poore, lame, and blind ; good maister, giue something. 
 
 Priest. 
 Fy vpon thee, lazy fellow, art thou not ashamed to beg ? 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 411 
 
 Read the blessed saying of S. Paul, which is, thou shalt get thy lining 
 with the sweat of thy browes, and he that will not labour is not 
 worthie to eat. 
 
 Honestie. 
 I, but he remembers not where Christ saith, hee that giueth a cup 
 of cold water in my name shall be blessed. 
 
 Beggar. 
 Alas, sir, you see I am old. 
 
 Priest, 
 But thats no reason you should beg. 
 
 Beggar. 
 Alas, sir, age comming on me, and my sight being gone, 
 I hope sir, you will pardon mee though I beg ; and therefore, for Gods 
 sake, one peny, good master. 
 
 Priest. 
 Why I tell thee no, for the Spirit doth not mooue me thereunto. 
 And in good time, looke in the blessed Prouerb of Salomon, which is, 
 good deeds do not justiiy a man ; therefore, I count it sinne to giue 
 thee any thing. 
 
 Honestie. 
 See how he can tume and wind the Scripture to his owne vse ; but 
 he remembers not where Christ saith. 
 He that giueth to the poore lendeth vnto the Lord, 
 And he shal be repaid seuen fold : but the Priest forgets that, or, at 
 least wyse, he wiU not remember it. 
 
 Beggar. 
 Now, fie upon thee, is this the purenes of your religion ? 
 God will reward you, no doubt, for your hard dealing. 
 
 Priest. 
 Care not thou for that. — Wei, neighbor, if thou wilt haue my house, 
 friend, and brother in Christ, it wil cost you fourtie shilUngs, tis wel 
 woorth it truely, prouided this, I may not stay for my rent : I might 
 haue a great deale more, but I am loth to exact on my brother. 
 
412 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Honestie. 
 And yet he wil sell all a poore man hath, to his shirt, for one 
 quarters rent. 
 
 Neighbor. 
 Gods blessing on your heart, sir, you made a godly exhortation on 
 Sunday. 
 
 Priest. 
 I, brother, the Spirite did mooue me thereunto. Fie vpon vsurie, 
 when a man wil cut his brothers throate for a little Lucre : fie upon 
 it, fie ! We are borne one to line by another, and for a man to let his 
 owne as he may liue, tis allowed by the word of God ; but for vsurie 
 and oppression, fie on it, tis vngodlie. But, tell me, will you haue it ? 
 
 Neighbor. 
 I will giue you as I haue profered you. 
 
 Priest. 
 Trulie, I cannot affoord it, I would I could ; but I must goe to our 
 exercise of prayer, and after I must goe see a Farm that I should 
 haue. [Exeunt, 
 
 Enter Dunston and Perin with the King. 
 Dunston. 
 Most gratious Prince, vouchsafe to heare me speake. 
 In that the lawe of kindred prickes me on ; 
 And though I speake contrarie to your mind. 
 Yet doe I build on hope you will pardon me. 
 Were I as eloquent as Demosthenes, 
 Or lyke Isocrates were giuen to Oratorie, 
 Your Grace, no doubt, wil think the time well spent. 
 And I should gaine me commendations : 
 But for my note is tuned contrary, 
 
 I must intreat your Grace to pardon me, if I do jar in my deliuerie, 
 
 King. 
 Why, Dunston, thou hast found vs gratious still, 
 Nor will we pull our setled loue from thee. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 413 
 
 Untill we find thy dealings contrarie. 
 But if thy parlie be for Ethenwald, 
 That base dissembler with his Soueraigne, 
 Twere better leaue to speake in his excuse, 
 Than by excusing him gaine our ill will : 
 For I am minded like the Salamander stone, 
 That, fir'd with anger, wil not in hast be quencht. 
 Though wax be soft, and apt to receiue any impression, 
 Yet will hard mettell take no forme, except you melt the same. 
 So, meane mens minds may moue as they think good. 
 But Kings just dooraes are irreuocable. 
 
 Dunston. 
 Tis not ynough, where lust doth moue the offence. 
 
