A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume I Part 78

Well then, mother, let all this go, And charm this child that you is send to.

And look hereafter to curse ye be not greedy: Curse me no more, I am cursed enough already.

MATER

Well, son, I will curse you no more, Except ye provoke me too-too sore; But I marvel why ye do me move To do for Ulysses, that doth not us love.

THERSITES.

Mother, by his son he hath send me a letter, Promising hereafter to be to us better, And you, and I with my great club, Must walk to him, and eat a sillabub; And we shall make merry, And sing _tyrl on the bery_, With Simkin Sydn'am Sumn'nor That killed a cat at c.u.mnor; There the trifling taborer, troubler of Tunis, Will pick Peter Pie-baker a pennyworth of prunes; Nichol Nevergood a net and a nightcap Knit will for Kit, whose knee caught a knap; David Doughty, dighter of dates, Grin with G.o.dfrey Good-ale will greedy at the gates; Tom Tumbler of Tewksbury, turning at a trice, Will wipe William Waterman, if he be not wise: Simon Sadler of Sudeley, that served the sow, Hit will Henry Heartless, he heard not yet how.

Jenkin Jacon, that jobbed jolly Joan, Griud will gromaly-seed[600], until he groan.

Proud Pierce Pick-thank, that picked Parnel's purse, Cut will the cakes, though Kate do cry and curse.

Rough Robin Rover, ruffling in right rate, Bald Bernard Brainless will beat, and Bennet bate; Foolish Frederick Furberer of a fart Ding Daniel Dainty to death will with a dart.

Marculph Merrylees, mourning for mad Mary, Tink will the tables, though he there not tarry.

Andrew All-Knave, alderman of Antwerp, Hop will with hollyhocks and harken Humphrey's harp.

It is too-too, mother, the pastime and good cheer That we shall see and have, when that we come there; Wherefore, gentle mother, I thee heartily pray, That thou wilt charm for worms this pretty boy.

MATER.

Well, son, seeing the case and matter standeth so, I am content all thy request to do.

Come hither, pretty child, I will thee charm from the worms wild; But first do thou me thy name tell.

TELEMACHUS.

I am called Telemachus, there as I dwell.

MATER.

Telemachus, lie down upright on the ground, And stir not once for a thousand pound.

TELEMACHUS.

I am ready here prest To do all your request.

[_Then he must lay him down with his belly upward, and she must bless him from above to beneath, saying as followeth_:

MATER.

The cowherd of Comerton[601] with his crooked spade Cause from thee the worms soon to vade!

And jolly Jack Tumbler, that juggleth with a horn, Grant that thy worms soon be all-to torn!

Good grandsire Abraham, G.o.dmother to Eve, Grant that this[602] worms no longer this child grieve!

All the court of conscience in Cuckoldshire: Tinkers and taborers, tipplers, taverners: t.i.ttifills, triflers, turners and trumpers: Tempters, traitors, travellers and thumpers: Thriftless, thievish, thick and thereto thin: The malady of this worms cause for to blin!

The virtue of the tail of Isaac's cow, That before Adam in paradise did low!

Also the joist of Moses' rod, In the Mount of Calvary that spake with G.o.d: _Facies ad faciem_, turning tail to tail, Cause all these worms quickly to fail!

The bottom of the ship of Noe, And also the leg of the horse of Troy: The piece of the tongue of Balaam's a.s.s, The chawbone[603] of the ox that at Christ's birth was, The eye-tooth of the dog that went on pilgrimage With young Tobias, these worms soon may suage!

The b.u.t.terfly of Bromwicham that was born blind, The blast of the bottle that blowed Aeolus' wind, The b.u.t.tock of the bitter[604] bought at Buckingham, The body of the bear that with Bevis came, The backster[605] of Bal[d]ockbury with her baking peel,[606]

Child, fro thy worms, I pray, may soon thee heal The tapper of Tavistock and the tapster's pot!

The tooth of the t.i.tmouse, the t.u.r.d of the goat, In the Tower of Tennis-b.a.l.l.s toasted by the fire, The table of Tantalus turned trim in the mire, The tomb of Tom Threadbare that thrust Tib through the smoke, Make all thy worms, child, to come forth at thy dock!

Shem, Cam,[607] and j.a.phet, and Coll the miller's mare, The five stones of David that made Goliath stare, The wing with which St Michael did fly to his mount, The counters wherewith Cherubim did cherry-stones count, The hawk with which Asuerus[608] killed the wild boar, Help that these worms, my child, hurt thee no more!

The maw of the moor-c.o.c.k that made Maud to mow, When Martlemas at Morton mourned for the snow: The spear of Spanish spilbery sprent with spiteful spots, The lights of the laverock laid at London lots, The shinbone of St Samuel shining so as the sun, Grant, child, of the worms that soon thy pains be done!

Mother Brice of Oxford and great Gib of Hinksey, Also Maud of Thrutton[609] and Mabel of Chertsey, And all other witches that walk in Dimmings Dale,[610]

c.l.i.ttering and clattering there your pots with ale, Incline your ears, and hear this my pet.i.tion, And grant this child of health to have fruition!

The blessing that Jordan to his G.o.dson gave, Light on my child, and from the worms him save!

Now stand up, little Telemachus, anon: I warrant thee by to-morrow thy worms will be gone.

TELEMACHUS.

I thank you, mother, in my most hearty[611] wise; Will ye, sir, to my father command me any service?

THERSITES.

No, pretty boy, but do thou us two commend To thy father and mother; tell them that we intend, Both my mother and I, To see them shortly.

TELEMACHUS.

Ye shall be heartily welcome to them, I dare well say; Fare ye well, by your leave: now I will depart away.

THERSITES.

Son, give me thy hand. Farewell.

MATER.

I pray G.o.d keep thee from peril.

[_Telemachus goeth out, and the mother sayeth_: I-wis it is a proper child, And in behaviour nothing wild; Ye may see what is good education: I would every man after this fashion Had their children up brought.

Then many of them would not have been so nought: A child is better unborn than untaught.

THERSITES.

Ye say truth, mother; well, let all this go, And make you ready Ulysses to go to With me anon; be ye so content?

MATER.

I am well pleased; to your will I a.s.sent, For, although that I love him but very evil, It is good to set a candle before the devil.

Of most part of great men, I swear by this fire, Light is the thank, but heavy is the ire.