Act 5 — SCENE XIV.
Reading edition
Enter Bristle, Heath, Gum.
Bris. Pox o' the ugly baboon! she has got a face like a Bartholomew Fair baby, and a mouth like the whale that swallowed a whole fleet. Her fingers are rolling-pins, and her arms coal-staves! Hang her, what should women do with money, or anything that's good?
Heath. You say true. If we had let 'um alone, I warrant these boxes had been kept till they were mouldy, visited but once a quarter, and at last bequeathed by will and testament to some silly sober well-wisher of hers in her lifetime.
Bris. One that never drank above four-shilling beer but once at a christening, and then had like to have got a red nose by it, cannot distinguish between a jug and a flagon, never was in an alehouse, knows not what a bush means, nor ever spent above twopence in his life, and that was upon a prayer-book.
Gum. Your tongues, methinks, run very glib; I wonder they do not screek for want of liquor. What, tapster? attendance here.
Bung. Anon, anon, sir; I have it in my hand.
Enter Tapster.
Tap. You're welcome, gentlemen; here's a cup of the best ale in London.
Bris. How? gentlemen? untutored slave, saucy villain! Gentlemen? why, sirrah, do I look like a gentleman? I scorn thy terms, and let this kick put thee in mind of better language.
Bung. Cry you mercy, I mistook you indeed.
Heath. Sirrah, we'll make you know who you mistake; call one of your master's best customers gentleman!
Bung. [To some one outside.] Anon, anon, sir; I'll be with you presently.
Bris. Sirrah, bid your master come in.
[Exit Tapster.
Gum. Come, here's a round to the first inventor of the famous art of drinking.
Bris. No, no; to the first finder out of the noble art of brewing; for we should be forced to drink water else.
Heath. To neither; but to the first most commendable alehouse-keeper that sold three cans for twopence; he is the chief benefactor we have. Come, three cans to his health!
Gum, Bris. A match!
Enter Welcome, Ditty, Budget, Jenniting, Curds.
Wel. Set you merry, my merry, merry lads; what, do the cans dance nimbly?
Heath. Yes, but we want a pipe or two; good mine host, let's have some whiff.
Wel. Here's a musician; honest Ditty and Budget too: if they do not make up the consort, they are very much out of tune.
Ditty. O Gum, have we found you out? my box, you slave!
Bud. And my budget!
Wel. Come, set about, set about, my boon companions.
Bris. A devil on your snout! oatmeal face and tallow-chops, how came you hither with a pox, trow?
Heath. Look here, Bristle, how like shorn sheep they look. Where shall we run? they have cast me into a fit o' th' shaking palsy.
Bris. Come, we'll outface 'um.
Wel. Come, sit down, my jovial boys, and roar. This night we'll suck up all the dew.
Enter Bung, with tobacco.
Bung. Here's a pipe o' th' best tobacco that Christendom affords; it grew under the King of Spain's own window. [To other customers.] By and by; what do you want, sirs? [Exit.
Ditty. And I warrant he used to fling pisspots out on't.
Wel. We'll drink ourselves into fish, and eat ourselves into cormorants; we'll not fast, though it be an eve to a surfeiting gawdy day.
Heath. Is't an eve, say you? pray, what holiday is to-morrow?
Wel. Budget's and Ditty's nuptials. Drink freely; all is paid already, and you are Ditty's guests to-night as well as mine. There sit the brides. You shall not leave my house to-night, that I may be sure of you to-morrow morning at the solemnities; be merry then, and free. I'll pardon you your groats to-morrow, and none shall forfeit but he that is not drunk. [Exit Welcome.
Heath, Bris, Gum. Joy to the brides and bridegrooms!
Ditty. Gentlemen, you may see how quickly a man may be shuffled into a wedding; we liked at first sight, and why should we then defer our joys any longer?
Bud. Like the Spanish, I was beaten into love; but at last have overcome, thanks to mine host, that took my part.
Curds. And I cheated into a bride; he that stole away my box made up the match between you and me.
Bris. Is't so, i' faith? then, mistress bride, pray take this box. You know it, I believe, and me too.
Heath. And you this bundle.
Jen. The thing I was cheated of! Art thou the thief too? O, the very villain!
Curds. Lay hold of 'um, sweet Budget—the slaves that cheated us in a disguise.
Ditty. Come, what's the matter? we'll have no quarrelling to-night; we forgive all.
Gum. Then your books may be freed for eighteen-pence; that's all they are engaged for yet, and the budget but for two shillings.
Ditty, Bud. We forgive most willing.
Ditty. A porter would not have carried 'um so far for the price.
Bris. Here's a health to the brides, then, out of an extinguisher. I'll find 'um in mice-traps, brushes, steel and tinder-box all their lifetime.
Heath. And I with brooms.
Gum. I'll cut their corns for nothing, and draw their teeth for a touch of their lips.
Ditty. Defer that health till to-morrow; in the meanwhile let's have on[e] to the genius of good ale.
Omnes. Begin't, begin't!
Ditty. Submit, bunch of grapes, To the strong barley ear: The weak vine no longer The laurel shall wear. Bud. Sack and all drinks else, Desist from the strife, Ale's th' only aqua vitæ And liquor of life. All Tog. Then come, my boon fellows, Let's drink it around; It keeps us from th' grave, Though it lays us o' th' ground. Bud. Ale's a physician, No mountebank bragger, Can cure the chill ague, Though't be with the stagger. Ditty. Ale's a strong wrestler, Flings all it hath met, And makes the ground slippery, Though't be not wet. Omnes. But come, my boon, &c. Ditty. Ale is both Ceres And good Neptune too; Ale's froth was the sea, From whence Venus grew. Bud. Ale is immortal, And be there no stops, In bonny lads quaffing, Can live without hops, Omnes. Then come, my boon fellows, Let's drink it around, It keeps us from th' grave, Though it lays us o' th' ground.
[All drink.
Enter Welcome.
Wel. Well said, my whistling birds; 'tis spring with you all the year long, while the ale flourishes. Come, I have provided a supper will tire your teeth; 'tis but a prologue, though, of to-morrow's feast. I hope your appetites need no provocations. It now waits for you, but will not be ready till you concoct it. Come then, cheer up, my buxom girls; the cakes and posset my wife shall provide, and I'll engage myself to be father to you both. Ditty's ballads and his budget shall be cut out into favours and gloves. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
EPILOGUE.
Welcome the Host.
Gentlemen and ladies, I am sent to you, Not to beg cast-by sheets, a shirt or two, Or clouts for th' teeming women, nor bespeak Gossips or guests against the christ'ning week: No off'ring for the married couple. What, then? Only to bid you welcome, gentlemen, Before your parting; and for th' women, beg That, when they travail, you'ld not sit cross-leg. But when their notes are turn'd to childbirth cries, You'd cry good speed to their deliveries; And if our cries have wanted mirth or wit, There's one more left, We cry you mercy yet!