 King. 
 Why, Counsellers may not with Kings dispence. 
 
 Dunston. 
 A Counseller may speake, if he see his prince oflfend. 
 
 King, 
 And for his Counsell rue it in the end. 
 But Dunston, leaue : you vrge vs ouer far. 
 We pardon what is past, but speake no more. 
 
 Dunston. 
 Nay, pardon me. for I wil speak my mind. 
 Your Grace may call to mind proud Marius fall. 
 That through his wilfull mind lost life and empire ; 
 And Nimrod, that built huge Babylon, 
 And thought to make a toure to checke the cloudes. 
 Was soone dismaid by vnknowne languages j 
 For no one knew what any other spake : 
 Which made him to confesse, though twere too late, 
 Hee had made oflFence in tempting of the Lord. 
 Remember Dauid, Salomon, and the rest ; 
 Nor had proud Holofernes lost his head, 
 Had he not bene a foule Adulterer. 
 
414 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 King. 
 Dunston, forbeare, and let this answer thee : 
 Thou art too presumptuous in reproouing me. 
 For I haue sworne, as trulie as I liue, 
 That I will neuer pardon Ethenwald. 
 
 Dunston. 
 Did you but see the man, I am assurde. 
 You would not choose but pardon Ethenwald. 
 
 Perin, 
 Why, Dunston, you haue seene, as wel as I, 
 That Ethenwald hath dissembled with the King. — 
 My gratious Lord, first cut that Traitor downe, 
 And then will others feare the lyke amysse. 
 
 Dunston. 
 I tell thee, Perin, were the Earle in place, 
 Thou wouldst eat these words vttred in his disgrace. 
 Veni Asmoroth ! — And in good time see where he comes. 
 Here enter Alfrida disguised with the Deuil. 
 King. 
 But tel me, Dunston, is this Alfrida ? 
 
 Dunston. 
 It is my gratious Lord, and this is Ethenwald, 
 That layes his breast wide open to youi' Grace, 
 If so it please your Grace to pardon him. 
 
 King. 
 Yes, Dunston, I am well content to pardon him. 
 Ethenwald stand vp, and rise vp Alfrida, 
 For Edgar now giues pardon to you both. 
 
 Dunston. 
 Asmoroth, away ! — My gratious Lord, Dunston wdl.not forget 
 This vnknowne fauour showne Earle Ethenwald ; 
 For which account my Nephew and my self 
 Do yeeld both lyfes and goods at your dispose. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 4 1 5 
 
 King, 
 Thanks, Dunston, for thy honorable loue : 
 And thou deseru'st to be a Counsellour, 
 For he deserues not other to commaund, 
 That hath no power to maister his desire ; 
 For Locrin, being the eldest sonne of Brute, 
 Did dote so far vpon an Almaine maid, 
 And was so rauisht with her pleasing sight. 
 That full seuen yeares he kept her vnder earth, 
 Euen in the lyfe time of faire Guendolin : 
 Which made the Cornish men to rise in Armes, 
 And neuer left till Locrin was slaine. 
 And now, though late, at last I call to minde 
 What wretched ends fell to Adulterers. 
 
 Dunston. 
 And if your Grace cal Abrams tale to mind. 
 When that Egyptian Pharo craued his wife, 
 You will, no doubt, forgiue my Nephewes guilt ; 
 Who by the mery jest he shewed your Grace, 
 Did saue your Honour and her chastitie. 
 
 King. 
 We take it so ; and for amends, 
 Ethenwald, giue me thy hande and we are friends ; 
 And loue thy wyfe, and Hue together long. 
 For Edgar hath forgot all former wrong. 
 
 Ethenwald. 
 Thanks, gratious King, and here vpon my knee, 
 I rest to be disposed as you please. 
 
 King. 
 Ynough, Ethenwald. But who comes here ? 
 Enter Honesty. 
 Honesty. 
 Why, I think I haue taken in hand an endles taske, 
 To smell a knaue : tis more than a Dog can doe. 
 
