Volume 6 — The Knight of the Burning Pestle. (continued 2)

Lady. Welcome sir Knight unto my fathers Court. King of Moldavia, unto me Pompiona His daughter dear: but sure you do not like Your entertainment, that will stay with us No longer but a night. Raph. Damsell right fair, I [a]m on many sad adventures bound, That call me forth into the Wilderness: Besides, my horses back is something gal'd, Which will enforce me ride a sober pace. But many thanks (fair Lady) be to you, For using errant Knight with courtesie.

Rafe. My name is Rafe, I am an Englishman, As true as steel, a hearty Englishman, And Prentice to a Grocer in the Strand, By deed indent, of which I have one part: But fortune calling me to follow Arms, On me this holy Order I did take, Of burning Pestle, which in all mens eyes, I bear, confounding Ladies enemies. Lady. Oft have I heard of your brave Countrymen, And fertile soil, and store of wholesome food; My father oft will tell me of a drink In England found, and Nipitato call'd, Which driveth all the sorrow from your hearts. Rafe. Lady 'tis true, you need not lay your lips To better Nipitato than there is. Lady. And of a wild-fowl he will often speak, Which poudred beef and mustard called is: For there have been great Wars 'twixt us and you, But truely Rafe, it was not long of me. Tell me then Rafe could you contented be, To wear a Ladies favor in your shield? Rafe. I am a Knight of Religious Order, And will not wear a favor of a Ladies That trusts in Antichrist, and false traditions. Cit. Well said Rafe, convert her if thou canst. Rafe. Besides, I have a Lady of my own In merry England; for whose virtuous sake I took these Arms, and Susan is her name, A Coblers maid in Milkstreet, whom I vow Nere to forsake, whilst life and Pestle last. Lady. Happy that Cobling Dame, who ere she be That for her own (dear Rafe) hath gotten thee. Unhappy I, that nere shall see the day To see thee more, that bear'st my heart away. Rafe. Lady farewell, I must needs take my leave. Lady. Hard-hearted Rafe, that Ladies dost deceive.

Rafe. Lady before I go, I must remember Your fathers Officers, who truth to tell, Have been about me very diligent: Hold up thy snowy hand thou princely maid, There's twelvepence for your fathers Chamberlain. And another shilling for his Cook, For by my troth the Goose was rosted well. And twelve pence for your fathers Horse-keeper, For nointing my horse back, and for his butter There is another shilling. [T]o the maid That washt my boot-hose, there's an English groat, And twopence to the boy that wip't my boots. And last, fair Lady, there is for your self Three pence to buy you pins at Bumbo Fair. Lady. Full many thanks, and I will keep them safe Till all the heads be off, for thy sake Rafe. Rafe. Advance my Squire and Dwarf, I cannot stay. Lady. Thou kil'st my heart in parting thus away. [Exeunt.

Merc. Go get you up, I will not be intreated. And Gossip mine I'll keep you sure hereafter From gadding out again, with boys and unthrifts, Come they are womens tears, I know your fashion. Go sirrah, lock her in, and keep the key, [Exit Luce and Boy. Safe as [you love] your life. Now my son Humphrey, You may both rest assured of my love In this, and reap your own desire. Hum. I see this love you speak of, through your daughter. Although the hole be little, and hereafter Will yield the like in all I may or can, Fitting a Christian, and a Gentleman. Merc. I Do believe you (my good son) and thank you. For 'twere an impudence to think you flattered. Hum. It were indeed, but shall I tell you why, I have been beaten twice about the lye. Merc. Well son, no more of complement, my daughter Is yours again; appoint the time and take her. Wee'll have no stealing for it, I my self And some few of our friends will see you married. Hum. I would you would i'faith, for be it known I ever was afraid to lye alone. Mer. Some three days hence then. Hum. Three days, let me see, 'Tis somewhat of the most, yet I agree, Because I mean against the pointed day, To visit all my friends in new array. [Enter servant.

Mer. I'm glad the heavens have heard my prayers: thy Husband When I was ripe in sorrows laught at me, Thy son, like an unthankful wretch, I having Redeem'd him from his fall, and made him mine, To shew his love again, first stole my daughter: Then wrong'd this Gentleman, and last of all, Gave me that grief, had almost brought me down Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand Reliev'd my sorrows, go, and weep as I did, And be unpittied, for here I profess An everlasting hate to all thy name.

