A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vi Part 30

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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.ds, 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 G.o.ds 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 n.o.bel 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 ma.s.s, 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.

n.o.bel prince, dis ting be done by mas.h.i.+c 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.