A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 4

But whether they logicians be or no, Cynics they are, for they will snarl and bite; Right courtiers to flatter and to fawn; Valiant to set upon the[ir] enemies; Most faithful and most constant to their friends.

Nay, they are wise, as Homer witnesseth Who, talking of Ulysses' coming home, Saith all his household but Argus his dog Had quite forgot him: ay, his deep insight[65]

Nor Pallas' art in altering his shape, Nor his base weeds, nor absence twenty years, Could go beyond or any way delude.

That dogs physicians are, thus I infer; They are ne'er sick, but they know their disease, And find out means to ease them of their grief; Special good surgeons to cure dangerous wounds: For, stricken with a stake into the flesh, This policy they use to get it out: They trail one of their feet upon the ground, And gnaw the flesh about where the wound is Till it be clean drawn out: and then, because Ulcers and sores kept foul are hardly cur'd, They lick and purify it with their tongue, And well observe Hippocrates' old rule, The only medicine for the foot is rest: For if they have the least hurt in their feet, They bear them up and look they be not stirr'd.

When humours rise, they eat a sovereign herb, Whereby what cloys their stomachs they cast up; And as some writers of experience tell, They were the first invented vomiting.

Sham'st thou not, Autumn, unadvisedly To slander such rare creatures as they be?

SUM. We call'd thee not, Orion, to this end, To tell a story of dogs' qualities.

With all thy hunting how are we enrich'd?

What tribute pay'st thou us for thy high place?

ORION. What tribute should I pay you out of nought?

Hunters do hunt for pleasure, not for gain.

While dog-days last, the harvest safely thrives; The sun burns hot to finish up fruits' growth; There is no blood-letting to make men weak.

Physicians in their Cataposia Or little Elinctoria, Masticatorum, and Cataplasmata: Their gargarisms, clysters, and pitch'd-cloths, Their perfumes, syrups, and their triacles, Refrain to poison the sick patients, And dare not minister, till I be out.

Then none will bathe, and so are fewer drown'd.

All l.u.s.t is perilsome, therefore less us'd!

In brief, the year without me cannot stand.

Summer, I am thy staff and thy right hand.

SUM. A broken staff, a lame right hand I had, If thou wert all the stay that held me up, _Nihil violentum perpetuum_.

No violence that liveth to old age.

Ill-govern'd star, that never bod'st good luck, I banish thee a twelvemonth and a day Forth of my presence; come not in my sight, Nor show thy head so much as in the night.

ORION. I am content: though hunting be not out, We will go hunt in h.e.l.l for better hap.

One parting blow, my hearts, unto our friends, To bid the fields and huntsmen all farewell.

Toss up your bugle-horns unto the stars: Toil findeth ease, peace follows after wars.

[_Exit_.

[_Here they go out, blowing their horns, and hallooing as they came in_.

WILL SUM. Faith, this scene of Orion is right _prandium caninum_, a dog's dinner which, as it is without wine, so here's a coil about dogs without wit. If I had thought the ship of fools[66] would have stay'd to take in fresh water at the Isle of Dogs, I would have furnish'd it with a whole kennel of collections to the purpose. I have had a dog myself, that would dream and talk in his sleep, turn round like Ned fool, and sleep all night in a porridge-pot. Mark but the skirmish between Sixpence and the fox, and it is miraculous how they overcome one another in honourable courtesy. The fox, though he wears a chain, runs as though he were free; mocking us (as it is a crafty beast), because we, having a lord and master to attend on, run about at our pleasures, like masterless men. Young Sixpence, the best page his master hath, plays a little, and retires. I warrant he will not be far out of the way when his master goes to dinner. Learn of him, you diminutive urchins, how to behave yourselves in your vocation: take not up your standings in a nut-tree, when you should be waiting on my lord's trencher. Shoot but a bit at b.u.t.ts; play but a span at points. Whatever you do, _memento mori_--remember to rise betimes in the morning.

SUM. Vertumnus, call Harvest.

VER. Harvest, by west and by north, by south and by east, Show thyself like a beast.

Goodman Harvest, yeoman, come in and say what you can. Boom for the scythe and the sickle there.

_Enter_ HARVEST, _with a scythe on his neck, and all his reapers with sickles, and a great black bowl with a posset in it, borne before him; they come in singing.

The Song.

Merry, merry, merry: cheery, cheery, cheery, Trowl the blade bowl[67] to me; Hey derry, derry, with a poup and a lerry, I'll trowl it again to thee:

Hooky, hooky, we have shorn, And we have bound, And we have brought Harvest Home to town_.

SUM. Harvest, the bailiff of my husbandry, What plenty hast thou heap'd into our barns?

I hope thou hast sped well, thou art so blithe.

HAR. Sped well or ill, sir, I drink to you on the same.

