A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vii Part 53

MR BAR. Philip, if this would prove a match, It were the only means that could be found To make thy mother friends with Mistress Goursey.

PHIL. How, a match! I'll warrant ye, a match.

My sister's fair, Frank Goursey he is rich; Her[265] dowry, too, will be sufficient; Frank's young,[266] and youth is apt to love; And, by my troth, my sister's maidenhead Stands like a game at tennis: if the ball Hit into the hole, or hazard, farewell all:

MR BAR. How now, where's Hugh?

[_Enter_ NICHOLAS.]

PHIL. Why, what doth this proverbial with us?

Why, where's Hugh?

MR BAR. Peace, peace.

PHIL. Where's Hugh, I say?

MR BAR. Be not so hasty, Philip.

PHIL. Father, let me alone, I do it but to make myself some sport.

This formal fool, your man, speaks nought but proverbs, And speak men what they can to him, he'll answer With some rhyme-rotten sentence or old saying, Such spokes as th'ancient of the parish use, With, "Neighbour, 'tis an old proverb and a true, Goose giblets are good meat, old sack better than new;"

Then says another, "Neighbour, that is true;"

And when each man hath drunk his gallon round-- A penny pot, for that's the old man's gallon-- Then doth he lick his lips, and stroke his beard, That's glued together with his slavering drops Of yeasty ale, and when he scarce can trim His gouty fingers, thus he'll phillip it, And with a rotten hem, say, "Ay, my hearts, Merry go sorry! c.o.c.k and pie, my hearts"!

But then their saving penny proverb comes, And that is this, "They that will to the wine, By'r Lady[267] mistress, shall lay their penny to mine."

This was one of this penny-father's[268] b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, For, on my life, he was never[269] begot Without the consent of some great proverb-monger.

MR BAR. O, ye are a wag.

PHIL. Well, now unto my business.

'Swounds, will that mouth, that's made of old-said saws And nothing else, say nothing to us now?

NICH. O Master Philip, forbear; you must not leap over the stile, before you come at it; haste makes waste; soft fire makes sweet malt; not too fast for falling; there's no haste to hang true men.[270]

PHIL. Father, we ha't, ye see, we ha't. Now will I see if my memory will serve for some proverbs too. O--a painted cloth were as well worth a shilling as a thief worth a halter; well, after my hearty commendations, as I was at the making hereof; so it is, that I hope as you speed, so you're sure; a swift horse will tire, but he that trots easily will endure. You have most learnedly proverb'd it, commending the virtue of patience or forbearance, but yet, you know, forbearance is no quittance.

NICH. I promise ye, Master Philip, you have spoken as true as steel.

PHIL. Father, there's a proverb well applied.

NICH. And it seemeth unto me, ay, it seems to me, that you, Master Philip, mock me: do you not know, _qui mocat mocabitur_? mock age, and see how it will prosper.

PHIL. Why, ye wh.o.r.eson proverb-book bound up in folio, Have ye no other sense to answer me But every word a proverb? no other English?

Well, I'll fulfil a proverb on thee straight.

NICH. What is it, sir?

PHIL. I'll fetch my fist from thine ear.

NICH. Bear witness, he threatens me!

PHIL. That same is the coward's common proverb.

But come, come, sirrah, tell me where Hugh is.

NICH. I may, and I will; I need not, except I list; you shall not command me, you give me neither meat, drink, nor wages; I am your father's man, and a man's a man, and a have but a hose on his head; do not misuse me so, do not; for though he that is bound must obey, yet he that will not tarry, may[271] run away--so he may.

MR BAR. Peace, Nick, I'll see he shall use thee well; Go to, peace, sirrah: here, Nick, take this letter, Carry it to him to whom it is directed.

NICH. To whom is it?

MR BAR. Why, read it: canst thou read?

NICH. Forsooth, though none of the best, yet meanly.

MR BAR. Why, dost thou not use it?

NICH. Forsooth, as use makes perfectness, so seldom seen is soon forgotten.

MR BAR. Well-said: but go; it is to Master Goursey.

PHIL. Now, sir, what proverb have ye to deliver a letter?

NICH. What need you to care? who speaks to you? you may speak when ye are spoken to, and keep your wind to cool your pottage. Well, well, you are my master's son, and you look for his land; but they that hope for dead men's shoes may hap go barefoot: take heed, as soon goes the young sheep to the pot as the old. I pray G.o.d save my master's life, for seldom comes the better!

PHIL. O, he hath given it me! Farewell, Proverbs.

NICH. Farewell, frost.[272]

PHIL. Shall I fling an old shoe after ye?

NICH. No; you should say, G.o.d send fair weather after me!

PHIL. I mean for good luck.

NICH. A good luck on ye!

[_Exit_.

MR BAR. Alas, poor fool! he uses all his wit.

Philip, in faith[273] this mirth hath cheered thought, And cosen'd it of his right play of pa.s.sion.

Go after Nick, and, when thou think'st he's there, Go in and urge to that which I have writ: I'll in these meadows make a circling walk, And in my meditation conjure so, As that same[274] fiend of thought, self-eating anger, Shall by my spells of reason[275] vanish quite: Away, and let me hear from thee to-night.

PHIL. To-night! yes, that you shall: but hark ye, father; Look that you my sister waking keep, For Frank, I swear, shall kiss her, ere I sleep.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ FRANK _and_ BOY.

FRAN. I am very dry with walking o'er the green.-- Butler, some beer! Sirrah, call the butler.

BOY. Nay, faith, sir, we must have some smith to give the butler a drench, or cut him in the forehead, for he hath got a horse's disease, namely the staggers; to-night he's a good huswife, he reels all that he wrought to-day; and he were good now to play at dice, for he casts[276]

excellent well.