BOMELIO. Take comfort, daughter mine, for thou hast found him then, That is of others all that live the most accursed'st man. O, I have heard it said, our sorrows are the less, If in our anguish we may find a partner in distress.

FIDELIA. O father! but my grief relieved cannot be: My hope is fled, my help in vain, my hurt my death must be. Yet not the common death of life that here is led, But such a death as ever kills, and yet is never dead.

BOMELIO. Fair maid, I have been well acquainted with that fit: Sometime injured with the like, I learn to comfort it. Come, rest thee here with me, with[in] this hollow cave; There will I reckon up at large the horrors that I have.

FIDELIA. I thank you, father; but I must needs walk another way.

BOMELIO. Nay, gentle damsel, be content a while with me to stay.

FIDELIA. The longer that I stay with you, the greater is my grief.

BOMELIO. The longer that you stay with me, the sooner is relief.

FIDELIA. I am provided other ways; good father, let me go.

BOMELIO. To him that off'reth thee no wrong, be not uncourteous so.

FIDELIA. Perhaps another time I'll come, and visit thee.

BOMELIO. Both then and now, if so you please, you shall right welcome be.

[Enter ARMENIO.

ARMENIO. Shall she be welcome unto thee, old wretch, indeed? I'll welcome both of you: come, maid, away with speed.

FIDELIA. O brother!

ARMENIO. Brother! Peace!

FIDELIA. Good father, help me now.

BOMELIO. Have I no weapons, wretch that I am? Well, youth, I'll meet with you.

ARMENIO. Must you be gone? is this your meeting-place? Come, get you home; and pack you, sir, apace. Were't not for reverence of thine age, I swear, Thou should'st accurse the time I met thee here. But, i'faith, sister, my father shall welcome you.

BOMELIO. Go tell thine errand, if thou canst.

FIDELIA. Hermione, adieu; Ten times adieu: farewell for ever now.

ARMENIO. I thank thee. Fortune, that thou didst this deed allow. [Exeunt.

BOMELIO. Thou heaven and earth, and ye eternal lamps That restless keep his course in order due; Thou, Phoebe bright, that scatterest the damps Of darksome night, I make my plaints to you. And thou, Alecto, hearken to my call; Let fall a serpent from thy snaky hair; Tisiphone, be swift to plague them all, That make a pastime of my care and fear! And thou, O Jove, that by thy great foresight Rulest the earth and reign'st above the skies; That wreak'st the wrongs of them that master right Against the wretches that thy name despise. And Rhadamanth, thou judge of hateful hell, Where damned ghosts continual moaning make, Send forth a fury that may further well The just revenge that here I undertake. Henceforth accursed be thou evermore, Accursed all thou tak'st in hand to do, The time, the day, accursed be the hour, The earth, the air, and all that 'long thereto! Dole and despair henceforth be thy delight, Wrapped now in present and woes to come, To wail the day and weep the weary night; And from this time henceforth I strike thee dumb. Think'st thou I knew thee not? Yes, well, i-wis, And that thy sister, daughter to my prince. Now brag abroad what thou hast got by this: So live thou dumb: that be thy recompense; And when thy ghost forsakes thy body quite, Vengeance I wish upon thy soul to light.

Enter HERMIONE.

HERMIONE. Good even, good father: pardon my rudeness here.

BOMELIO. O joy and grief! I will dissemble yet my cheer. [Aside.

HERMIONE. Good sir, methought I heard you speak of one right now, Daughter unto a prince: that made me bold to trouble you.

BOMELIO. I spake of such an one indeed.

HERMIONE. Why, do you know her name?

BOMELIO. Fidelia. Why do you ask? What, do you know the same?

HERMIONE. Yea, father, that I do: I know, and knew her well. But did you wish those plagues to light on her, I pray you tell?

BOMELIO. On her! the gods forbid; but on that wretched wight Her brother, that from hence right now perforce convey'd her quite.

HERMIONE. Alas! what do I hear? Good father, tell me true, Hath she been here?

BOMELIO. She was.

HERMIONE. She was! Where is she now?

BOMELIO. Gone back again.

HERMIONE. Gone back! With whom?

BOMELIO. Her brother.

HERMIONE. Her brother! How?

BOMELIO. He secret watched here; and when she should have stay'd Awhile with me, he rushed out and her from hence convey'd.

HERMIONE. Confounded in my grief! And can it suff'red be? And shall he make a brag at home of his despite to me? First let me die a thousand deaths; draw, run and meet with him.

BOMELIO. Tarry, my son; it is in vain: they are now[97] at home, I ween. Let him alone; he will not make great reck'ning of his gain.

HERMIONE. Wretch that thou art for lingering! everlasting shall be thy pain; Continual thy complaint, aye-during still thy woe, Why mad'st thou not more haste to come, and first of all to know?

BOMELIO. Content thyself, my son; torment not so thy mind: Assuage the sorrows of thy heart, in hope some help to find.

HERMIONE. Some help! O father, no; all help comes too late. I am the man of all alive[98] the most unfortunate.

BOMELIO. I[99] see thy loyalty, I see thy faithful love, Else never durst thou this attempt adventured to prove. Take comfort thereby, my son.

HERMIONE. I am the man, I say, That Love and Fortune once advanc'd, but now have cast away. The joy, the sweet delight, the rest I had before, Fell to my lot that now the loss, my plague, might be the more. O Fortune! froward dame, wilt thou be never sure? Most constant in inconstancy I see thou wilt endure.

BOMELIO. Accuse not Fortune, son, but blame thy love therefor; For I perceive thou art in love, and then[ce] thy trouble is more.

HERMIONE. Father, if this be love: to lead a life in thrall, To think the rankest poison sweet, to feed on honey-gall; To be at war and peace, to be in joy and grief, Then farthest from the hope of help, where nearest is relief; To live and die, to freeze and sweat, to melt and not to move; If it be this to live in love, father, I am in love.

BOMELIO. Why did you not possess your lady then at home?

HERMIONE. At home! where is it, sir? alas! for I have none. Brought up I know not how, and born I know not where, When I was in my childhood given unto my prince, then here, Of[100] whom I cannot tell, wherefore I little know. But now cast out to seek my fate, unhappy where I go. Then dare I not be seen; here must I not abide. Did ever more calamities unto a man betide?

BOMELIO. My heart will burst, if I forbear amidst this misery. Behold, thy father thou hast found, my son Hermione! Thy father thou hast found, thy father—I am he.

HERMIONE. But is it possible my father you should be?

BOMELIO. Even from my first exile here have I liv'd forlorn, And once I gave thee to my prince, for thou wast noble-born; And now he gives me thee, and welcome home again!

HERMIONE. This is my recompense for all my former pain. Dear father, glad I am to find you here alive: By your example I may learn with froward chance to strive.

BOMELIO. Come, son, content thee now within a cave to dwell. I will provide for thy redress, and all things shall be well. A darksome den must be thy lofty lodging now.

HERMIONE. Father, I am well content to take such part as you. Here is a breathing-fit[101] after hard mischance. O gracious Venus! once vouchsafe thy servants to advance.

Strike up a noise of viols: VENUS' triumph.

[Enter VENUS.]

VENUS. Behold what Love can work for their delight That put affiance in her deity. Though heaven and earth against them bend their might, Yet in the end theirs is the victory: I will in them, and they triumph in me. Let Fortune frown, I will uphold their state, Yea, seem they never so unfortunate.

FORTUNE. Brag not too much: what, think'st thou I have done? Nay, soft, not yet: my sport is not begun.

[Music, Music.



THE FOURTH ACT.

Enter PENULO and LENTULO.

PENULO. Come away with thy basket, thou loggerheaded jack. I think thy basket be cloven to thy back.

LENTULO. My back and my basket; look, dost thou not see, When my basket is on my back, then my back is under me? And, O this basket, wott'st thou wherefore I keep it so close? For all the love of my heart within this basket goes.

PENULO. Thy love, with a wanion![102] are you in love, sir, then, with your leave?

LENTULO. What an ass art thou: couldst thou not all this time perceive, That I never sleep but when I am not awake, And I eat and I eat till my belly would ache? And I fall away like a gammon of bacon. Am I not in love when I am in this tacon?[103] Call'st thou this the court? would I had ne'er come thither To be caught in Cupido. I faint, I faint! O, gather me, gather me! [Pretends to swoon.

PENULO. Come up, and be hang'd. Alack, poor Lentulo! [Aside. Tell me with whom thou art in love so.

LENTULO. You kill me, and you make me tell her name. No, no. O terrible torments, that trounce in my toe! Love, my masters, is a parlous matter! how it runs out of my nose! It's now in my back, now in my belly; O, now in the bottom of my hose.

PENULO. The pestilence! there, what is she, my boy? I'll make her love thee again, be she never so coy.

LENTULO. Wilt thou so? O gods of love! that word plucks up my heart, I'll tell thee, sirrah—even as we two at the court-gate did wait, Did'st thou not mark a goodly lady, O lady, lady![104] Why should not I as well as he, my dear lady? Did'st thou not see her come in with a golden lock? She had a fine gown on her back, and a passing nether-stock.

PENULO. Well, sir, proceed: I remember her very well. It's the Duke's daughter the sot means, I can tell. [Aside.

LENTULO. Now, sirrah, there was a little dappard[105] ass with her, that went before: When I saw him, I came in sneaking more and more. To have heard them talk; ah! crouching on is good; For when he had talkd awhile, I had come in with, ay forsooth, no forsooth, that I would, And she would have look'd upon me: then more 'quaintance we should have.

PENULO. An excellent device. Ah, sirrah! you are an excellent knave.

LENTULO. Tu autem, tu[106] autem: I have it in me. But, sirrah, wott'st thou what now? As God juggle me, when I came near them, I tell thee true, The same squall[107] did nothing but thus: I know what's what; And I ran before him, and did thus too. [Strikes PENULO.

PENULO. A pox upon you, what meant you by that?

LENTULO. What mean I? marry, sir, he meant to give her a box on the ear, if she spake to me, And I meant to give him another box on the ear, sir, he should see.

