Mr. B. I am content. What, women! will you play? Mrs. B. Nor I, but that I think she'll play me false. Mr. G. I'll see she shall not. Mrs. B. Nay, sir! she will be sure you shall not see. She hath such close conveyance in her play. Mr. G. Is she so cunning grown? Come, come, let's see! Mrs. G. Yea, Mistress Barnes! will ye not house your jests, But let them roam abroad so carelessly? (Aside. Faith, if your jealous tongue utter another, I'll cross ye with one, an ye were my mother.) Come! shall we play? Mrs. B. Ay! what shall we play a game? Mrs. G. A pound a game. Mr. G. How? wife! Mrs. G. 'Faith, husband! not a farthing less. Mr. G. It is too much. A shilling were good game. You have been oft ill husbands. Let's alone. Mr. B. Wife! will you play so much? Mrs. B. I would be loath to be so frank a gamester I'll play a pound a game as well as she. Mr. B. Go to! you'll have your will.— Mrs. B. Come! there's my stake! Mrs. G. And there's mine! Mrs. B. Throw for the dice! Ill luck then! they are yours.— Mr. B. Master Goursey! who says that gambling's bad When such good angels walk 'twixt every cast? Mr. G. This is not noble sport, but royal play. Mr. B. It must be so where royals walk so fast.- Mrs. G. Why so I do. Mrs. B. Where stands your man? Mrs. G. In his right place. Mrs. B. Good faith, I think ye play me foul an ace. Mrs. B. Peace, husband! peace! I'll not be judged by you. Mr. G. Well to your game! we will not trouble ye. The husbands stand aside. Mrs. G. Where stands your man now? Mrs. B. Mrs. G. It stands between the points. Doth he not stand right? And that's my spite. Mrs. B. No! I beshrew the dice That turn you up more at once than me at twice. Mrs. B. Your game, your game at tables. Mrs. G. Well, Mistress! well! I have read Æsop's Fables, And know your moral meaning well enough. Mrs. B. Lo! you'll be angry now. Here's good stuff.- Mr. B. Your wife's the fairest for it. Mrs. B. Ay! in your eye. Mrs. G. How do you mean? Mrs. B. He holds you fairer for't than I. Mrs. G. For what, forsooth? Mrs. B. Good gamester! for your game. Mr. B. Well, try it out! 'tis all but in the bearing.— Mrs. B. Nay! that's not so; you bear one man too many. Mr. B. (aside.) Beshrew me, but my wife's jests grow too bitter. Old malice lies embowel'd in her tongue; And new-hatch'd hate makes every jest a wrong.— Mrs. G. Look ye, Mistress! now I hit ye. Mrs. B. Why, ay! you never use to miss a blot. Mrs. G. How mean ye? Mistress Barnes! Mrs. B. That Mistress Goursey's in the hitting vein. Mrs. B. Ay! ay! my man, my man: but had I known, Mrs. B. Right, by the Lord! a plague upon the bones! Mr. B. How now? wife! Mr. G. Why, what's the matter? woman! Mrs. G. It is no matter, I am Mrs. B. Ay! you are. Mrs. G. What am I? Mrs. B. Why, that's as you will be ever. Mrs. G. That's every day as good as Barnes' wife. Mrs. B. And better too: then what needs all this trouble? Mr. B. Wife! go to! have regard to what you say! But keep within the bounds of modesty! For ill-report doth like a bailiff stand To pound the straying and the wit-lost tongue, Well, wife! you know it is no honest part To entertain such guests with jests and wrongs. Whenas they hear that you fell out at dinner? Mrs. B. God's lord! be ruled! be ruled! What! think ye I have such a baby's wit, And I know when to speak. Shall I be chid Mrs. G. What a? Nay! Mistress! speak it out! Mr. G. Peace! wife! be quiet! Mr. B. O persuade ! persuade ! Wife! Mistress Goursey! shall I win your thoughts Wife! if you love your credit, leave this strife, And come shake hands with Mistress Goursey here ! Mrs. B. Shall I shake hands? Let her go shake her heels! She gets nor hands nor friendship at my hands. And so, sir! while I live I will take heed What guests I bid again unto my house. Mr. B. Impatient woman! will ye be so stiff In this absurdness? Mrs. B. I am impatient now I speak. But, sir! I'll tell you more another time. She leaves the room. Mrs. G. Nay! she might stay: I will not long be here To trouble her. And the quarrel so begun goes on, parting old friends and young lovers, culminating at last in a fight between the two angry women. THOMAS DEKKER. 1570-5-1640? THE SHOEMAKERS' HOLIDAY. The argument of the play, as set down by the Author:-"Sir Hugh LACIE, Earl of Lincoln, had a young gentleman of his own name, his near kinsman, that loved the LORD MAYOR'S daughter of London; to prevent and cross which love, the Earl caused his kinsman to be sent Colonel of a company into France: who resigned his place to another gentleman his friend, and came disguised like a Dutch Shoemaker, to the house of SIMON EYRE in Tower Street, who served the Mayor and his household with shoes." Our scene is EYRE's shop, present his foreman FIRKE, HODGE and other journeymen; EYRE, and his WIFE just entering. Firke. Mum! here comes my Dame, and my Master! She'll Firke. Smart for me, Dame! why, Dame! why? Hodge. Master! I hope you'll not suffer my Dame to take down your journeymen. Firke. If she take me down, I'll take her up; yea! and take her down too, a button-hole lower. Eyre. Peace, Firke! Not I, Hodge! by the life of Pharoah, by the Lord of Ludgate, by this beard, every hair whereof I value at a king's ransom, she shall not meddle with you. Peace, you bombast-cotton-candle quean! away, Queen of Clubs! quarrel not with me and my men, with me and my fine Firke. Wife. Yea, yea, man! You may use me as you please. But let that pass! |