Boy. Sir, I take it you are the Master of this house. Mer. How then boy? Boy. Then to your self Sir, comes this Letter. Mer. From whom my pretty boy? Boy. From him that was your servant, but no more Shall that name ever be, for he is dead, Grief of your purchas'd anger broke his heart, I saw him dye, and from his hand receiv'd This paper with a charge to bring it hither, Read it, and satisfie your self in all.

Gods hand is great in this, I do forgive him, Yet am I glad he's quiet, where I hope He will not bite again: boy bring the bo[d]y, And let him have his will, if that be all. Boy. 'Tis here without Sir. Mer. So Sir, if you please You may conduct it in, I do not fear it. Hum. I'll be your Usher boy, for though I say it, He ow'd me something once, and well did pay it. [Exeunt.

Luce. If there be any punishment inflicted Upon the miserable, more than yet I feell, Let it together seize me, and at once Press down my soul, I cannot bear the pain Of these delaying tortures: thou that art The end of all, and the sweet rest of all; Come, come oh death bring me to thy peace, And blot out all the memory I nourish Both of [my] father and my cruel friend. O wretch'd maid still living to be wretched, To be a say to fortune in her changes, And grow to number times and woes together, How happy had I been, if being born My grave had been my cradle! [Enter servant. Ser. By your leave Young Mistris, here's a boy hath brought a Coffin, What a would say I know not: but your father Charg'd me to give you notice, here they come.

Luce. For me I hope 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome. Boy. Fair Mistriss, let me not add greater grief To that great store you have already; Jasper That whilst he liv'd was yours, now dead, And here inclos'd, commanded me to bring His body hither, and to crave a tear From those fair eyes, though he deserve not pitty, To deck his Funeral; for so he bid me Tell her for whom he di'd. Luce. He shall have many: [Exeunt Coffin-carrier and Boy. Good friends depart a little, whilst I take My leave of this dead man, that once I lov'd: Hold, yet a little, life, and then I give thee To thy first heavenly being; O my friend! Hast thou deceiv'd me thus, and got before me? I shall not long be after, but believe me, Thou wert too cruel Jasper 'gainst thy self, In punishing the fault I could have pardoned, With so untimely death; thou didst not wrong me, But ever wer't most kind, most true, most loving; And I the most unkind, most false, most cruell. Didst thou but ask a tear? I'll give thee all, Even all my eyes can pour down, all my sigh's And all my self, before thou goest from me There are but sparing Rites: But if thy soul Be yet about this place, and can behold And see what I prepare to deck thee with, It s[h]all go up, born on the wings of peace, And satisfied: first will I sing thy Dirge, Then kiss thy pale lips, and then dye my self, And fill one Coffin and one grave together.

Come you whose loves are dead, And whilst I sing Weep and wring Every hand and every head, Bind with Cipress and sad Ewe, Ribbands black, and Candles blue, For him that was of men most true. Come with heavy mourning, And on his grave Let him have Sacrifice of sighs and groaning, Let him have fair flowers enow, White and purple, green and yellow, For him that was of men most true. Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joys, I lift thee up, and thus I meet with death. Jasp. And thus you meet the living. Luce. Save me Heaven. Jasp. Nay, do not flye me fair, I am no spirit, Look better on me, do you know me yet? Luce. O thou dear shadow of my friend. Jasp. Dear substance, I swear I am no shadow feel my hand, It is the same it was, I am your Jasper, Your Jasper that's yet living, and yet loving, Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proof I put in practice of your constancy: For sooner should my sword have drunk my blood, And set my soul at liberty, than drawn The least drop from that body, for which boldness Doom me to any thing: if death, I take it And willingly. Luce. This death I'll give you for it, So, now I am satisfied: you are no spirit, But my own truest, truest, truest friend, Why do you come thus to me? Jasp. First, to see you, Then to convey you hence. Luce. It cannot be, For I am lockt up here, and watcht at all hours, That 'tis impossible for me to scape. Jasp. Nothing more possible, within this Coffin Do you convey your self, let me alone, I have the wits of twenty men about me, Only I crave the shelter of your Closet A little, and then fear me not; creep in That they may presently convey you hence: Fear nothing dearest love, I'll be your second, Lye close, so, all goes well yet; boy. Boy. At hand Sir. Jasp. Convey away the Coffin, and be wary. Boy. 'Tis done already. Jasp. Now must I go conjure. [Exit.

Old Mer. Who can sing a merrier note Than he that cannot change a gr[o]at?

I would not be a Servingman to carry the cloke-bag still. Nor would I be a Fawlconer the greedy Hawkes to fill. But I would be in a good house, and have a good Master too: B[u]t I would eat and drink of the best, and no work would I do.