PENULO. You should have bestow'd it where you meant it, then. Must you strike me, and mean other men?

LENTULO. 'Twas nothing, fellow, but for 'sample's sake.

PENULO. Well, sir, I am content this once it to take. But, sirrah, you must know that squall is the duke's son, That now by mischance is stroken stark dumb, In fetching home his sister, that ran away from hence.

LENTULO. Is she then a runaway? O passing wench! I thought as much; now, good Lord, to see That she and I now akin should be. O cuckally[108] luck! O heavy chance, O! I runaway, she runaway: go together, go!

PENULO. But all the court laments, and sore weeps for it.

LENTULO. All the court? thou liest: the Court-gate weeps not a whit.

Enter BOMELIO, like a counterfeit Physician.

BOMELIO. Bien[109] venu, chi diue ve mi nou intendite signeur, no. I have a piece of work in hand now, that all the world must not know.

LENTULO. Cock's nowns, the devil! a-God's name, what's he?

PENULO. Some Spaniard or foreign stranger he seems to be.

BOMELIO. Dio vou salvi, signore, e voutre gratio pavero mouchato.

LENTULO. I have no pleasure in thee: I pray thee, get thee gone.

PENULO. What would you, sir?

BOMELIO. Monsieur, par ma foy, am one have the grand knowledge in the skience of fiskick. Can make dem hole have been all life sick; Can make to seco see, and te dumb speak; Can make te lame go, and be ne'er so weak.

PENULO. Can you so, sir? what countryman are you, I pray?

BOMELIO. E be Italian, Neapolitan: e come a Venice[110] a toder day.

LENTULO. And you can speak any pedlar's French,[111] tell me what I say.

BOMELIO. Ne point entende, signior.

LENTULO. You are an ass. I can spose him, I.

BOMELIO. Monsieur, parle petit: e heard now hereby, Dere be a nobel man dumb, dat made me stay: If me no help him, me carry no head away.

PENULO. Will you venture your head to help him, indeed? Well, sir, I'll tell the Duke with all possible speed. Tarry me[112] here: I'll return by and by. Excellent luck! it falls out happily. [Exit.

LENTULO. Will you venture your head, sirrah, blockhead you?

BOMELIO. You be de ass-head, me can tell dat's true.

LENTULO. Swounds! O, but that I am in love, thou shouldst know What 'twere to move my vengeance so!

BOMELIO. Come heter, sirrah; me speak with you: me can tell You are de runaway from your ma'ter; ah, very well.

LENTULO. You gods and devils eke, what do you mean to do? Shall I be known a runaway, for and to shame me too? I a runaway, sirrah? go with your uplandish, go: I am no runaway, I would you should know.

BOMELIO. You no runaway from your ma'ter in de wood, When he send you to market? Ah, no point good!

LENTULO. O furies fell, and hags of hell, with all that therein be! What, do ye mean to shame me clean, and tell him then of me? Hear you, sirrah: you are no devil; mass, and I wist you were, I would lamback[113] the devil out of you, for all your gear.

BOMELIO. Diavolo? ah, fie! me no diavolo, me very fury. Let-a me see your basket: what meat you buy?

LENTULO. Look in my basket! O villain, rascal, tarry, stay! Hath opened it? out alas! my love is quite flown away. My love is gone, my love is gone out of the basket there, Prepare therefore to kill thyself: farewell, my friends so dear.

BOMELIO. Ah, vat-a you do, man?

LENTULO. Uplandish, hence away.

BOMELIO. Vat-a you do, man? no point yourself to slay. Come de be hang-a.[114]

LENTULO. Alas! O my neck, alas! O frying-pan of my head! uplandish, now, cham worse than ever was. Adieu! farewell, farewell, my love.

BOMELIO. Your love? if you be in love, den do as I bid do, And you shall 've[115] your love away wit' you, too.

LENTULO. Uplandish, O my friend! if thou do so for me, Hold here my hand: thy fellow, friend, and partner will I be.

BOMELIO. Go you ten, and get-a me some fine, fine, fine colosse, And wit' te marigol' leaf all-to mus your nose.

LENTULO. Ah, my nose, my nose! O God, is my nose in my hand? Uplandish, leave your signs; without them I can understand.

BOMELIO. And come a me heter wit' a gold ring in your mouth fast: E make de lady go wit' you weter list at last.

LENTULO. O, let me 'brace thy cursed corpse! O, now I live again! I will go get apparel straight, although be to my pain. 'Tis th'apparel, a marigol', and a ring.

BOMELIO. Noting else, and you tem bring.

LENTULO. Bring them? yes, I warrant thee, I'll bring them by and by. Now, goodman Venus, lend thy hand, and lady Vulcan high. [Exit.

BOMELIO. A good beginning. I am not descri'd: They know not me, but I know them too well. Disguised thus their counsels may be tri'd, And I may safe return unto my cell; Where I have left my solitary son, 'Twixt hope and fear, in doubt and danger too, Till I return to tell him what is done, Which for his sake I have devis'd to do. Eternal gods, that know my true intent, And how unjustly wronged I have been, Vouchsafe all secret dangers to prevent, And further me, as yet you do begin. Sufficeth you my travail heretofore, My hunger, cold, and all my former pain. Here make an end, and plague me now no more: Contented, then, at rest I will remain. But hark! some comes: dissemble, then, again.

Enter the DUKE, his Son, and PENULO.

PENULO. My lord, yon is the man whom I have told to you.[116]

DUKE. My friend, I am inform'd that by thy worthy skill In physic, thou art able to recover at thy will The strangest cures that be: if this be true indeed, As grant the gods it may, I pray thee then with speed Provide for our relief: recover this my son, Unto his speech, whom here thou seest before us to be dumb.

BOMELIO. You no take care for dat, me nobel prince; Me make him speak again, or me ne'er come hence.

DUKE. Thrice welcome, then, to us: despatch it out of hand, And thou shalt bless the time that e'er thou cam'st unto our land.

BOMELIO. Let-a me see him. You hear me? Ah, dat vel: turn heter; no like it truly.

PENULO. By the mass, this physic is an excellent art; It picks such a deal of gold out of every part. [Aside.

BOMELIO. Vell, vell; me now see vat this matter mean. Nobel prince, dis ting be done by mashic clean. 'Tis true dat me tell, me perceive it plain: No natural 'pediment, but cunshering certain.

DUKE. O double, treble woe! my son, how cometh this? He saith by magic it is wrought, unnatural it is. Dost thou remember aught, that so it should appear, Or can'st thou any reason make it should be true we hear? What means he by these signs? can any one express?

PENULO. If you give me leave, sir, to say as I guess, Methinks he should mean there was some old man, That threatened to be revenged on him then. 'Tis so you may see: he confirms it again.

DUKE. Condemned be that man to everlasting pain, Perpetual his annoy, continual his unrest! O, that I had him here to plague as I thought best! But, learned sir, is there no way, is there no remedy? Can there be found out no device the charm to mollify? Good sir, if anything, whatever that it be, Let spare no cost, my will is such, I will allow it thee.

BOMELIO. Indeed, and by my trot', dar is o' thing, But me am vera let' de same to bring; Yit wit'out dat me am seawer,[117] me tell, Your son again be never more well.

DUKE. Good father, tell it me: whatever should befall, Mine be the danger, mine the loss, you shall be pleased for all. In any case, express it then.

BOMELIO. Fait', then me will. If you no have your son be so dumb still. You mus' get-a de grand enemy dat he now have, And in de tenderest part his dearest blood crave: Derwit' mus' you wash his tongue-a string. Noting but dat will his speech bring.

DUKE. The dearest blood in the tenderest part Of his great enemy? O, grief to my heart! Will nothing else cure his disease?

BOMELIO. Noting, by my trot'; but do as you please.

DUKE. My son, my wretched son! and whom dost thou suppose Thy greatest enemy amongst thy father's foes? It is Hermione: 'tis he, and none but he. He hath now proved himself, indeed, thy greatest enemy. Where lives the wretch? That he were ta'en, and we revenged be?

PENULO. And must his dearest blood, in his tenderest part, Help him in his speech? that's an excellent art. But what part is that, my masters, now about a man That is the tenderest? guess it, and you can. I can tell what part a woman thinks tenderest to be, And there is dear blood in it—but benedicite. And do you think, sir, there is none but he, That can be thought his greatest enemy? I have heard it said, there is no hate Like to a brother or sister's, if they fall at debate. I will not say, but you may think it as well as I, If you mark since her coming home his sister's cruelty, And the continual rancour she beareth unto him.

BOMELIO. Is te maid his sister? be Got, den, he say tim. Bin mine fait' and trot', ser, 'tis true dat he say: His sister be his greatest enemy to-day.

DUKE. And must I kill my daughter to help my son to speech? I'll never do it.

PENULO. See how a doth beseech!— I would all our daggers were of his quality, They should not brawl with a man, then, so for his money.

BOMELIO. You kill your daughter! fie, no point so. Her dearest blood in tenderest part me will show: 'Tis in her paps, her dugs, for der be de tenderest part, And de blood de dearest; it comes from de heart. So she be prick'd a little under de breast, And wash his tongue-a, he speak wit' de best.

DUKE. This thing is somewhat easier, if she consent thereto; If not, I can enforce and make her it to do. Penulo, despatch, and to my marshal bear This signet for a token that he send her to us here.

PENULO. I will, my lord. [Exit.

DUKE. He that hath felt the zeal, the tender love and care: The fear, the grief that parents dear unto their children bear, He may, and only he, conceive mine, inward woe, Distracted thus 'twixt two extremes that hale me to and fro. Sometime mistrusting that, and then misliking this— Have parents such a cause of joy, or is it such a bliss To see the offspring of their seed in health before them now? O, little know they what mishap awaits the death for you. But, son, my dearest son, recomfort thou thy mind; Fight against fortune and thy fates, when they be most unkind. And since I understand what may recover thee, Make sure account of it, myself will do it presently. But, sir, I pray you, lest my daughter should by fear Or fright[118] of it be sore abash'd, be always ready here To stench her wound, when you see good.

