A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vii Part 92

SCENE THE TWENTY-THIRD.

_Enter_ JOHN, RICHARD, FAUCONBRIDGE, SHERIFFS, _and_ OFFICERS.

SKINK. Now, fortune, help or never. They come--_and ye were a prince, as ye say ye are, ye would be ashamed to abuse a poor servant thus; but and if ye were not of the blood royal, I'd break the neck of ye down the stairs, so would I, I'd teach you to hurt 'prentices_.

RICH. Who hurt thee, fellow?

SKINK. Prince devil or his dam; Prince John they call him.

JOHN. Gloster, I hope.

RICH. I doubt not but 'tis Skink.

JOHN. Where is he?

SKINK. Up them stairs; take heed of him, He's in the Crown.

FAU. Alas, poor fellow, he hath crown'd thee shrewdly.

JOHN. In recompence, if it be him I seek, I'll give thee his whole head to tread upon.

Follow me, brother; come, old Fauconbridge; Keep the stairs, sheriff. You see, it waxeth dark; Take heed he slip not by you.

[_Exeunt_.

SKINK. Hang yourselves, this darkness shall convey me out of doors, I'll swim the Thames, but I'll attain Blackheath.

London, farewell; curse, John, rave, Fauconbridge!

Skink 'scapes you all by twilight's privilege.

[_Exit_.

WITHIN. Where is he? lights, bring lights; drag out that boy.

_Enter all with the_ BOY.

JOHN. This is my cloak, my hat, my rapier; And either it was Skink or Gloster.

DRA. I know not who 'twas, sir; he said he was Prince John; he took away my ap.r.o.n and a pottle-pot with him, and all-to blooded his head and face.

FAU. We met him, by St Anthony, we met him!

JOHN. The fire of St Anthony confound This changing counterfeit, whatsoever he be.

RICH. It makes me laugh at envious greediness, Who feeds upon her own heart's bitterness.

JOHN. Sirrah, you that were born to cry anon, What other copes-mates have you in the house?

DRA. Sir, my master's gues's[504] be none of my copesmates.

JOHN. Well, your gues's! can you guess who they be?

DRA. Marry, here's a pursuivant, that this gentleman, sir, Richard Fauconbridge, left sick even now.

FAU. Marry of G.o.d, did I, thou lying knave?

DRA. I am a poor boy, sir; your worship may say your pleasure; our maids have had a foul hand with him. You said he would be sick; so he is, with a witness.

JOHN. Look about, Fauconbridge, here's work for you!

You have some evil angel in your shape.

Go, sirrah, bring us forth that Pursuivant.

_Enter two, leading the_ PURSUIVANT, _sick_.

RICH. Gloster, thou wilt be too-too venturous; Thou dost delight in those odd humours so, That much I fear they'll be thy overthrow. [_Aside_.

PUR. O, O, O, not too fast; O, I am sick, O, very sick.

JOHN. What picture of the pestilence is this?

PUR. A poor man, sir, a poor man, sir: down, I pray ye; I pray, let me sit down. Ah, Sir Richard, Sir Richard! Ah, good Sir Richard! what, have I deserv'd to be thus dealt withal at your worship's hands? Ah! ah! ah!

FAU. At my hands, knave? at my hands, paltry knave?

DRA. And I should be brought to my book-oath, sir.

WITHIN. What, Jeffrey?

DRA. Anon, anon.

JOHN. A plague upon your Jeffring; is your name Jeffrey?

DRA. Ay, and't please you, sir.

RICH. Why, gentle Jeffrey, then stay you awhile, What can you say, if you come to your book?

DRA. If I be pos'd upon a book, sir, though I be a poor 'prentice, I must speak the truth, and nothing but the truth, sir.

JOHN. And what's your truth, sir?

PUR. O, O my heart.

DRA. Marry, sir, this knight, this man of worship--

FAU. Well, what of me? what did my worship do?

DRA. Marry, ye came into the Bell--our room next the bar--with this honest man, as I take it.

FAU. As thou tak'st it?