For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill, And she hath good Beer and Ale to sell, And of good fellows she thinks no ill, And thither will we go now, now, now, and thither Will we go now. And when you have made a little stay, You need not [aske] what is to pay, But kiss your Hostess and go your way. And thither, &c.

Rafe. London, to thee I do present the merry Month of May, Let each true Subject be content to hear me what I say: For from the top of Conduit head, as plainly may appear, I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here. My name is Rafe, by due descent, though not ignoble I, Yet far inferiour to the flock of gracious Grocery. And by the Common-counsel of my fellows in the Strand, With gilded Staff, and crossed Skarfe, the May-lord here I stand. Rejoyce O English hearts, rejoyce, rejoyce O Lovers dear; Rejoyce O City, Town, and Countrey, rejoyce eke every Shire; For now the [fr]agrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort, The little Birds do sit and sing, the Lambs do make fine sport, And now the Burchin Tree doth bud that makes the Schoolboy cry, The Morrice rings while Hobby horse doth foot it featuously: The Lords and Ladies now abroad for their disport and play, Do kiss sometimes upon the Grass, and sometimes in the Hay. Now butter with a leaf of Sage is good to purge the blood, Fly Venus and Phlebotomy for they are neither good. Now little fish on tender stone, begin to cast their bellies, And sluggish snails, that erst were mute, do creep out of their shellies, The rumbling Rivers now do warm for little boys to paddle, The Sturdy Steed, now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle. The heavy Hart, the blowing Buck, the Rascall and the Pricket, Are now among the Yeomans Pease, and leave the fearful thicket. And be like them, O you, I say, of this same noble Town, And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping of your gown: With bels on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders ti'de, With Scarfs and Garters as you please, and Hey for our Town cry'd: March out and shew your willing minds, by twenty, and by twenty, To Hogsdon or to Newington, where Ale and Cakes are plenty. And let it nere be said for shame, that we the youths of London, Lay thruming of our caps at home, and left our custom undone. Up then I say, both young and old, both man and maid a Maying With Drums and Guns that bounce aloud, and merry Taber playing. Which to prolong, God save our King, and send his Countrey peace, And root out Treason from the Land, and so my friends I cease.

Jasp. Forbear thy pains fond man, it is too late. Merch. Heaven bless me: Jasper? Jasp. I, I am his Ghost Whom thou hast injur'd for his constant love: Fond worldly wretch, who dost not understand In death that true hearts cannot parted be. First know thy daughter is quite born away, On wings o[f] Angels: through the liquid Ayre Too far out of thy reach, and never more Shalt thou behold her face: But she and I Will in another world enjoy our loves, Where neither fathers anger, poverty, Nor any cross that troubles earthly men Shall make us sever our united hearts, And never shall thou sit, or be alone In any place, but I will visit thee With gastly looks, and put into thy mind The great offences which thou didst to me. When thou art at thy Table with thy friends, Merry in heart, and fild with swelling wine, I'll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, Invisible to all men but thy self, And whisper such a sad tale in thine ear, Shall make thee let the Cup fall from thy hand, And stand as mute and pale as Death itself. Merch. Forgive me Jasper; Oh! what might I do? Tell me to satisfie thy troubled Ghost? Jasp. There is no means, too late thou thinkst on this. Mer. But tell me what were best for me to do? Jasp. Repent thy deed, and satisfie my father, And beat fond Humphrey out of thy doors. [Exit Jasp.

Hum. Father, my bride is gone, fair Mistris Luce, My soul's the font of vengeance, mischiefs sluce. Mer. Hence fool out of my sight, with thy fond passion, Thou hast undone me. Hum. Hold my father dear, For Luce thy daughters sake, that had no peer. Mer. Thy father fool? there's some blows more, begon. Jasper, I hope thy Ghost be well appeased, To see thy will perform'd, now [will I] go To satisfie thy father for thy wrongs. [Exit. Hum. What shall I do? I have been beaten twice. And Mistris Luce is gone? help me device: Since my true-love is gone, I never more, Whilst I do live, upon the Skie will pore; But in the dark will wear out my shoo-soles In passion, in Saint Faiths Church under Pauls. [Exit.

Come no more there boys, come no more there: For we shall never whilst we live, come any more there.

Old Mer. Oh the Mimon round, full long [long] I have thee sought. And now I have thee found, and what hast thou here brought? Boy. A Coffin, Sir, and your dead Son Jasper in it. Old Mer. Dead? why farewell he: Thou wast a bonny boy, and I did love thee.