BOMELIO. Awe, awe, she lose but little blood: Two or tree ounces sha' be de very most. Yonder she come, is no she?

DUKE. The same is she.

Enter FIDELIA with PENULO.

FIDELIA. Father, they say you sent for me.

DUKE. Yea, daughter, I did so; And mark what I shall say to thee, the cause thereof to show. Thou seest thy brother here?

FIDELIA. In name, but not in kind.

DUKE. Well, hold thy peace, I say, and let me tell my mind. Thy brother here, I say, thou seest him stricken dumb, And, as this learned man declares by magic it is done. But yet there is a way—one thing—he telleth me, That will restore him to his speech that resteth inwardly; Which, though I might command, yet I intreat to know, Be not so stubborn or unkind thy furtherance to show.

FIDELIA. Noble father, you cannot say, but hitherto I have Been most obedient to your will in all things that you crave; But herein pardon me, if this I do deny: I never can be made to grant help to mine enemy, My deadly enemy, worse than my mortal foe, And such an one is he to me, for I have found him so; That laboured evermore to cross me with despite, But I am glad I may so well his courtesy requite.

PENULO. A right woman—either love like an angel, Or hate like a devil—in extremes so to dwell. [Aside.

DUKE. But, daughter, I command, and I thy father, too.

FIDELIA. And I, your daughter, anything that lawful is to do.

DUKE. Is it not right and lawful both to help thy brother's woe?

FIDELIA. It's neither right nor lawful, sir, to help my deadly foe.

DUKE. If he have been thy foe, he may become thy friend.

FIDELIA. And when I see that come to pass, I may some succour send.

DUKE. But wherefore shouldst thou be so cruel unto him?

FIDELIA. Because unto my dearest friend so spiteful he hath been.

DUKE. Nay, stubborn girl, but then I will constrain thee, I. Lay hold on her: myself will then, sith she doth it deny.

FIDELIA. Assist me, righteous gods, in this extremity.

BOMELIO. [To DUKE, aside.] Ah, pardon-a, pardon-a: please you, let me a while wit' her alone, And me warrant me make her consent to you anon; Else me give her a powder with a little drink, Whish make her sleep; and den, when she noting tink, Wit' de sharp rasher, me prick her by and by, And stop it again, and she no feel why. Please you begone, and let us two alone here. Me make her consent, you no point fear.

DUKE. Do it, Master Doctor, and I am bound to you for aye. Ungracious girl, that dost deny the father to obey. Look to her, sir, and send me word when thou hast done the deed.

[Exeunt.

BOMELIO. Awe, awe; i'fait', i'fait', me make her bleed.

FIDELIA. O wretched girl! what hope remains behind? What comfort can recomfort now thy mind? Forsaken thus of father and of friend, Why seek'st thou not to bring thy life to end? Can greater woes befall unto thy share? Come, gentleman, despatch, and do not spare: If it be so his pleasure and thy will, 1 am content my dearest blood to spill. Defer not then: hold, take thine aim at me, And strike me through; for I desire to die.

BOMELIO. The heavens forbid, fair maiden; no, not I: I am thy friend, I am no enemy. Fear not, stand up: it is only for thy sake That I this toil and travail undertake. Thy love, my son, is at my cave with me, Safe and in health, long looking there for thee. Trust to my words, fair maid, for I am he, That overtook thee in the wood last day; And till thy coming, Hermione, I say, Is in my cave—

FIDELIA. What joyful words be these! And is Hermione your son? do, then, as you shall please. Behold me ready, prest to follow any way: Good father, do not thus delude a simple maid, I pray. I trust unto your words: my life is in your power, And till I see Hermione, each minute is an hour.

BOMELIO. Daughter, dismay no whit; but trust to me; What I have said performed thou shalt see. I have dissembled with thy father here, The better that I might with thee confer. And since thou art so faithful to thy love, As I may well report I did thee prove, Let us be gone now closely as we may.

FIDELIA. Yea, my good father, even when you will, I pray. Thrice-blessed be the hour I met with you! My father now and brother both adieu: Unkind to her, most kind that you should be, I leave them all, my dear, to come to thee.

[Exeunt.

Enter HERMIONE, with books under his arm.

HERMIONE. O gods! that deepest griefs are felt in closest smart; That in the smiling countenance may lurk the wounded heart, 1 see the noble mind can counterfeit a bliss, When overwhelmed with a care his soul perplexed is. It is for dastard knights, that stretch on feather beds, Despairing in adversity so low to hang their heads. The better born, the more his magnanimity: The fiercer fight, the deeper wound, the more undaunted he. So I perceive it now; I well perceive it here: What I myself could not, I learn by thee, my father dear. He that in golden age, I mean his lusty youth, Was thought to spend in pleasure's lap without regard of ruth; He that had lost his time as bravely as the best, Only devising how to make his joys surmount the rest: Not in that wanton youth, not in that pleasant mate, Could Fortune with her fickleness his wonted mind abate. He rather challengeth to do her very worst, And makes a semblance of delight, although indeed accurs'd. My father thereupon devised how he might Revenge and wreak himself on her, that wrought him such despite: And therefore, I perceive, he strangely useth it, Enchanting and transforming that his fancy did not fit. As I may see by these his vile blasphemous books; My soul abhors as often as mine eye upon them looks. What gain can countervail the danger that they bring, For man to sell his soul to sin, is't not a grievous thing? To captivate his mind, and all the gifts therein, To that which is of others all the most ungracious sin; Which so entangleth them that thereunto apply, As at the last forsaketh them in their extremity. Such is this art, such is the study of this skill, This supernatural device, this magic, such it will. In ransacking his cave these books I lighted on, And with his leave I'll be so bold, while he abroad is gone, To burn them all; for best that serveth for this stuff. I doubt not but at his return to please him well enough. And, gentlemen, I pray, and so desire I shall, You would abhor this study, for it will confound you all. [Exit.

Enter LENTULO with a ring in his mouth, a marigold in his hand, a fair suit of apparel on his back; after he hath a while made dumb-show, PENULO cometh, running in with two or three other.

PENULO. Run, for the love of God! search, villains, out of hand: Run, I say, rascals: look about ye; how, do you stand? The Duke's daughter is gone again, and all the court is in an uproar. A pox on such a physician; he shall counsel her no more.

SERJEANT. See you, Master Penulo, who is that yonder so brave?

PENULO. Cock's blood, you villain! what do you here, you slave? Swounds! hath robb'd the Duke of a suit of apparel, Why speak you not, sirrah? yea, will you not tell? Lay him on, my masters: spare him not, I say. Speak you by signs? One of you pull the ring away.

SERJEANT. Cock's blood, my finger! a bites as pestilence[119] there.

LENTULO. What mean you, my masters; what mean ye here?

PENULO. Have you found your tongue, sir! O, very well. I pray you, sir, where had you this suit of apparel?

LENTULO. This 'parel? what, and I stole it: what's that to thee?

PENULO. Marry, sir, no more but that hang'd you shall be.

LENTULO. Then, all the world shall see there is somewhat in me. When I am hang'd, O, I shall swing lustily. Mass, I shall do him great credit that hangs me. But if I may be hanged by an attorney, I will desire thee the place to supply.

PENULO. Yes, marry will I, for courtesy sake. Come on your way, sir: the pains I will take To bring you before the Duke, that he may see, What a proper man in his apparel you be.

LENTULO. Wilt thou, faith? mass, I thank thee heartily; But I must talk a little with our uplandish here, And then I'll go with thee, faith, anywhere.

PENULO. Uplandish, you rascal! where is he now? He's gone, and stole away the Duke's daughter with him too.

LENTULO. O my heart! what do you say?

PENULO. Marry, that together they be both run away.

LENTULO. Nay, then, have after ye; behind I'll not stay.

PENULO. What! no such haste with you, sir, I pray.

LENTULO. And is my lady gone and fled? O, take me up, for I am dead. Farewell, my marigold; O villain, caitiff, he! By bones and stones, and all the moons, I will avenged be.

PENULO. You shall be revenged, sir, that shall you presently. Away, away with him to the Duke by and by.

LENTULO. I can go by myself, and you will let me alone. Now as I walk, alas! I make to me my moan. When I in prison strong, poor soul, shall live and die, Then will I make my loving song upon mine own pigsny.

PENULO. Away with him, sirs: why do ye tarry?

LENTULO. And thou wert in my case, thou wouldst not be so hasty. [Exit in custody of SERJEANT.

PENULO. Fie upon it! what a stir have we here? Never was nobleman's house in such fear. Such hurrying and stirring, such running every way; Such howling, such crying, such accursing the day. That ever the villain could counterfeit so, [And] when we least thought of it, away with her to go. But the world is so full of knavery now, That we know not whom to trust, I may say to you. If my wife fall sick, as she may, I'll make a condition, She shall never take counsel of an uplandish physician. Hang them, knaves; But what a prating keep I, When I should have been seven miles of mine errand; for why I must go set all the country up in a watch, If it be possible, this physician to catch. [Exit PENULO.[120]

Enter BOMELIO and FIDELIA.

BOMELIO. Stay, daughter, stay: forbear thy posting haste. Thou need'st not fear; all perils now are past. Thanks to the gods that such success they gave, Thus happily to bring us to my cave.

FIDELIA. O father! still I fear mishap behind: Suspect is natural unto our kind, And perils that import a man's decay Can never be eschewed too soon, they say. Had I [but] sight of mine Hermione, I care not then what did become of me.

BOMELIO. I will herein accomplish thy desire, So grant the gods the rest that I require. Hermione! Hermione! my son, I say, Come forth and see thy friends that for thee stay.

Enter HERMIONE.

HERMIONE. Welcome, my father; but ten times welcome thou, The constant lady mine, that liveth now.

FIDELIA. And lives Hermione? lives my Hermione? What can be added more to my felicity?

HERMIONE. Thy life, my life; such comfort dost thou give: Happy my life, because I see thee live.

