A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ii Part 48

SON. When all is said and all is done, Concerning all things, both more and less, Yet like to the school none under the sun Bringeth to children so much heaviness.

FATHER. What, though it be painful, what, though it be grievous, For so be all things at the first learning, Yet marvellous pleasure it bringeth unto us, As a reward for such painstaking.

Wherefore come off, and be of good cheer, And go to thy book without any fear, For a man without knowledge (as I have read) May well be compared to one that is dead.

SON. No more of the school; no more of the book; That woful work is not for my purpose, For upon those books I may not look: If so I did, my labour I should lose.

FATHER. Why then to me thy fancy [doth] express, That the school matters to thee are counted weariness.

SON. Even as to a great man, wealthy and rich, Service and bondage is a hard thing, So to a boy, both dainty and nice,[300]

Learning and study is greatly displeasing.

FATHER. What, my child, displeasing, I pray thee, That maketh a man live so happily?

SON. Yea, by my troth, such kind of wisdom Is to my heart, I tell you, very loathsome.

FATHER. What trial thereof hast thou taken, That the school of thee is so ill bespoken?

SON. What trial thereof would ye fain know?

Nothing more easy than this to show: At other boys' hands I have it learned, And that of those truly, most of all other, Which for a certain time have remained In the house and prison of a schoolmaster.

FATHER. I dare well say that there is no misery, But rather joy, pastime and pleasure Always with scholars keeping company: No life to this, I thee well a.s.sure.

SON. It is not true, father, which you do say; The contrary thereof is proved alway, For as the bruit goeth by many a one, Their tender bodies both night and day Are whipped and scourged, and beat[301] like a stone, That from top to toe the skin is away.

FATHER. Is there not (say they) for them in this case Given other while for pardon some place?

SON. None, truly, none; but that alas, alas, Diseases among them do grow apace; For out of their back and side doth flow Of very gore-blood marvellous abundance; And yet for all that is not suffered to go, Till death be almost seen in their countenance.

Should I be content thither then to run, Where the blood from my breech thus should spun,[302]

So long as my wits shall be mine own, The schoolhouse for me shall stand alone.[303]

FATHER. But I am sure that this kind of fashion Is not showed to children of honest condition.

SON. Of truth, with these masters is no difference, For alike towards all is their wrath and violence.

FATHER. Son, in this point thou art quite deceived, And without doubt falsely persuaded, For it is not to be judged that any schoolmaster Is of so great fierceness and cruelty, And of young infants so sore a tormentor, That the breath should be about to leave the body.

SON. Father, this thing I could not have believed, But of late days I did behold An honest man's son hereby buried, Which through many stripes was dead and cold.

FATHER. Peraventure, the child of some disease did labour, Which was the cause of his sepulture.[304]

SON. With no disease, surely, was he disquieted, As unto me it was then reported.

FATHER. If that with no such thing he were infected, What was the cause that he departed?

SON. Men say that of[305] this man, his b.l.o.o.d.y master, Who like a lion most commonly frowned, Being hanged up by the heels together, Was belly and b.u.t.tocks grievously whipped; And last of all (which to speak I tremble),[306]

That his head to the wall he had often crushed.[307]

FATHER. Thus to think, son, thou art beguiled verily, And I would wish thee to suppose the contrary, And not for such tales my counsel to forsake, Which only do covet thee learned to make.

SON. If Demosthenes and Tully were present truly, They could not print[308] it within my head [more] deeply.

FATHER. Yet, by thy father's will and intercession, Thou shalt be content that thing to pardon.

SON. Command what ye list, that only excepted, And I will be ready your mind to fulfil, But whereas I should to the school have resorted, My hand to the palmer[309] submitting still, I will not obey ye therein, to be plain, Though with a thousand strokes I be slain.

FATHER. Woe is me, my son, woe is me!

This heavy and doleful day to see.

SON. I grant indeed I am your son; But you my father shall not be, If that you will cast me into that prison, Where torn in pieces ye might me see.

FATHER. Where I might see thee torn and rent?

O Lord, I could not such a deed invent!

SON. Nay, by the ma.s.s, I hold[310] ye a groat, Those cruel tyrants cut not my throat: Better it were myself did slay, Than they with the rod my flesh should flay.

Well, I would we did this talk omit, For it is loathsome to me every whit.

FATHER. What trade then, I pray thee, shall I devise, Whereof thy living at length may arise?

Wilt thou follow warfare, and a soldier be 'ppointed, And so among Troyans and Romans be numbered?

SON. See ye not, masters, my father's advice?

Have ye the like at any time heard?

To will me thereto he is not wise, If my years and strength he did regard; Ye speak worse and worse, whatsoever ye say; This manner of life is not a good way, For no kind of office can me please, Which is subject to wounds and strokes always.

FATHER. Somewhat to do it is meet and convenient; Wilt thou then give thy diligent endeavour To let thy youth unhonestly be spent, And do as poor knaves, which jaxes[311] do scour?

For I do not see that any good art, Or else any honest science or occupation, Thou wilt be content to have a part, After thy father's mind and exhortation.

SON. Ha, ha, ha, ha, labour in very deed!

G.o.d send him that life which stands in need: There be many fathers that children have, And yet not make the worst of them a slave, Might not you of yourself be well ashamed.

Which would have your son thither constrained?

FATHER. I would not have thee driven to that succour, Yet for because the scriptures declare, That he should not eat, which will not labour, Some work to do it must be thy care.

SON. Father, it is but a folly with you to strive, But yet notwithstanding I hope to thrive.

FATHER. That this thine intent may take good success, I pray G.o.d heartily of his goodness.

SON. Well, well, shall I in few words rehea.r.s.e What thing doth most my conscience pierce.

FATHER. Therewith I am, son, very well contented.

SON. Yea, but I think that ye will not be pleased.

FATHER. Indeed, peradventure it may so chance.

SON. Nay, but I pray ye, without any perchance, Shall not my request turn to your grievance?

FATHER. If it be just and lawful, which thou dost require.

SON. Both just and lawful, have ye no fear.