A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ii Part 49

FATHER. Now therefore ask; what is thy pet.i.tion?

SON. Lo, this it is, without further dilation;[312]

For so much as all young men for this my beauty, As the moon the stars, I do far excel, Therefore out of hand[313] with all speed possibly To have a wife, methink, would do well, For now I am young, lively, and l.u.s.ty, And welcome besides to all men's company.

FATHER. Good Lord, good Lord, what do I hear?

SON. Is this your beginning to perform my desire?

FATHER. Alas! my child, what meaneth thy doting?

Why dost thou covet thy own undoing?

SON (_Aside_). I know not in the world how to do the thing, That to his stomach may be delighting.

FATHER. Why, foolish idiot, thou goest about a wife, Which is a burthen and yoke all thy life.

SON. Admit she shall as a burthen with me remain, Yet will I take one, if your good-will I attain.

FATHER. Son, it shall not be thus, by my counsel.

SON. I trust ye will not me otherwise compel.

FATHER. If thou were as wise as I have judged thee, Thou wouldest in this case be ruled by me.

SON. To follow the contrary I cannot be turned; My heart thereon is stifly fixed.

FATHER. What, I say, about thine own destruction?

SON. No, no, but about mine own salvation: For if I be helped, I swear by the ma.s.s, It is only marriage that brings it to pa.s.s.

It is not the school, it is not the book: It is not science or occupation, It is not to be a barber or cook, Wherein is now set my consolation; And since it is thus, be, father, content; For to marry a wife I am full bent.

FATHER. Well, if thou wilt not, my son, be ruled, But needs will follow thine own foolishness, Take heed hereafter, if thou be troubled, At me thou never seek redress; For I am certain thou canst not abide Any pain at all, grief or vexation.

Thy childhood with me so easily did slide, Full of all pastime and delectation; And if thou wouldest follow the book and learning, And with thyself also take a wise way, Then thou mayst get a gentleman's living, And with many other bear a great sway:[314]

Besides this, I would in time to come, After my power and small hability, Help thee and further thee, as my wisdom Should me most counsel for thy commodity.

And such a wife I would prepare for thee As should be virtuous, wise, and honest, And give thee with her after my degree, Whereby thou mightest always live in rest.

SON. I cannot, I tell ye again, so much of my life Consume at my book without a wife.

FATHER. I perceive therefore I have done too well, And showed overmuch favour to thee, That now against me thou dost rebel, And for thine own furtherance wilt not agree; Wherefore of my goods thou gettest not a penny, Nor any succour else at my hands, For such a child is most unworthy To have any part of his father's lands.

SON. I do not esteem, father, your goods or lands, Or any part of all your treasure; For I judge it enough to be out of bands, And from this day forward to take my pleasure.

FATHER. Well, if it shall chance thee thy folly to repent, As thou art like within short s.p.a.ce, Think none but thyself worthy to be shent,[315]

Letting my counsel to take no place.

SON. As touching that matter, I will no man blame: Now, farewell, father, most heartily for the same.

FATHER. Farewell, my son, depart in G.o.d's name!

SON. Room,[316] I say; room, let me be gone: My father, if he list, shall tarry alone.

[_Here the Son goeth out, and the Rich Man tarrieth behind alone_.

THE FATHER.

Now at the last I do myself consider, How great grief it is and heaviness To every man that is a father, To suffer his child to follow wantonness: If I might live a hundred years longer, And should have sons and daughters many, Yet for this boy's sake I will not suffer One of them all at home with me to tarry; They should not be kept thus under my wing, And have all that which they desire; For why it is but their only undoing, And, after the proverb, we put oil to the fire.[317]

Wherefore we parents must have a regard Our children in time for to subdue, Or else we shall have them ever untoward, Yea, spiteful, disdainful, naught and untrue.

And let us them thrust alway to the school, Whereby at their books they may be kept under: And so we shall shortly their courage cool, And bring them to honesty, virtue and nurture.

But, alas, now-a-days (the more is the pity), Science and learning is so little regarded, That none of us doth muse or study To see our children well taught and instructed.

We deck them, we trim them with gorgeous array, We pamper and feed them, and keep them so gay, That in the end of all this they be our foes.

We ba.s.s them, [we] kiss them, we look round about; We marvel and wonder to see them so lean; We ever anon do invent and seek out To make them go tricksy,[318] gallant, and clean: Which is nothing else but the very provoking To all unthriftiness, vice, and iniquity; It puffeth them up, it is an alluring Their fathers and mothers at length to defy.

Which thing mine own son doth plainly declare, Whom I always entirely have loved; He was so my joy, he was so my care, That now of the same I am despised.

And how he is hence from me departed, He hath no delight with me to dwell; He is not merry, until he be married, He hath of knavery took such a smell.[319]

But yet seeing that he is my son, He doth me constrain bitterly to weep, I am not (methink) well till I be gone; For this place I can no longer keep.

[_Here the Rich Man goeth out, and the two Cooks cometh in; first the one, and then the other_.

THE MAN-COOK.

Make haste, Blanche, blab it out, and come away, For we have enough to do all this whole day; Why, Blanche, blab it out, wilt thou not come, And knowest what business there is to be done?

If thou may be set with the pot at thy nose, Thou carest not how other matters goes; Come away, I bid thee, and tarry no longer, To trust to thy help I am much the better!

THE MAID-COOK.

What a murrain, I say, what a noise dost thou make!

I think that thou be not well in thy wits!

I never heard man on this sort to take, With such angry words and hasty fits.

MAN. Why, dost thou remember what is to be bought For the great bridal against to-morrow?

The market must be in every place sought For all kinds of meats, G.o.d give thee sorrow!

MAID. What banging, what cursing, Long-tongue, is with thee!

I made as much speed as I could possibly; I-wis thou mightest have tarried for me, Until in all points I had been ready; I have for thee looked full oft heretofore, And yet for all that said never the more.

MAN. Well, for this once I am with thee content, So that hereafter thou make more haste; Or else, I tell thee, thou wilt it repent, To loiter so long, till the market be past.

For there must be bought beef, veal and mutton, And that even such as is good and fat, With pig, geese, conies, and capon; How sayest thou, Blanche? blab it out unto that?

MAID. I cannot tell, Long-tongue, what I should say; Of such good cheer I am so glad, That if I would not eat at all that day, My belly to fill I were very mad!

MAN. There must be also pheasant and swan; There must be heronsew, partridge, and quail; And therefore I must do what I can, That none of all these the gentleman fail.

I dare say he looks for many things mo, To be prepared against to-morn; Wherefore, I say, hence let us go: My feet do stand upon a thorn.

MAID. Nay, good Long-tongue, I pray once again To hear yet of my mind a word or twain.

MAN. Come off, then: dispatch, and speak it quickly, For what thing it is thou causest me tarry.

MAID. Of whence is this gentleman that to-morrow is married?

Where doth his father and his mother dwell?

Above forty miles he hath travelled, As yesternight his servant did tell.

MAN. In very deed he comes a great way, With my master he may not long abide; It hath cost him so much on costly array, That money out of his purse apace doth slide.

They say that his friends be rich and wealthy, And in the city of London have their dwelling, But yet of them all he hath no penny To spend and bestow here at his wedding.