BOMELIO. Whilst they record the sweetness of their bliss, I will apply to further, as they wish, Their[121] sweet delight by magic's cunning so, That happy they shall live in spite of foe.

HERMIONE. How doubtful are the lets of loyal love! Great be the dangers that true lovers prove; But when the sun, after a shower of rain, Breaks through the clouds and shows his might again, More comfortable to [us] his glory then, Because it was awhile withheld of men. Peace after war is pleasanter, we find; A joy deferr'd is sweeter to the mind: So I——

FIDELIA. It hath been said that, when Ulysses was Ten years at Troy, and ten years more, alas! Wandering abroad as chance and fortune led, Penelope supposing him for dead: But he, providing still for afterclaps, When he had 'scap'd a thousand hard mishaps, It did him good to reckon up at last Unto his wife his travails he had pass'd, And sweetly then recording his distress To make the more account of happiness. So I——

HERMIONE. Then, as the turtle that hath found her mate Forgets her former woes and wretched state, Renewing now her drooping heart again, Because her pleasure overcomes her pain; The same of thy desired sight I make, Whereon thy faith, thy heart and hand I take.

FIDELIA. And so I swear to thee unfeignedly To live thine own, and eke thine own to die.

Enter BOMELIO.

BOMELIO. Gog's blood! villains! the devil is in the bed of straw! Wounds! I have been robb'd, robb'd, robb'd! where be the thieves? My books, books! did I not leave thee with my books? Where are my books? my books! where be my books, villain? arrant villain!

HERMIONE. O father! my dear father, hark.

BOMELIO. Father, my dear father? Soul! give me my books. Let's have no more tarrying: the day begins to be dark; it rains: it begins with tempests. Thunder and lightning! fire and brimstone! And all my books are gone, and I cannot help myself, nor my friends. What a pestilence! who came there?

HERMIONE. I'll tell you, father, if you please to hear.

BOMELIO. What can'st thou tell me? tell me of a turd. What, and a' come? I conjure thee, foul spirit, down to hell! Ho, ho, ho! the devil, the devil! A-comes, a-comes, a-comes upon me, and I lack my books. Help! help! help! Lend me a sword, a sword! O, I am gone! [He raves.

FIDELIA. Alas! how fell he to this madding mood?

HERMIONE. The heavens and earth deny to do us good!

FIDELIA. O father! my good father, look on me.

BOMELIO. What meant I not to shut up the door, and take the keys with me, and put the books under the bed-straw? Out, you whore! a whore, a whore! Gog's blood! I'll dress you for a whore. I have a cause to curse whores as long as I live. Come away, come away! Give me my books, my books: give me, give me, give! [Exit.

FIDELIA. Help, help me, good Hermione! [Exit.

HERMIONE. I come. O[122] worlds of misery! Confounded on the top of my delight; The Fates and Fortune thus against me fight. [Exit.

[Enter VENUS and FORTUNE.]

FORTUNE'S triumph: sound trumpets, drums, cornets, and guns.

FORTUNE. See, madam, who can dash your bravery, Even at the pitch of your felicity? When you assure that they shall steadfast stand, Even then my power I suddenly can show, Transposing it, as it had never been so. Herein I triumph, herein I delight. Thus have I manifested now my might. Here, ladies, learn to like of Venus' lure, And me love—long your pleasures shall endure.

VENUS. Now thou hast done even what thou canst, I see, They shall be once again relieved by me.

[Music, Music.



THE FIFTH ACT.

Enter MERCURY.

MERCURY. Ye goddesses of this eternity, To whom of right belongs each earthly thing, The king of gods salutes ye both by me; And (I beseech you) mark the news I bring. My father Jupiter, perceiving well What hath herein been[123] done by each of you, And[124] how ye still endeavour to excel, Maintaining that whereon the quarrel grew— That is, the government of this estate, And unto whom the sovereignty shall fall— Here, therefore, to conclude your long debate, Lest your contention may be counted general, Desires ye both, and so commands by me, Ye stand to his conclusion of the cause. How say you, therefore? will you now agree, That malice may no longer right delude?

VENUS. Brother Mercury, as I have never been So obstinate, or bent so frowardly, But that I could some time relent the ill— A woman must a little have her will; So am I now resolved for to do Whatso my father shall entreat me to.

FORTUNE. And all the world by me perceiveth well Of course my fancy, favour,[125] and my skill: And when my cause a little course hath had, I am well pleased, and no longer sad.

MERCURY. Then thus our father Jupiter concludes, To lay the stroke of your unceasing strife. As heretofore betwixt these lovers twain Ye have express'd your powers upon their life, So now he wills you to withhold your hands. Enough sufficeth to confirm your might; And to conjoin ye both in friendly bands Of faithful love, wherein the gods delight, His pleasure is that, Lady Venus, you Shall be content never to hinder them, To whom Dame Fortune shall her[126] friendship show, Of wretched to procure them happy men. Ne shall you, Fortune, once presume to take The credit of the honour in your hand: If Lady Venus do them quite forsake, You shall not seem in their[127] defence to stand; But whomsoever one of you prefer, The other shall be subject unto her; For thus hath Jupiter determined now.

VENUS. I must and will subscribe my will to you.

FORTUNE. And I most gladly thereof do allow.

VENUS. Whom Fortune favours I will not despise.

FORTUNE. Whom Love rejects by me shall never rise.

MERCURY. To this conclusion do you both agree?

VENUS. For my part.

FORTUNE. And I, most willingly.

MERCURY. Then let your union be confirmed again By proper course, each one in his descent Over mortal men and worldly things to reign By interchange, as Jupiter hath meant. And[128] friendly Fortune, let me entreat, alone— Sith by your means these lovers hind'red were, And now ye two are reconcil'd in one, You grant the[m] grace their honour up to rear.

FORTUNE.[129] Sweet Mercury, I give thee my consent. I will forthwith advance them to renown: And their destruction better to prevent, They shall relieve them, that did throw them down.

MERCURY.[130] And I my gracious favour will bestow Upon them all, according to desert; And I will help his frenzy ere I go. That bedlam up and down he[re] plays[131] his part.

Enter BOMELIO with HERMIONE and FIDELIA, with a cope and dagger.

BOMELIO. Cot's[132] wounds! ye whore, I am not for your diet. Hang, rascal, make a leg to me, [or,] by Gog's blood, I'll stab thee through. What the devil, the devil, and all my books be gone! O most accursed man Bomelio! Go hide thyself, go hide thyself! go hang thyself, go hang! I'll hang the whore out of hand; and as for you, villain,—stand, rascal! stand!

FIDELIA. Good father, hear me. Come, take a little rest: Yea, my sweet father, come, sleep upon my breast.

BOMELIO. Hark the whore! See what an impudent whore it is. Sleep, you whore? I'll sleep with you anon, Gog's blood, you whore, I'll hang you up! [He threatens her.

FIDELIA. Help, help, Hermione!

HERMIONE. Good father, let her alone. Come, let us go.

[Enter MERCURY invisible.]

MERCURY. Now with my music I'll recure his woe. [Play.

BOMELIO. Hark, hark, my hearts! Pipes, fiddles! O brave! I shall have my books again. Dance about. Robin Hood is a good knave. Come, Bess, let's go sleep. Come, Bess; together, together.

MERCURY. Now will I charm him, that he shall not wake, Until he be relieved in this place. Then take her blood, and cast it on this brake, And therewithal besprinkle all his face, And he shall be restored to his sense, His health and memory, as heretofore. Do this, for I must now depart from hence, And so your sorrows shall increase no more.

HERMIONE. Fidelia, what hast thou heard, my dear? O comfortable words, were they but true! If any god or goddess be so near, Vouchsafe of pity on our pains to rue. Delude not with a feigned fantasy The wretched mind[s] of men in misery.

FIDELIA. Alas! Hermione, let us not feed And flatter ourselves with any[133] good surmise: We are too much accursed so to speed, Or any hope thereof for to devise. Resolve yourself, dear friend, another way, And let us never look for happy day.

Enter PHIZANTIES, ARMENIO, PENULO, and LENTULO.

PHIZANTIES. When thirst of hot revenge inflameth high desire: When malice kindleth so the minds of them that would aspire, That to enlarge their names they reck not his despite, That overseeth all their work, their doings to requite: Mark, then, what followeth, when princes ye provoke: The deeper and the larger wound, when longest is the stroke! And this hath moved me to leave my court awhile, To be content in sweat of brows, in trouble, pain and toil, To seek out wretches, them that have abus'd me so, And to reward their villainy according, ere we go.

PENULO. May it please your honour, it is excellent done. Gog's blood! and I were a prince, and had such a noble son, That should be so highly abused as he hath been, Would I put it up? no; by his wounds, I would never lin, Till I had made such a mingle-mangle upon their nose, That their skin should serve to make me a doublet and a pair of hose.

LENTULO. What, you would not? i'faith, you look not with the face: When you have the skin, sir, what will you do with the case? But, master prince, since you are come to this travailation, I'll bring you to my old master's convoculation, Where he hides himself, when I ran away: It's not far within these woods. How think you, sir, I pray?

PHIZANTIES. Lead on the way, and I will follow thee.

LENTULO. Why, then, come on, my valiant hearts, march on and follow me. But I'll make this bargain first: hear you me what I say? When I come home, you shall not let my master beat me for running away.

PHIZANTIES. He shall not, I warrant thee.

LENTULO. Why, then, my noble youths of oak, pluck up your hearts with me. Will you come, sir I come on, i'faith: keep in order you thereby. We shall find her i'faith, master prince, anon, I know, And then I'll trounce him for running away with another man's wife, I trow.

PENULO. Stand, sir. Who lives a-sunning yonder? can you tell?

LENTULO. It's a beggar with a rogue.

PHIZANTIES. It is my daughter, I see full well.

HERMIONE. Fidelia, be content: shrink not at all.

PHIZANTIES. Strike not a stroke, my son.

PENULO. For help I shall go run and call.