4r6 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 I haue disguised myself of purpose to finde 
 A couple of Knaues, which are yet behind. 
 The next Knaue is a Priest, calde John the precise, 
 That with counterfeit holinesse blinds the peoples eyes. 
 This is one of them, that wil say it is a shame 
 For men to swear and blaspheme Gods holie name ; 
 Yet if a make a good Sermon but once in a yeare, 
 A wiU be fourtie tymes in a Tauerne making good cheere : 
 Yet in the Church he will read with such sobrietie, 
 That you would thinke him verie precise, and of great honesty. 
 
 King, 
 What, Honesty, hast thou dispatcht, and found these priuie knaues ? 
 
 Honesty. 
 I shal doe anon : I haue them in sent ; but I wil be gone. \Exit» 
 
 Enter Priest. 
 Priest. 
 Good Lord ! I praise God I am come from our mornings exercise. 
 Where I haue profited myselfe, and e[d]ified my brethren 
 In shewing the way to saluation by my doctrine ; 
 And now I am going to the Court to prefer my petition. 
 I would giue a hundred pound, it were graunted ; 
 Tis a thing of nothing : but here comes one of the Court. 
 
 Enter Honestie. 
 God saue you, brother in Christ : are you towards the King. 
 
 Honesty. 
 I, mary am I : what then ? why dost thou aske ? 
 
 Priest. 
 Nothing, sir, but I would desire you to stand my friend, 
 To get me the Kings hand and scale to this letter. 
 I would not vse it (sir) to hinder any man for a thousand pound ; 
 For, indeed, I am a Cleargie man by my profession. 
 Tis nothing, sir, but as you see, to haue the Kings scale 
 T[o] carie Tin, Lead, wool, and broad clothes beyond seas, 
 For you know (sir) euery man wil mak the most he can of his own ; 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 417 
 
 And, for my part, I vse it but for a present necessitie. 
 If you will vndertake to doe it, He giue you a hundred pound. 
 
 Honesty, 
 I thanke you, sir, but I am alFraide the King will hardlie grant it : 
 why, tis an vndoing to the common wealth ; 
 But, trulie, I will mooue the King to hang you, Priest, yfaith. — 
 May it please you[r] Grace to grant me my petition. 
 For I offer it your Grace in pure deuotion. 
 
 King. 
 O monstrous ! Dunston, didst thou euer heare the like ? 
 Now fie vpon the base villaine ! lay hands on him. 
 
 Honesty. 
 On me ? nay on him. — Priest I gaue your petition to the King, 
 And I wil speake to him you may be but hanged ; 
 For if you should liue till the King granted your petition, 
 The verie Rauens would picke out thine eies lining ; 
 And therefore twere better you were hanged, to saue the birds a labour. 
 
 King. 
 Now, Honesty, hast thou done ? is here all ? 
 
 Honesty. 
 O no, my Lord, for there are so many behind. 
 That I am affraide my worke will neuer haue an end. 
 But I see by the Priests lookes he lackes company : 
 Stay a while, my Lord, He fetch another presently. [Eoeit. 
 
 King. 
 Fie, Gracelesse man ! hast thou no feare of God, 
 To withold thee from these lawlesse motions ? 
 Why, thou shouldst be as Messenger of God, 
 And hate deceit and wicked auarice : 
 But thou art one of those whome God doth hate. 
 And thy vilde deeds will witnesse gainst thy soule. 
 And make the most abominable in his sight, 
 That made thee (wretch) but to a better end, 
 
 3g 
 
418 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Then thus to wrong his sacred Deitie. 
 Now, fie vpon thee, monster of a man ! 
 That for to gaine thy selfe a priuate gaine, 
 Wouldst seeke the vndooing of a common wealth : 
 And though thou bid ten thousand torments here, 
 They cannot quit thee where thou shalt appeare. 
 
 Enter Honesty. 
 Honesty. 
 A Prize ! though it be long, I haue found him at last ; 
 But I could not bring him with me, 
 And therefore I pind a paper on his shoulder, 
 Meaning thereby to marke him for the gallons. 
 But husht, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Perin. 
 King. 
 What, Perin ? I cannot think that Perin wil be false to me. 
 
