A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 70

STAINES. 'Tis true, and that's her maid before her.

W. RASH. What a night of conspiracy is here! more villany? there's another goodly mutton going: my father is fleeced of all; grief will give him a box, i' faith--but 'tis no great matter; I shall inherit the sooner. Nay, soft, sir; you shall not pa.s.s so current with the matter, I'll shake you a little. Who goes there?

SPEND. Out with the candle [_Aside._]: who's that asks the question?

W. RASH. One that has some reason for't.

SPEND. It should be, by the voice, young Rash. Why, we are honest folks.

W. RASH. Pray, where do you dwell? Not in town, I hope?

SPEND. Why, we dwell--zounds! where do we dwell? I know not where.

W. RASH. And you'll be married, you know not when--zounds, it were a Christian deed to stop thee in thy journey: hast thou no more spirit in thee, but to let thy tongue betray thee? Suppose I had been a constable, you had been in a fine taking, had you not?

SPEND. But, my still worthy friend, Is there no worse face of ill bent towards me Than that thou merrily putt'st on?

W. RASH. Yes, here's four or five faces more, but ne'er an ill one, though never an excellent good one. Boy, up with your lanthorn of light, and show him his a.s.sociates, all running away with the flesh, as thou art. Go, yoke together, you may be oxen one day, and draw altogether in a plough; go, march together, the parson stays for you; pay him royally.

Come, give me the lanthorns, for you have light sufficient, for night has put off his black cap, and salutes the morn. Now farewell, my little children of Cupid, that walk by two and two, as if you went a-feasting: let me hear no more words, but be gone.

SPEND. _and_ STAINES. Farewell.

GERT. _and_ JOYCE. Farewell, brother.

[_Exeunt. Manet_ WILL RASH.

W. RASH. Ay, you may cry farewell; but if my father should know of my villany, how should I fare then? But all's one, I ha' done my sisters good, my friends good, and myself good; and a general good is always to be respected before a particular. There's eightscore pounds a year saved by the conveyance of this widow. I hear footsteps: now, darkness, take me into thy arms, and deliver me from discovery. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SIR LIONEL.

SIR LIONEL. Lord, Lord, what a careless world is this! neither bride nor bridegroom ready; time to go to church, and not a man unroosted: this age has not seen a young gallant rise with a candle; we live drowned in feather-beds, and dream of no other felicity. This was not the life when I was a young man. What makes us so weak as we are now? A feather-bed.

What so unapt for exercise? A feather-bed. What breeds such pains and aches in our bones? why, a feather-bed or a wench--or at least a wench in a feather-bed. Is it not a shame that an old man as I am should be up first, and in a wedding-day? I think, in my conscience, there's more mettle in lads of threescore than in boys of one-and-twenty.

_Enter_ BASKETHILT.

Why, Baskethilt!

BAS. Here, sir.

SIR LIONEL. Shall I not be trussed to-day?

BAS. Yes, sir; but I went for water.

SIR LIONEL. Is Will Rash up yet?

BAS. I think not, sir; for I heard n.o.body stirring in the house.

SIR LIONEL. Knock, sirrah, at his chamber. [_Knock within._

The house might be pluck'd down and builded again Before he'd wake with the noise. [WILL RASH _aloft_.

W. RASH. Who's that keeps such a knocking; are you mad?

SIR LIONEL. Rather thou art drunk, thou lazy slouch, That mak'st thy bed thy grave, and in it buryest All thy youth and vigour: up, for shame.

W. RASH. Why, 'tis not two a-clock yet.

SIR LIONEL. Out, sluggish knave; 'tis nearer unto five: The whole house has outslept themselves, as if they had drunk wild poppy. Sirrah, go you and raise the maids, and let them call upon their mistresses.

BAS. Well, sir, I shall. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SCATTERGOOD _and_ BUBBLE.

SCAT. Did I eat any lettuce to supper last night, that I am so sleepy? I think it be daylight, brother Bubble.

BUB. What sayest thou, brother? heigh-ho!

SIR LIONEL. Fie, fie! not ready yet? what sluggishness Hath seiz'd upon you? why, thine eyes are close still.

BUB. As fast as a Kentish oyster. Surely I was begotten in a plum-tree, I ha' such a deal of gum about mine eyes.

SIR LIONEL. Lord, how you stand! I am asham'd to see The sun should be a witness of your sloth.

[_Enter_ BASKETHILT.]

Now, sir, your haste?

BAS. Marry, sir, there are guests coming to accompany you to church.

SIR LIONEL. Why, this is excellent; men, whom it not concerns, Are more respective than we, that are main actors.

BUB. Father Rash, be not so outrageous: we will go in and buckle ourselves all in good time.

How now! what's this about my s.h.i.+ns?

_Enter_ OLD GERALDINE _and_ LONGFIELD.

SCAT. Methought our shanks were not fellows: we have metamorphosed our stockings for want of splendour.

BUB. Pray, what's that _splendour_?

SCAT. Why, 'tis the Latin word for a Christmas candle. [_Exeunt._

SIR LIONEL. O gentlemen, you love, you honour me. Welcome, welcome, good Master Geraldine; you have taken pains to accompany an undeserving friend.

_Enter_ PHILLIS.

OLD GERA. You put us to a needless labour, sir, To run and wind about for circ.u.mstance;[216]

When the plain word, "I thank you," would have serv'd.