PHIZANTIES. And art thou found, false traitor and untrue, Traitor to him that dealt so well with thee? Did I devise to stop that would ensue, And found my cares such issue as I see? I see I am abused too-too much, And too much sufferance is cause of this abuse: This high abuse of yours, as being such, Affords no cloak nor colour of excuse. O, where is thankfulness and love become? Where is the fear of princes' wrath exil'd? Even this is the unhappiness of some, To be of them they trusted most beguil'd; But sometime pardon breeds a second ill. Thou shameless wench, and thou false-hearted knight, By your unhappy deeds I learn this skill; But yet I list not kill thee, as I might. Her will I have, and keep her as I may. On pain of death I charge thee, hence away!

HERMIONE. O prince, this sentence hath his force and strength, And dead I am that here appear to live; For how, alas! can this my life have length When she is hence, that life and sense doth give? But since, alas! I must be only he, Whom Fortune vows to make a common game, Armenio, my foe, do this for me— With my revenge to end my open shame. To help thee to digest thine injury, Appease thee with Hermione's tragedy.

FIDELIA. Far be the thought of that accursed deed, O sweet Hermione, my sweet Hermione! Foul be his fall that makes thy body bleed, O sweet Hermione, my sweet Hermione! And, father, this I vow: forgive it me, 1 will be sacrifice for this offence, And or I will have my Hermione, My chosen love, or never part from hence. Him hath the destinies ordained mine, Most worthy me, your daughter, every way; Nor he to any will his choice resign— No more my troubled thoughts will let me say.

PHIZANTIES. What wilt thou, foolish girl and obstinate? Say'st thou this treason is devis'd by fate? That shall we try. Despatch her hence away. Let's see who dares our princely will gainsay.

PENULO. Sir, and you'll have us carry her, here be them come of the carriers.

LENTULO. And you'll have us marry her, here be them come of the marriers.

PENULO. Lord! I marvel to whose share this lady will fall: I am sure my part in her will be least of all.

VENUS and FORTUNE show themselves, and speak to PHIZANTIES, while HERMIONE standeth in amaze.

VENUS. High time it is that now we did appear, If we desire to end their misery.

FORTUNE. Phizanties, stay, and unto us give ear. What thou determin'st performed cannot be.

PHIZANTIES. Dread goddess whatsoever of this place, If I herein have disobeyed thy grace, Of favour grant for to remit the same: Let me not suffer undeserved blame.

VENUS. Phizanties, stand up; be of good cheer. None but thy friends are met together here— Thy friends, though goddesses in other things— Yet interchange an alteration brings. And now, whereas you seek in what you can To let your child to marry with this man, Know that it is the pleasure of our will, That they together be conjoined still. For 'tis not so—he is not born so base As you esteem, but of a noble race. His father is the good Bomelio, That sleepeth here oppress'd with woe, Whom Phalaris thy father, on a false report, In wrath and anger banished his court: But this is he, to whom thou wishest oft good, And this his son, born of a noble blood. Think it no scorn to thee or thine hereafter To have his son espoused to thy daughter.

PHIZANTIES. Right gracious goddess, if this be true indeed, As I believe, because from you it doth proceed, Then pardon me, for had I known it so, His son had never tasted of this woe. Unwitting of his lineage till this time, Not,[134] presumed, sprung of a noble line. Put[135] hence, and please your deities, my grief, Because my son is dumb without relief.

PENULO. I'faith, sirrah, thou and I may hold our peace, with their leave, For none but wise men speak here, I perceive.

LENTULO. In some respects so, in some respects not; For a fool's bolt is soon enough shot.

FORTUNE. Phizanties, fear no longer his distress; The gracious gods provide for his redress. The shedding of thy daughter's dearest blood Shall both to him and to this man do good; For let this fern be dipp'd in many a place, And, as he sleepeth, cast it in his face, And let his tongue be washed therewithal, And both of them relieved see you shall.

PHIZANTIES. How say you, daughter, will you grant thereto?

FIDELIA. Most willing, sir, if you vouchsafe to do But this request, which I most humbly pray— Then I may be Hermione's for aye.

PHIZANTIES. With all my heart: hereon I give my hand.

FIDELIA. I take it, sir; and to your word I stand. And for thy sake, Hermione, my dear, See what I do, although it touch me near. Now take thy fill, and for his madness prove. [Bares her breast.]

HERMIONE. O sweet and fearful sight, the sign of love!

LENTULO. If it be any sweeter, masters, that runs from you so, I pray you give me some of your blessings, ere you go.

ARMENIO. I strive to speak, and glad to find my speech. Forgive, Hermione, forgive me, I beseech. And you, good sister; pardon, my friends, too; Too rash in all I ventured to do. See what proceedeth from unstable youth! Shame to himself, and to his friends a cause of ruth.

HERMIONE. Armenio, long hath my mind[136] desired To hear the proffer of this pleasant peace, Which sith the gods do grant as we require, Henceforth let rancour and contention cease, And in our breast be knit for ever sure The links of love, perpetual to endure.

BOMELIO [waking]. What have I heard? what is it that they say? Amazed quite! confounded every way! My son Hermione, I know that is the same! And that's my prince: now comes grief and shame!

PHIZANTIES. My Lord Bomelio, shun not; I know you now. Forgive the fact my father did to you; And what he did, impute it not to me. Thy former place I will restore to thee. In token of our faithful amity, We will be joined in near affinity.

BOMELIO. Long live Phizanties, long live in happy ease; The gods be bless'd I live this day to see! What please the one, shall never me displease: Thrice happy now for all my misery.

PENULO. Why then, sir, sith everything is come to so good an end, I hope, my good master, you'll stand-by my good friend, And give me but two or three thousand pound a year to live on.

LENTULO. Much in my nock, Nichols:[137] you and I shall slave it anon.

ARMENIO. Assure thee, Penulo, thou shalt not want as long as I live.

LENTULO. Why then, master, mine old master, I pray you forgive Your old runaway. 'Twas for fashion-sake: I'll do so no more.

BOMELIO. Look you do not, sirrah, and then I pardon you therefore.

[Enter VENUS and FORTUNE.]

VENUS. Thus everything united is by Love. Now gods and men are reconcil'd again; On whom, because I did my pleasure prove, I will reward you for your former pain. Receive the favours of our deity, And sing the praise of Venus' sovereignty.

FORTUNE. And for I play'd my part with Lady Love, While each did strive for chief authority, Your good deserts Dame Fortune so doth move To give these signs of liberality. Thus for amends of this your late unrest, By Love and Fortune you shall all be blest. And thus hereof this inward care I have, That Wisdom ruleth Love, and Fortune both: Though riches fail, and beauty seem to save, Yet wisdom forward still unconquered go'th. This, we beseech you, take friendly in worth; And sith by Love and Fortune our troubles all do cease, God save her majesty, that keeps us all in peace. Now they and we do all triumph in joy, And Love and Fortune are linked sure friends: All grief is fled; for your annoy Fortune and Love makes all amends. Let us rejoice, then, in the same, And sing high praises of their name.

FINIS.



THE THREE LADIES OF LONDON.



EDITION.

[A right excellent and famous Comoedy called the Three Ladies of London. Wherein is Notablie declared and set foorth, how by the meanes of Lucar, Loue and Conscience is so corrupted, that the one is married to Dissimulation, the other fraught with all abhomination. A Perfect Patterne for All Estates to looke into, and a worke right worthie to be marked. Written by R.W. as it hath been publiquely played. At London, Printed by Roger Warde, dwelling neere Holburne Conduit, at the signs of the Talbot. 1584.[138] 4. Black letter.]



THE PROLOGUE.

To sit on honour's seat it is a lofty reach: To seek for praise by making brags ofttimes doth get a breach. We list not ride the rolling racks that dims the crystal skies, We mean to set no glimmering glance before your courteous eyes: We search not Pluto's pensive pit, nor taste of Limbo lake; We do not show of warlike fight, as sword and shield to shake: We speak not of the powers divine, ne yet of furious sprites; We do not seek high hills to climb, nor talk of love's delights. We do not here present to you the thresher with his flail, Ne do we here present to you the milkmaid with her pail: We show not you of country toil, as hedger with his bill; We do not bring the husbandman to lop and top with skill: We play not here the gardener's part, to plant, to set and sow: You marvel, then, what stuff[139] we have to furnish out our show. Your patience yet we crave a while, till we have trimm'd our stall; Then, young and old, come and behold our wares, and buy them all. Then, if our wares shall seem to you well-woven, good and fine, We hope we shall your custom have again another time.



THE THREE LADIES OF LONDON.

THE FIRST ACT.

Enter FAME, sounding before LOVE and CONSCIENCE.

LOVE. Lady Conscience, what shall we say to our estates? to whom shall we complain? Or how shall we abridge such fates as heapeth up our pain? 'Tis Lucre now that rules the rout: 'tis she is all in all: 'Tis she that holds her head so stout; in fine, 'tis she that works our fall. O Conscience! I fear, I fear a day, That we by her and Usury shall quite be cast away.

CONSCIENCE. Indeed, I fear the worst, for every man doth sue, And comes from countries strange and far of her to have a view. Although they ought to seek true Love and Conscience clear; But Love and Conscience few do like that lean on Lucre's chair. Men ought be rul'd by us; we ought in them bear sway, So should each neighbour live by other in good estate alway.

LOVE. For Lucre men come from Italy, Barbary, Turkey, From Jewry; nay, the Pagan himself Endangers his body to gape for her pelf. They forsake mother, prince, country, religion, kiff and kin; Nay, men care not what they forsake, so Lady Lucre they win; That we poor ladies may sigh to see our states thus turned and tost, And worse and worse is like to be, where Lucre rules the roost.

CONSCIENCE. You say the truth, yet God, I trust, will not admit it so, That Love and Conscience by Lucre's lust shall catch an overthrow.

FAME. Good ladies, rest content, and you, no doubt, shall see Them plagued with painful punishment for such their cruelty: And if true Love and Conscience live from Lucre's lust lascivious, Then Fame a triple crown will give, which lasteth aye victorious.

CONSCIENCE. God grant that Conscience keep within the bounds of right, And that vile Lucre do not haunt her heart with deadly spite.