 Honesty. 
 Why no, for he is false to himself: look in his pocket and see. 
 This is but a false writ that he hath vsed, 
 
 Unknowne to your Maiestie, and leuied great summes of money. 
 And bribed vpon your poore Commons extreamlie. 
 How say you, my Lord, is this true or no ? 
 
 King. 
 Honesty, thou sayest true. — Why, impious wretch ! 
 Ingrateful wretch that thou art, to iniure him that alwaies held thee 
 
 [deere. 
 Beleeue me, Dunston, I durst wel haue sworn, 
 That Perin had not hatcht so base a thought. 
 
 Honesty. 
 I, but your Grace sees you are deceiued. 
 But will your Grace grant me one boone ? 
 
 King. 
 Whats that. Honesty ? 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 419 
 
 Honesty. 
 That I may haue the punishing of them. 
 Whom I haue so laboured to fynde. 
 
 King. 
 With all my hart. Honesty : vse them as thou wilt. 
 
 Honesty. 
 I thank your Grace. — Go fetch the other two. — 
 Now to you Cutbert Cutpurse, the Conicatcher : 
 Thy iudgment is to stand at the Market crosse, 
 And haue thy cursed tongue pind to thy breast. 
 And there to stand for men to woonder at, 
 Til Owles and night-Rauens picke out thy cursed eies. 
 
 Conicatcher. 
 Good Honestie, be more mercifuU. 
 
 Honesty. 
 You know my mind, O, Walter that wold haue more, 
 And you shall haue judgement I meane ; which is, 
 To be caried into a come field, and ther haue your legs and hands 
 cut oif, because you loued corn so wel, and there rest til the crowes 
 pick out thine eies. — 
 
 But now to you, that wil do nothing except the spirit mooue you 
 
 [thereunto. 
 You shall, for abusing the blessed word of God, 
 And mocking the diuine order of Ministery, 
 Whereby you haue led the ignorant into errours, 
 You (I say) as you were shamlesse in your shamefull dealing, 
 Shal, to your shame, and the vtter shame of al bad minded men. 
 That liue as thou hast done. 
 Stand in Finsburie fields, neere London, 
 And there (as a dissembling Hypocrit) be shot to death. 
 
 Priest. 
 Good Honesty, be more fauourable than so. 
 
420 A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 
 
 Honesty. 
 
 Trulie no ; the spirit doth not mooue me therunto. — 
 But who is next ? what, Perin, a Courtier, and a Cosoner to ! 
 I haue a judgment yet in store for thee : 
 And for because I will vse thee fauourablie, 
 Yfaith, thy judgment is to be but hanged. 
 But where ? euen at Tyborne, in a good two-peny halter : 
 And though you could neuer abide the seas. 
 
 Yet now, against your wil, you must bear your saile, namely your 
 
 [sheet, 
 And in a cart be towde vp Holburne hill. 
 Would all men lining, lyke these, in this land. 
 Might be judged so at Honesties hand. 
 
 King. 
 
 Well, Honestie, come, follow vs to Court, 
 Where thou shalt be rewarded for thy paine. 
 
 Honesty. 
 
 I thank your Grace. — You that wil damne your selues for lucres sake, 
 And make no conscience to deceiue the poore ; 
 You that be enemies of the common wealth, 
 To send come ouer to inrich ^he enemie ; 
 And you that doe abuse the word of God, 
 And send ouer woolle and Tin, broad cloath and lead ; 
 And you that counterfeyt Kings priuie scales. 
 And thereby rob the willing minded Commun&ltie ; 
 I warne you all that vse such subtill villanie. 
 Beware, least you, lyke these, be found by Honestie. 
 Take heed, I say, for if I catch you once, 
 Your bodies shall be meat for Crowes, 
 And the Deuill shall haue your bones. 
 And thus, though long, at last we make an end. 
 Desiring you to pardon whats amisse. 
 And way the worke, though it be grosly pend. 
 
A merie Knacke to knowe a Knaue. 421 
 
 Laugh at the faults, and weigh it as it is. 
 