Jasp. Then I pray you Sir, do so still. Old Mer. Jasper's Ghost? thou art welcome from Stygian lake so soon, Declare to me what wondrous things in Pluto's court are done. Jasp. By my troth sir, I ne'r came there, 'tis too hot for me Sir. Old Mer. A merry Ghost, a very merry Ghost. And where is your true love? Oh where is yours? Jasp. Marry look you Sir. [Heaves up the Coffin. Old Mer. Ah ha! Art thou good at that i' faith? With hey trixie terlerie-whiskin, the world it runs on wheels. When the young mans —— up goes the Maidens heels. Mistriss Merry-thought and Michael within.

Mich. Mer. Song. It was a Ladies Daughter, &c. Old Mer. Come, you're welcome home again. If such danger be in playing, and jest must to earnest turn, You shall go no more a Maying. Merch. within. Are you within Sir, Master Merry-thought?

Mer. I am Sir. Old Mer. Sing then. Mer. Nay, good Sir open to me. Old Mer. Sing, I say, or by the merry heart, you come not in. Mer. Well Sir, I'll sing. Fortune my foe, &c.

Mer. Oh Master Merry-thought, I am come to aske you Forgiveness for the wrongs I offered you, And your most virtuous Son, they're infinite, Yet my contrition shall be more than they. I do confess my hardness broke his heart. For which just heaven hath given me punishment More than my age can carry, his wandring spirit Not yet at rest, pursues me every where, Crying, I'll haunt thee for thy cruelty. My Daughter she is gone, I know not how, Taken invisible, and whether living, Or in grave, 'tis yet uncertain to me. Oh Master Merry-thought, these are the Weights, Will sink me to my grave, forgive me Sir. Old Mer. Why Sir, I do forgive you, and be merry. And if the wag in's life time, plaid the knave, Can you forgive him too? Mer. With all my heart Sir. Old Mer. Speak it again, and heartily. Mer. I do Sir. Now by my soul I do. Old Mer. With that came out his Paramour, She was as white as the Lilly Flower, Hey troul, trolie lolie.

With that came out her own dear Knight, He was as true as ever did fight, &c.

Ralph. When I was mortal, this my costive corps Did lap up Figs and Raisons in the Strand, Where sitting I espi'd a lovely Dame, Whose Master wrought with Lingell and with All, And underground he vampied many a Boot, Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig: To follow feats of Arms in warlike wise, Through Waltham Desart; where I did perform Many atchievements, and did lay on ground Huge Barbaroso, that insulting Giant, And all his Captives soon set at liberty. Then honor prickt me from my native soil, Into Moldavia, where I gain'd the love Of Pompiana his beloved Daughter: But yet prov'd constant to the black thumm'd Maid Susan, and scorn'd Pompianaes love: Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins, And money for her Fathers Officers, I then returned home, and thrust my self In action, and by all [men] chosen was [Lord of the] May, where I did flourish it, With Scarfs and Rings, and Poesie in my hand: Af[t]er this action I preferred was, And chosen City-Captain at Mile-end, With Hat and Feather, and with leading staff, And train'd my men, and brought them all off clear Save one man that beraid him with the noise. But all these things I Ralph did undertake, Only for my beloved Susan's sake. Then coming home, and sitting in my shop With Apron blew, Death came unto my stall To cheapen Aquavitæ; but e'r I Could take the bottle down, and fill a taste, [Death] caught a pound of Pepper in his hand, And sprinkled all my Face and Body o'r, And in an instant vanished away. Cit. 'Tis a pretty fiction i'faith. Ralph. Then took I up my Bow and Shaft in hand, And walkt in[to] Moor-fields, to cool my self, But there grim cruel death met me again, And shot this forked Arrow through my head, And now I faint, therefore be warn'd by me, My fellows every one, of forked heads. Farewel all you good boys in merry London, Ne'r shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet, And pluck down houses of iniquity. My pain increaseth: I shall never more Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs, Nor daub a Sattin Gown with rotten Eggs: Set up a stake, Oh never more I shall, I die, flie, flie my soul to Grocers Hall. oh, oh, oh, &c.

Better Musick ne'r was known, Than a Quire of hearts in one. Let each other that hath been, Troubled with the gall or spleen: Learn of us to keep his brow, Smooth and plain as ours are now. Sing though before the hour of dying He shall rise, and then be crying, Heyho, 'Tis nought but mirth, That keeps the bodie from the earth.