LOVE. And grant, O God, that Love be found in city, town, and country, Which causeth wealth and peace abound, and pleaseth God Almighty.

FAME. But, ladies, is't your pleasure to walk abroad a while, And recreate yourselves with measure, your sorrows to beguile?

CONSCIENCE. Pass on, good Fame; your steps do frame; on you we will attend, And pray to God, that holds the rod, our states for to defend.

[Exeunt.



THE SECOND ACT.[140]

Enter DISSIMULATION, having on a farmer's long coat and a cap, and his poll and beard painted motley.

DISSIMULATION. Nay, no less than a farmer, a right honest man, But my tongue cannot stay me to tell what I am: Nay, who is it that knows me not by my party-colour'd head? They may well think, that see me, my honesty is fled. Tush! a fig for honesty: tut, let that go, Sith men, women and children my name and doings do know. My name is Dissimulation, and no base mind I bear, For my outward effects my inward zeal do declare; For men do dissemble with their wives, and their wives with them again, So that in the hearts of them I always remain. The child dissembles with his father, the sister with her[141] brother, The maiden with her mistress, and the young man with his lover.[142] There is dissimulation between neighbour and neighbour, friend and friend, one with another, Between the servant and his master, between brother and brother. Then, why make you it strange that ever you knew me, Seeing so how[143] I range thoroughout every degree? But I forget my business: I'll towards London as fast[144] I can, To get entertainment of one of the three ladies, like an honest man.

Enter SIMPLICITY like a miller, all mealy, with a wand in his hand.

SIMPLICITY. They say there is preferment in London to have: Mass, and there be, I'll be passing and brave. Why, I'll be no more a miller, because the maidens call me Dusty-poll; One thumps me on the neck, and another strikes me on the nol: And you see I am a handsome fellow: mark the comporknance[145] of my stature. Faith, I'll go seek peradventures,[146] and be a serving-creature.

DISSIMULATION. Whither away, good fellow? I pray thee, declare.

SIMPLICITY. Marry, I'll 'clare thee: to London; would thou didst go there.

DISSIMULATION. What if I did? would it be better for thee?

SIMPLICITY. Ay, marry should it, for I love honest company.

DISSIMULATION. Agreed; there is a bargain; but what shall I call thee?

SIMPLICITY. 'Cause thou art an honest man, I'll tell thee: my name is Simplicity,

DISSIMULATION. A name agreeing to thy nature [Aside]: but stay; here comes more company.

Enter FRAUD with a sword and buckler, like a ruffian.

FRAUD. Huff! once aloft, and I may hit in the right vein, Where I may beguile easily without any great pain. I will flaunt it and brave it after the lusty swash:[147] I'll deceive thousands. What care I who lie in the lash?[148]

DISSIMULATION. What, Fraud? well met. Whither travellest thou this way?

FRAUD. To London, to get entertainment there, if I may, Of the three ladies Lucre, Love, and Conscience. I care not whom I serve—the devil, so I may get pence.[149]

SIMPLICITY. O Fraud! I know thee for a deceitful knave: And art thou gotten so bonfacion[150] and brave? I knew thee, when thou dwelledst at a place called Gravesend, And the guests knew thee too, because thou wast not their friend; For when thou shouldst bring reckoning to the guests, Thou would put[151] twice so much, and swear it cost thy dame no less. So thou didst deceive them and thy dame too; And because they spied thy knavery, away thou didst go. Then thou didst go into Hertfordshire, to a place called Ware, And because horses stood at hay for a penny a night there, So that thou couldst get nothing that kind of way, Thou didst grease the horses' teeth, that they should not eat hay: Then thou wouldst tell the rider his horse no hay would eat. Then the man would say: Give him some other kind of meat. Sir, shall I give him oats, vetches, pease, barley, or bread? But whate'er thou gavest him, thou stolest three quarters, when he was in bed. And now thou art so proud with thy filching and cosening art! But I think one day thou wilt not be proud of the rope and the cart. Take a wise fellow's counsel, Fraud: leave thy cosening and filching.

FRAUD. Thou whoreson rascal swad,[152] avaunt! I'll bang thee for thy brawling. How darest thou defame a gentleman, that hath so large a living?

SIMPLICITY. A goodly gentleman ostler! I think none of all you will believe him.

FRAUD. What a clenchpoop[153] drudge is this! I can forbear him no more.

[Let FRAUD make as though he would strike him, but let DISSIMULATION step between them.

DISSIMULATION. My good friend Fraud, refrain, and care not therefore. 'Tis Simplicity, that patch; he knoweth not good from bad, And to stand in contention with him I would think you were mad. But tell me, Fraud, tell me, hast thou been an ostler in thy days?

FRAUD. Tut, I have proved an hundred such ways; For when I could not thrive by all other trades, I became a squire to wait upon jades.[154] But then was then, and now is now; but let that pass: I am, as thou seest me; what care I the devil what I was?

DISSIMULATION. You say, you go to London: in faith, have with you then.

SIMPLICITY. Nay, come and go with me, good, honest man; For if thou go with him, he will teach thee all his knavery. There is none will go with him that hath any honesty. A bots[155] on thy motley beard! I know thee; thou art Dissimulation: And hast thou got an honest man's coat to 'semble this fashion? I'll tell thee what, thou wilt even 'semble and cog with thine own father: A couple of false knaves together, a thief and a broker. Thou makes townsfolks believe thou art an honest man: in the country Thou dost nothing but cog, lie, and foist with Hypocrisy. You shall be hanged together, and go along[156] together for me, For if I should go, the folks would say, we were knaves all three.

Enter SIMONY and USURY, hand in hand.

SIMONY. Friend Usury, I think we are well near at our journey's end. But knowest thou whom I have espied?

USURY. No.

SIMONY. Fraud, our great friend.

USURY. And I see another, that is now come into my remembrance.

SIMONY. Who is that?

USURY. Marry, Master Davy Dissimulation, a good helper, and our old acquaintance.

SIMPLICITY. Now all the cards in the stock are dealt about, The four knaves in a cluster comes ruffling out.

SIMONY. What, Fraud and Dissimulation! happily found out. I marvel what piece of work you two go about.

FRAUD. Faith, sir, we met by chance, and towards London are bent.

USURY. And to London we hie: it is our chiefest intent, To see if we can get entertainment of the Ladies or no.

DISSIMULATION. And for the selfsame matter even thither we go.

SIMONY. Then, we are luckily well-met; and, seeing we wish all for one thing, I would we our wills and wishing might win.

SIMPLICITY. Yes, they will be sure to win the devil and all, Or else they'll make a man to spew out his gall. O that vild[157] Usury! he lent my father a little money, and for breaking one day He took the fee-simple of his house and mill quite away: And yet he borrowed not half a quarter as much as it cost; But I think, if it had been a shilling, it had been lost. So he kill'd my father with sorrow, and undoed me quite. And you deal with him, sirs, you shall find him a knave full of spite. And Simony—A-per-se-A-Simony—too, he is a knave for the nonce: He loves to have twenty livings at once; And if he let an honest man, as I am, to have one, He'll let it so dear that he shall be undone. And he seeks to get parsons' livings into his hand, And puts in some odd dunce that to his payment will stand: So, if the parsonage be worth forty or fifty pound a year, He will give one twenty nobles to mumble service once a month there.

SIMONY and USURY both. What rascal is he, that speaketh by us such villainy?

DISSIMULATION. Sirs, he was at us erewhile too; it is no matter: it is a simple soul, called Simplicity. But here come two of the ladies; therefore make ready.

Enter LOVE and CONSCIENCE. FRAUD.

But which of us all shall first break the matter?

DISSIMULATION Marry, let Simony do it, for he finely can flatter.

USURY. Nay, sirs, because none of us shall have preheminence above other, We will sing in fellowship together, like brother and brother.

SIMONY. Of truth, agreed, my masters: let it be so.

SIMPLICITY. Nay, and they sing, I'll sing too. [Aside.

The Song.

Good ladies, take pity and grant our desire.

CONSCIENCE' REPLY. Speak boldly, and tell me what is't you require.

THEIR REPLY. Your service, good ladies, is what we do crave.

HER REPLY. We like not, nor list not such servants to have.

THEIR REPLY. If you entertain us, we trusty will be; But if you refrain us, then most unhappy. We will come, we will run, we will bend at your beck, We will ply, we will hie, for fear of your check.

HER REPLY. You do feign, you do flatter: you do lie, you do prate: You will steal, you will rob: you will kill in your hate. I deny you, I defy you; then cease of your talking: I refrain you, I disdain you; therefore, get you walking.

CONSCIENCE. What, Fraud, Dissimulation, Usury, and Simony, How dare you for shame presume so boldly, As once to show yourselves before Love and Conscience, Not yielding your lewd lives first to repentance? Think you not, that God will plague you for your wicked practices, If you intend not to amend your vild lives so amiss?[158] Think you not, God knows your thoughts, words, and works, And what secret mischiefs in the hearts of you lurks? Then how dare you offend his heavenly majesty With your dissembling deceit, your flattery, and your usury?

FRAUD. Tut, sirs, seeing Lady Conscience is so scripolous,[159] Let us not speak to her, for I see it is frivolous. But what say you, Lady Love? Will you grant us favour.

LOVE. I'll no such servants, so ill of behaviour, Servants more fitter for Lucre than Love, And happy are they which refrain for to prove, Shameless, pitiless, graceless, and quite past honesty; Then who of good conscience but will hate your company?

USURY. Here is scripolous Conscience and nice Love indeed. Tush! if they will not, others will: I know we shall speed.

SIMPLICITY. But, lady, I stand still behind, for I am none of their company.

CONSCIENCE. Why, what art thou? O, I know: thou art Simplicity.

SIMPLICITY. I'faith, I am Simplicity, and would fain serve ye.

CONSCIENCE. No: I may have no fools to dwell with me.

SIMPLICITY. Why then, Lady Love, will you have me then?

LOVE. Ay, Simplicity, thou shalt be my man.

SIMPLICITY. But shall I be your good-man?