 And Honestie wil pray upon his knee, 
 
 God cut them off that wrong the Prince or Communaltie. 
 
 And may her dayes of blesse neuer haue end, 
 
 Upon whose lyfe so many lyues depend. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Imprinted at London, by Richard Ihones, and are to be sould, 
 
 at the signe of the Rose and Crowne, nere to S. Andrewes 
 
 Church in Holborne, 1594. 
 
NOTES TO A KNACK TO KNOW 
 A KNAVE. 
 
 P. 357. 1- 20. When Alexander wan rich Macedone] There must be some cor- 
 ruption here, or the author was not very anxious to be correct in his 
 classical allusions. 
 
 P. 368. 1. 9. As he deserues that leases to the King] — i. e. that lies to the King : 
 the word lese is more generally used as a substantive. 
 
 P. 358. 1. 20. And with him was his Jug] This passage will serve to explain 
 the hitherto unexplained exclamation in " King Lear," A. I. sc. 4, 
 " Whoop, Jug, I love thee." — The Tinker's " male," mentioned in the 
 preceding line, is his wallet. " Trug " in the following line is equi- 
 valent to trull, and, possibly, is only another form of the same 
 word : Middleton (Edit. Dyce II. 222) has the expression — " a pretty, 
 middlesized trugj''' See also the note, where R, Greene's tract is 
 quoted. 
 
 P. 359. 1. 13. Exit] This and the preceding necessary stage-directions are wanting 
 in the old copy. 
 
 P. 369. 1. 19. Lyke to the Queene of loue'] In one copy the text is as we give 
 it, and in another the word is printed Hue, the alteration having been 
 made in the press. Possibly, the author had some confused notion about 
 Ida ; but, if he cared about being correct, the " Queen of Love" did 
 not " dally with Endymion." 
 
 P. 365. 1. 14. When death, pall Death, appears] An obvious misprint in the 
 original for pale Death. 
 
 P. 367. 1. 11. For saith, he that hath many children] So the old edition, but 
 the sense would be improved were we to read " For saith he, he that 
 hath many children." 
 
 P. 367. 1. 20. Lyke drops of peely dew] Sic in orig. ; but for " peely " read 
 perly. 
 
424 
 
 P. 375. 1. 25. ExU2 This and the preceding stage-directions are not in the old 
 copy, but seem necessary to the intelligibility of the scene. 
 
 P. 375. 1. 33. But a will haue no wit money : O, a loves led money] i. e. But 
 I will haue no white money : O I loves red money. 
 
 P. 377- 1- 25. Exit'] The Eivit of Honesty, here, is not marked in the old copy. 
 
 P. 380. 1. 10. A poste knight] A Knight of the Post was a person hired to swear 
 anything — a character often mentioned in old writers. 
 
 P. 383, 1. 17. Vildly pronounc'd] i. e. Filely pronounced. Some persons, not 
 merely without reason but directly against it, treat vild and vile, and 
 consequently vildly and vilely, as distinct words. Fild and Vildly 
 are blunders in old spelling, only to be retained when, as now, we give 
 the words of an author in the very orthography of that date. We pro- 
 fess here to follow the antiquated spelling exactly, that it may be seen 
 how the productions in our volume came originally from the press; 
 but when spelling is modernized, as it is in the ordinary republications 
 of our ancient dramatists, &c. it is just as absurd to print " vile" vild, 
 as to print " friend "/rcwc? or " enemy" ennimy. 
 
 P. 386. 1. 2. Tush, single beere is better far] Single beer is small beer, as dis- 
 tinguished from double, or strong beer. 
 
 P. 386. 1. 30. Their good names shal neuer take an ejsigent in me] Shakespeare 
 uses the word " exigent" for extremity, and such seems to be its 
 meaning here, and not the legal sense : the Knight says that the good 
 name of his predecessors for housekeeping shall never be brought into 
 extremity by him. 
 
 P. 387- 1. 13. Another old'] So the original, which we follow; but of course 
 " man" is to be understood here, as well as afterwards, when " one 
 poor" and " another poor" take up the dialogue. 
 