Is your throat clear to help us sing, _Hooky, hooky?

[Here they all sing after him.

Hooky, hooky, we have shorn, And we have bound; And we have brought Harvest Home to town_.

AUT. Thou Corydon, why answer'st not direct?

HAR. Answer? why, friend, I am no tapster, to say, Anon, anon, sir:[68]

but leave you to molest me, goodman tawny-leaves, for fear (as the proverb says, leave is light) so I mow off all your leaves with my scythe.

WIN. Mock not and mow[69] not too long; you were best not,[70]

For fear we whet your scythe upon your pate.

SUM. Since thou art so perverse in answering, Harvest, hear what complaints are brought to me.

Thou art accused by the public voice For an engrosser of the common store; A carl that hast no conscience nor remorse, But dost impoverish the fruitful earth, To make thy garners rise up to the heavens.

To whom giv'st thou? who feedeth at thy board?

No alms, but [an] unreasonable gain Digests what thy huge iron teeth devour: Small beer, coa.r.s.e bread, the hind's and beggar's cry, Whilst thou withholdest both the malt and flour, And giv'st us bran and water (fit for dogs).

HAR. Hooky, hooky! if you were not my lord, I would say you lie. First and foremost, you say I am a grocer. A grocer is a citizen: I am no citizen, therefore no grocer. A h.o.a.rder up of grain: that's false; for not so much for my elbows eat wheat every time I lean upon them.[71] A carl: that is as much as to say, a coneycatcher of good fellowship. For that one word you shall pledge me a carouse: eat a spoonful of the curd to allay your choler. My mates and fellows, sing no more _Merry, merry_, but weep out a lamentable _Hooky, hooky_, and let your sickles cry--

_Sick, sick, and very sick, And side, and for the time; For Harvest your master is Abusd without reason or rhyme_.

I have no conscience, I? I'll come nearer to you, and yet I am no scab, nor no louse. Can you make proof wherever I sold away my conscience, or p.a.w.ned it? Do you know who would buy it, or lend any money upon it? I think I have given you the pose. Blow your nose, Master Constable. But to say that I impoverish the earth, that I rob the man in the moon, that I take a purse on the top of St Paul's steeple; by this straw and thread, I swear you are no gentleman, no proper man, no honest man, to make me sing, _O man in desperation_.[72]

SUM. I must give credit unto what I hear!

For other than I hear detract[73] I nought.

HAR. Ay, ay; nought seek, nought have: An ill-husband is the first step to a knave. You object, I feed none at my board: I am sure, if you were a hog, you would never say so: for, sir reverence of their worships, they feed at my stable-table every day. I keep good hospitality for hens and geese: gleaners are oppressed with heavy burthens of my bounty: They take me and eat me to the very bones, Till there be nothing left but gravel and stones; And yet I give no alms, but devour all! They say, what a man cannot hear well, you hear with your harvest-ears; but if you heard with your harvest-ears, that is, with the ears of corn which my alms-cart scatters, they would tell you that I am the very poor man's box of pity; that there are more holes of liberality open in Harvest's heart than in a sieve or a dust-box. Suppose you were a craftsman or an artificer, and should come to buy corn of me, you should have bushels of me; not like the baker's loaf, that should weigh but six ounces, but usury for your money, thousands for one. What would you have more? Eat me out of my apparel,[74]

if you will, if you suspect me for a miser.

SUM. I credit thee, and think thou wert belied.

But tell me, hast thou a good crop this year?

HAR. Hay, good[75] plenty, which was so sweet and so good, that when I jerted my whip, and said to my horses but _hay_, they would go as they were mad.

SUM. But _hay_ alone thou sayst not, but _hay-ree_[76].

HAR. I sing hay-ree, that is, hay and rye; meaning that they shall have hay and rye, their bellyfuls, if they will draw hard. So we say, _Wa hay_, when they go out of the way; meaning that they shall want hay if they will not do as they should do.

SUM. How thrive thy oats, thy barley, and thy wheat?

HAR. My oats grow like a cup of beer that makes the brewer rich; my rye like a cavalier, that wears a huge feather in his cap, but hath no courage in his heart; hath[77] a long stalk, a goodly husk, but nothing so great a kernel as it was wont. My barley, even as many a novice, is cross-bitten,[78] as soon as ever he peeps out of the sh.e.l.l, so was it frost-bitten in the blad, yet pick'd up his crumbs again afterward, and bad "Fill pot, hostess," in spite of a dear year. As for my peas and my vetches, they are famous, and not to be spoken of.

AUT. Ay, ay, such country-b.u.t.ton'd caps as you Do want no fetches[79] to undo great towns.

HAR. Will you make good your words that we want no fetches?

WIN. Ay, that he shall.