LOVE. Ay, my good-man, indeed.

SIMPLICITY. Ay, but I would be your good-man, and swap up a wedding with good speed.

LOVE. No: Love may not marry in any case with Simplicity; But if thou wilt serve me, I'll receive it willingly: And if thou wilt not, what remedy?

SIMPLICITY. Yes, I will serve ye: but will ye go into dinner, for I am hungry?

LOVE. Come, Lady Conscience: pleaseth you to walk home from this company?

CONSCIENCE. With right goodwill, for their sights pleaseth not me.

[Exeunt LADY LOVE and CONSCIENCE.

SIMPLICITY.[160] Fraud is the clubbish knave, and Usury the hard-hearted knave, And Simony the diamon' dainty knave, And Dissimulation the spiteful knave of spade. Come there any mo knaves? come there any mo? I see four knaves stand in a row.

[Let FRAUD run at him,[161] and let SIMPLICITY run in, and come out again straight.

FRAUD. Away, drudge! begone quickly.

SIMPLICITY. I wous:[162] do thrust out my eyes with a lady. [Exit SIMPLICITY.

USURY. Did you ever see gentlemen so rated at before? But it skills not: I hope one day to turn them both out of door.

SIMONY. We were arrantly flouted, railed at, and scoff'd in our kind. That same Conscience is a vild terror to man's mind. Yet, faith, I care not, for I have borne many more than these, When I was conversant with the clergy beyond the seas; And he that will live in this world must not care what such say, For they are blossoms blown down, not to be found after May.

FRAUD. Faith, care that care will, for I care not a point. I have shifted[163] hitherto, and whilst I live I will jeopard a joint; And at my death I will leave my inheritor behind, That shall be of the right stamp to follow my mind. Therefore let them prate, till their hearts ache, and spit out their evil: She cannot quail me, if she came in likeness of the great devil.

DISSIMULATION. Mass, Fraud, thou hast a doughty heart to make a hangman of, For thou hast good skill to help men from the coff. But we were arrantly flouted, yet I thought she had not known me; But I perceive, though Dissimulation do disguise him, Conscience can see. What though Conscience perceive it, all the world cannot beside, Tush! there be a thousand places, where we ourselves may provide. But look, sirs; here cometh a lusty lady towards us in haste; But speak to her, if you will, that we may be all plac'd.

Enter LADY LUCRE.

USURY. I pray thee do, for thou art the likeliest to speed.

DISSIMULATION. Why then I'll tout with a stomach in hope of good speed. Fair lady, all the gods of good fellowship kiss ye—would say bless ye—

LUCRE. Thou art very pleasant, and full of thy rope-ripe—I would say rethoric.

DISSIMULATION. Lady, you took me at the worst: I beseech you therefore To pardon my boldness, offending no more.

LUCRE. We do; the matter is not great, but what wouldest thou have? How shall I call thee, and what is't thou dost crave?

DISSIMULATION. I am called Dissimulation, and my earnest request Is to crave entertainment for me and the rest, Whose names are Fraud, Usury, and Simony, Great carers for your health, wealth, and prosperity.

LUCRE. Fraud, Dissimulation, Usury, and Simony, Now truly I thank you for proffering your service to me; You are all heartily welcome, and I will appoint straightway, Where each one in his office in great honour shall stay. But, Usury, didst thou never know my grandmother, the old Lady Lucre of Venice?

USURY. Yes, madam; I was servant unto her, and lived there in bliss.

LUCRE. But why camest thou into England, seeing Venice is a city, Where Usury by Lucre may live in great glory?

USURY. I have often heard your good grandmother tell, That she had in England a daughter, which her far did excel; And that England was such a place for Lucre to bide, As was not in Europe and the whole world beside. Then, lusting greatly to see you and the country, she being dead, I made haste to come over to serve you in her stead.

LUCRE. Gramercy, Usury; and I doubt not but that you shall live here as pleasantly; Ay, and pleasanter, too, if it may be. But, Simony, from whence came ye, tell me?[164]

SIMONY. My birth, nursery and bringing-up hitherto hath been in Rome, that ancient religious city. On a time the monks and friars made a banquet, whereunto they invited me, With certain other some English merchants, which belike were of their familiarity; So, talking of many matters, amongst others one began to debate Of the abundant substance still brought to that state. Some said the increase of their substance and wealth Came from other princes, and was brought thither by stealth: But the friars and monks, with all the ancient company, Said that it first came, and is now upholden by me, Simony; Which the English merchants gave ear to: then they flattered a little too much, As Englishmen can do for advantage, when increase it doth touch; And being a-shipboard merry, and overcome with drink on a day, The wind served, they hoist sail, and so brought me away: And landing here, I heard in what great estimation you were, [And] made bold to your honour to make my repair.

LUCRE. Well, Simony, I thank thee; but as for Fraud and Dissimulation, I know their long continuance, and after what fashion. Therefore, Dissimulation, you shall be my Steward, An office that every man's case by you must be preferred. And you, Fraud, shall be my rent-gatherer, my letter of leases, and my purchaser of land, So that many old bribes will come to thy hand. And, Usury, because I know you be trusty, you shall be my secretary, To deal amongst merchants, to bargain and exchange money. And Simony, because you are a sly fellow, and have your tongue liberal, I will place you over such matters as are ecclesiastical. And though we appoint sundry offices, where now ye are in, Yet jointly we mean to use you together ofttimes in one thing.

ALL. Lady, we rest at your command in ought we can or may.

LUCRE. Then, Master Davy, to my palace haste thee away, And will Crafty Conveyance, my butler, to make ready The best fare in the house to welcome thee and thy company. But stay, Dissimulation, I myself will go with thee. Gentlemen, I'll go before; but pray, in any case, So soon as ye please, resort to my place.

[Exeunt DISSIMULATION and LUCRE.

SIMONY. I warrant you, lady,[165] we will not long absent be.

USURY. Fellow Simony, this fell out pat, so well as heart could wish. We are cunning anglers: we have caught the fattest fish. I perceive it is true that her grandmother told: Here is good to be done by use of silver and gold. And sith I am so well settled in this country, I will pinch all, rich and poor, that come to me.

SIMONY. And sirrah, when I was at Rome, and dwelt in the Friary, They would talk how England yearly sent over a great mass of money, And that this little island was more worth to the Pope, Than three bigger realms which had a great deal more scope; For here were smoke-pence, Peter-pence, and Paul-pence to be paid, Besides much other money that to the Pope's use was made. Why, it is but lately since the Pope received this fine, Not much more than twenty-six years—it was in Queen Mary's time.[166] But I think England had never known what this gear had meant, If Friar Austin from the Pope had not hither been sent; For the Pope, hearing it to be a little island, sent him with a great army over, And winning the victory, he landed about Rye, Sandwich, or Dover: Then he erected laws, having the people in subjection; So for the most part England hath paid tribute so long— I, hearing of the great store and wealth in the country, Could not choose but persuade myself the people loved Simony.

USURY. But stay your talk till some other time: we forget my lady.

SIMONY. Of troth you say true, for she bad us make haste: [Aside.] But my talk, me-thought, savoured well, and had a good taste.

[Exeunt ambo.

Enter MERCATORE like an Italian Merchant.

MERCATORE. I judge in my mind a, dat me be not vare far From da place where dwells my Lady Lucar. But here come an shentlymane, a, soe he do.

[Enter DISSIMULATION.

Shentleman, I pray you heartily, let me speak you. Pray you, do you not know a shentleman dat Master Davy do call?

DISSIMULATION. Yes, marry, do I: I am he, and what would you withal?

MERCATORE. Gooda my friend, Master Davy, help me, pray you heartily, For a some-a acquaintance a with Madonna Lucar, your lady.

DISSIMULATION. Sir, upon condition I will: therefore I would you should know, That on me and my fellows you must largely bestow; Whose names are Fraud, Usury, and Simony, men of great credit and calling, And to get my lady's goodwill and theirs it is no small thing. But tell me, can you be content to win Lucre by Dissimulation?

MERCATORE. A, gooda my friend, do axe-a me no shush a question, For he dat will live in the world must be of the world sure; And de world will love his own, so long as the world endure.

DISSIMULATION. I commend your wit, sir; but here comes my lady.

Enter LUCRE.

MERCATORE. Come hither: here's to tree crowns for de speak me.

DISSIMULATION. Well, sir, I thank you: I will go speak for you.

LUCRE. Master Davy Dissimulation, what new acquaintance have ye gotten there?

DISSIMULATION. Such a one, madam, that unto your state hath great care; And surely in my mind the gentleman is worthy To be well-thought on for his liberality, bounty, and great care to seek ye.

LUCRE. Gentleman, you are heartily welcome: how are you called, I pray you tell us?

MERCATORE. Madonna, me be a mershant, and be call'd Signer Mercatore.

LUCRE. But, I pray you, tell me what countryman?

MERCATORE. Me be, Madonna, an Italian.

LUCRE. Yet let me trouble ye: I beseech ye whence came ye?

MERCATORE. For salva vostra buona grazia,[167] me come from Turkey.

LUCRE. Gramercy: but Signor Mercatore, dare you not to undertake Secretly to convey good commodities out of this country for my sake?

MERCATORE. Madonna, me do for love of you tink no pain too mush, And to do anyting for you me will not grush: Me will a forsake a my fader, moder, king, country, and more dan dat; Me will lie and forswear meself for a quarter so much as my hat. What is dat for love of Lucre me dare, or will not do? Me care not for all the world, the great devil, nay, make my God angry for you.

LUCRE. You say well, Mercatore; yet Lucre by this is not thoroughly won: But give ear, and I will show what by thee must be done. Thou must carry over wheat, pease, barley, oats, and vetches, and all kind of grain, Which is well sold beyond sea, and bring such merchants great gain. Then thou must carry beside leather, tallow, beef, bacon, bell-metal and everything, And for these good commodities trifles into England thou must bring; As bugles to make bables, coloured bones, glass beads to make bracelets withal, For every day gentlewomen of England do ask for such trifles from stall to stall: And you must bring more, as amber, jet, coral, crystal, and every such babble, That is slight, pretty and pleasant: they care not to have it profitable. And if they demand wherefore your wares and merchandise agree, You must say jet will take up a straw: amber will make one fat: Coral will look pale, when you be sick, and crystal staunch blood. So with lying, flattering and glosing you must utter your ware, And you shall win me to your will, if you can deceitfully swear.