 P. 391. 1. 21. I may goe dine with Duke Humfrie] An early instance of the use 
 of an expression, of frequent occurrence afterwards and down to our 
 own day, equivalent to going without dinner. See Steevens's note to 
 " Richard III." A. IV. sc. 4, where many passages are quoted on the 
 point. 
 
 P. 396. 1. 1. Or at euery dead ope they vade] Sic in orig.; but " ope" must 
 be a misprint for ebb, at which the American violets are here said to 
 vade or fade. 
 
 P. 395. ]. 15. Perin, what newes &c.] A stage-direction should have been in- 
 serted here to mark the entrance of Perin, and the Farmer, but it is 
 omitted in the old copy, and the fact is su£Bciently evident. 
 
425 
 
 p. 399. 1. 2. My Lord, she is coUoured lyke the Scythia Maide] The copy of 
 this play in the British Museum has here " Scinthin Maide ;" but 
 another belonging to the Rev. A. Dyce " Scythia Maide," a reading we 
 have followed, and, no doubt, introduced by the old printer as the 
 sheets went through the press. 
 
 P. 400. 1. 22. He drew this counterfeit'] " Counterfeit" was a very common term 
 for the resemblance of a person : in Hamlet, A. HI. so. 4, we have 
 "counterfeit presentment;" and in the Merchant of Venice, A. III. 
 sc. 2, " Fair Portia's counterfeit." In Beaumont and Fletcher's " Wife 
 for a Month," A. IV. sc. 5, we meet with " counterfeits in Arras " for 
 portraits, or figures in tapestry. 
 
 P. 401. 1. 24. Go, you are put down] The old copy has Go, your are put down. 
 
 P. 402. 1. 14. The King's Carminger was here] By " Carminger" the Cobbler 
 means Harbinger, an officer who preceded the monarch during pro- 
 gresses, to give notice and make preparation. 
 
 P. 402. 1. 26. To deliuer our petition] We print it precisely as in the old copy, 
 but we may presume that here a couplet was intended, as the Cobbler's 
 speech begins in rhime : — 
 
 " And we are come to you alone 
 To deliuer our petition." 
 
 P. 404. 1. 20. And I will be attyred in cloth of Bis] Roquefort in his Glossary, 
 I. 196, states that Bysse is a sort d'e'toffe de soie, and the Rev. A. Dyce, 
 Middleton's Works, V. 658, says that it means " fine linen," while 
 others contend that it is " a delicate blue colour," but sometimes 
 *• black or dark grey." The truth may be that it was fine silk 
 of a blue colour, and we now and then meet with it coupled with 
 purple — "purple and bis." 
 
 P. 404. 1. 21. Fetcht from rich Indian] For India. In the next line we must 
 supply " dight," or some such monosyllable, to complete the defective 
 sense and measure. 
 
 P. 408. 1. 5. Thy leasing- to the King] Thy lying to the King. See note to p. 
 358, 1. 9. 
 
 P. 417- 1. 24. Ej.'it] Necessary, but not marked in the old copy : neither is it 
 there noted when Honesty afterwards re-enters. 
 
 P. 418. 1. 6. And though thou bid ten thousand torments here] " Bid " may be 
 taken in the sense of invite, a meaning it often bears in old writers ; but 
 we are most likely to understand it dide or abide, the final e having been 
 omitted, or dropped out in the press. In the next line we have " quit" 
 again used for acquit. 
 
426 
 
 p. 419. 1. 7. Go, fetch the other two] We must suppose here, that Honesty 
 sends out some of the attendants to bring in the Coneycatcher and 
 Farmer, who soon make their re-appearance upon the stage. 
 
 P. 421. 1. 3. God cut them oflf] God cut then off, in the old copy. The change 
 was necessary to the sense of the old passage. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 FROM 3Clbe ^\)a^^9uzz i^rejS^, by 
 
 WILLIAM NICOL, 
 
 - 60, PAliL MALL, 
 
 1851. 
 
pp 1105 
 
A./^ 
 
 (:Ovt>^^^\ c