MERCATORE. Tink ye not dat me have carried over corn, leader, beef and bacon too, all tis while? And brought heder many babbles dese countrymen to beguile? Yes; shall me tell you, Madonna I me and my countrymans have sent over Bell-metal for make ordnance, yea, and ordnance itself beside, Dat my country and oder countries be so well furnish as dis country, and has never been spi'd.

LUCRE. Now I perceive you love me; and if you continue in this still, You shall not only be with me, but command me when and where you will.

MERCATORE. Lady, for to do all dis and more for you me be content; But I tink some skall[168] knave will put a bill in da Parliament, For dat such a tings shall not be brought here.

LUCRE. Tush, Mercatore! I warrant thee, thou needest not to fear. What, and one do? there is some other will flatter, and say They do no hurt to the country, and with a sleight fetch that bill away. And if they do not, so that by Act of Parliament it be pass'd, I know you merchants have many a sleight and subtle cast, So that you will by stealth bring over great store, And say it was in the realm a long time before. For being so many of these trifles here, as there are at this day, You may increase them at pleasure, when you send over sea; And do but give the searcher an odd bribe in his hand, I warrant you, he will let you 'scape roundly with such things in and out the land. But, Signor Mercatore, I pray you walk in with me, And as I find you kind to me, so will I favour ye.

MERCATORE. Me tank you, my good lady. But, Master Dissimulation, here is for your fellows, Fraud, Usury, and Simony, and say me give it dem.

[Exeunt LUCRE and MERCATORE.

DISSIMULATION. Ay marry, sir, these bribes have welcome[169] been. Good faith, I perceive, Dissimulation, Fraud, Usury, and Simony shall live In spite of Love and Conscience, though their hearts it doth grieve. Mass, masters, he that cannot lie, cog, dissemble and flatter now-a-days, Is not worthy to live in the world, nor in the court to have praise.

Enter ARTIFEX, an Artificer.

ARTIFEX. I beseech you, good Master Dissimulation, befriend a poor man To serve Lady Lucre; and sure, sir, I'll consider it hereafter, if I can.

DISSIMULATION. What, consider me? dost thou think that I am a bribetaker? Faith, it lies not in me to further thy matter.

ARTIFEX. Good Master Dissimulation, help me: I am almost quite undone; But yet my living hitherto with Conscience I have won, But my true working, my early rising, and my late going to bed Is scant able to find myself, wife and children dry bread: For there be such a sort of strangers in this country, That work fine to please the eye, though it be deceitfully; And that which is slight, and seems to the eye well, Shall sooner than a piece of good work be proffered to sell; And our Englishmen be grown so foolish and nice, That they will not give a penny above the ordinary price.

DISSIMULATION. Faith, I cannot help thee: 'tis my fellow Fraud must pleasure thee. Here comes my fellow Fraud: speak to him, and I'll do what I can.

Enter FRAUD.

ARTIFEX. I beseech you be good unto me, right honest gentleman.

FRAUD. Why and whereto? what wouldest thou have me do?

ARTIFEX. That my poor estate you will so much prefer, As to get me to be a workman to Lady Lucre; And, sir. I doubt not but to please you so well for your pain, That you shall think very well of me, if I in her service remain.

DISSIMULATION. Good fellow Fraud, do so much; for I see he is very willing to live, And some piece of work to thee for thy pains he will give.

FRAUD. Well, upon that condition I will; but I care not so much for his gifts, As that he will by my name declare how he came by his great thrifts, And that he will set out in every kind of thing, That Fraud is a good husband, and great profit doth bring. Therefore the next piece of work that thou dost make, Let me see how deceitful thou wilt do it for my sake.

ARTIFEX. Yes, I will, sir; of that be you sure: I'll honour your name, while life doth endure.

DISSIMULATION. Fellow Fraud, here comes a citizen, as I deem.

FRAUD. Nay, rather a lawyer, or some pettifogger he doth seem.

Enter a LAWYER.

LAWYER. Gentlemen, my earnest suit is to desire ye, That unto your lady's service you would help me; For I am an attorney of the law, and pleader at the bar, And have a great desire to plead for Lady Lucre. I have been earnest, sir, as is needful in such a case, For fear another come before me, and obtain my place. I have pleaded for Love and Conscience, till I was weary: I had many clients, and many matters that made my purse light, and my heart heavy: Therefore let them plead for Conscience that list for me; I'll plead no more for such as brings nothing but beggary.

DISSIMULATION. Sir, upon this condition that you will keep men in the law Ten or twelve years for matters that are not worth a straw, And that you will make an ill matter seem good and firmable indeed, Faith, I am content for my part you shall speed.

FRAUD. Nay, fellow, thou knowest that Simony and Usury hath an ill-matter in law at this time; Now, if thou canst handle the matter so subtle and fine, As to plead that ill-matter good and firmable at the bar, Then thou shalt show thyself worthy to win Lady Lucre. Therefore tell me if you can or will do it, or no: If you do it, be sure to get my lady's goodwill, ere you go.

DISSIMULATION. By my honesty, well-rememb'red: I had quite forgot; 'Tis about that a fortnight ago fell out, the matter I wot.

LAWYER. Tush, sir, I can make black white, and white black again. Tut, he that will be a lawyer must have a thousand ways to feign: And many times we lawyers do one befriend another, And let good matters slip! tut, we agree like brother and brother. Why, sir, what shall let us to wrest and turn the law as we list, Seeing we have them printed in the palms of our fist? Therefore doubt you not, but make bold report, That I came and will plead their ill-cause in good kind of sort.

FRAUD. Of troth, how likest thou this fellow, Dissimulation?

DISSIMULATION. Marry, I like him well: he is a cunning clerk, and one of our profession. But come, sir, go with us, and we will prefer you.

ARTIFEX. Good Master Fraud, remember me.

FRAUD. Leave thy prating: I will, I tell thee.

ARTIFEX. Good Master Dissimulation, think on me.

DISSIMULATION. Thou art too importunate and greedy.

FRAUD. Come after dinner, or some other time, when we are at leisure.

[DISSIMULATION, FRAUD, and LAWYER exeunt.

ARTIFEX. Come after dinner, or some other time! I think so[170] indeed, For full little do they think of a poor man's need. These fellows will do nothing for pity and love, And thrice happy are they that hath no need them to prove. God he knows the world is grown to such a stay, That men must use Fraud and Dissimulation too, or beg by the way. Therefore I'll do as the most doth; the fewest shall laugh me to scorn, And be a fellow amongst good fellows to hold by St Luke's horn. [Exit.

Enter SIMPLICITY and SINCERITY.

SINCERITY. Good Cousin Simplicity, do somewhat for me.

SIMPLICITY. Yes, faith, Cousin Sincerity, I'll do anything for thee. What wouldst for me to do for thee? canst tell that?

[SINCERITY.] Mass, I cannot tell what shouldst do for me, except thou wouldst give me a new hat.

SIMPLICITY. Alas! I am not able to give thee a new. Why, I marvel then how thou dost do: Dost thou get thy living amongst beggars, from door to door? Indeed, Cousin Sincerity, I had thought thou wast not so poor.

SINCERITY. Nay, Cousin Simplicity, I got my living hardly, but yet I hope just, And with good conscience too, although I am restrained from my lust. But this is it, Cousin Simplicity, I would request you to do for me, Which is to get Lady Love and Lady Conscience' hand to a letter, That by their means I may get some benefice, to make me live the better.

SIMPLICITY. Yes; I'll do so much for thee, cousin; but hast thou any here?

SINCERITY. Ay, behold they are ready-drawn, if assigned[171] they were.

[Let SIMPLICITY make as though he read it, and look quite over; meanwhile let CONSCIENCE enter.

SIMPLICITY. Let me see, cousin, for I can read. Mass, 'tis bravely done: didst thou it indeed? Mistress Conscience, I have a matter to bequest you to.

CONSCIENCE. What is't? I doubt not but 'tis some wise thing, if it be for you.

SIMPLICITY. Marry, my cousin Sincerity wad desire to scribe these papers here, That he may get some preferment, but I know not where.

CONSCIENCE. Be these your letters? what would you have me do, and how shall I call ye?

SINCERITY. Lady, my name is Sincerity.

CONSCIENCE. And from whence come ye?

SINCERITY. I came from Oxford, but in Cambridge I studied late;[172] Having nothing, thought good, if I could, to make better my state: But if I had, instead of divinity, the law, astronomy, astrology, Physiognomy, palmestry, arithmetic, logic, music, physic, or any such thing, I had not doubted, then, but to have had some better living. But divines, that preach the word of God sincerely and truly, Are in these days little or nothing at all[173] set by. God grant the good preachers be not taken away for our unthankfulness! There never was more preaching and less following, the people live so amiss. But what is he that may not on the Sabbath-day attend to hear God's word, But he will rather run to bowls, sit at the alehouse, than one hour afford, Telling a tale of Robin Hood, sitting at cards, playing at skittles[174], or some other vain thing, That I fear God's vengeance on our heads it will bring. God grant amendment! But, Lady Conscience, I pray, In my behalf unto Lucre do what ye may.

SIMPLICITY. Mass, my cousin can say his book well: I had not thought it. He's worthy to have a benefice, and it will hit.

CONSCIENCE. God be blessed, Sincerity, for the good comfort I have of thee: I would it lay in us to pleasure such, believe me. We will do what we can; but ultra posse non est esse, you know: It is Lucre that hath brought us poor souls so low; For we have sold our house, we are brought so poor, And fear by her shortly to be shut out of door. Yet to subscribe our name we will with all our heart: Perchance for our sakes something she will impart. Come hither, Simplicity; let me write on thy back.