Act 2 — Scene III.[2125]
Reading edition
Scene III.[2125]
Enter Eyre, making himself ready.[2126]
Eyre. Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels? They wallow in the fat brewiss[2127] of my bounty, and lick up the crumbs of my table, yet will not rise to see my walks cleansed. Come out, you powder-beef[2128] queans! What, Nan! what, Madge Mumble-crust. 6 Come out, you fat midriff-swag-belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels[2129] that the noisome stench offend not the noses of my neighbours. What, Firk, I say; what, Hodge! Open my 10 shop windows! What, Firk, I say!
Enter Firk.
Firk. O master, is ’t you that speak bandog[2130] and Bedlam[2131] this morning? I was in a dream, and mused what madman was got into the street so early. Have you drunk this morning that 15 your throat is so clear?
Eyre. Ah, well said, Firk; well said, Firk. To work, my fine knave, to work! Wash thy face, and thou ’t be more blest.
Firk. Let them wash my face that will eat 20 it. Good master, send for a souse-wife,[2132] if you’ll have my face cleaner.
Enter Hodge.
Eyre. Away, sloven! avaunt, scoundrel!—Good-morrow, Hodge; good-morrow, my fine foreman. 25
Hodge. O master, good-morrow; y’ are an early stirrer. Here ’s a fair morning.—Good-morrow, Firk, I could have slept this hour. Here ’s a brave day towards.[2133]
Eyre. Oh, haste to work, my fine foreman, 30 haste to work.
Firk. Master, I am dry as dust to hear my fellow Roger talk of fair weather; let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and plough-boys and those that work in the fields pray 35 for brave days. We work in a dry shop; what care I if it rain?
Enter Eyre’s wife [Margery].
Eyre. How now, Dame Margery, can you see to rise? Trip and go, call up the drabs, your maids. 40
Marg. See to rise? I hope ’t is time enough, ’t is early enough for any woman to be seen abroad. I marvel how many wives in Tower Street are up so soon. Gods me, ’t is not noon,—here ’s a yawling![2134] 45
Eyre. Peace, Margery, peace! Where ’s Cicely Bumtrinket, your maid? She has a privy fault, she farts in her sleep. Call the quean up; if my men want shoe-thread, I ’ll swinge her in a stirrup. 50
Firk. Yet, that ’s but a dry beating; here ’s still a sign of drought.
Enter Lacy [disguised], singing.
Lacy. Der was een bore van Gelderland Frolick sie byen; He was als dronck he cold nyet stand, Upsolce sie byen.56 Tap eens de canneken, Drincke, schone mannekin.[2135]
Firk. Master, for my life, yonder’s a brother 59 of the gentle craft; if he bear not Saint Hugh’s bones,[2136] I ’ll forfeit my bones; he ’s some uplandish workman: hire him, good master, that I may learn some gibble-gabble; ’t will make us work the faster. 64
Eyre. Peace, Firk! A hard world! Let him pass, let him vanish; we have journeymen enow. Peace, my fine Firk!
Marg. Nay, nay, y’ are best follow your man’s counsel; you shall see what will come on ’t. We have not men enow, but we must entertain 70 every butter-box;[2137] but let that pass.
Hodge. Dame, ’fore God, if my master follow your counsel, he ’ll consume little beef. He shall be clad of men an he can catch them.
Firk. Ay, that he shall. 75
Hodge. ’Fore God, a proper man, and I warrant, a fine workman. Master, farewell; dame, adieu; if such a man as he cannot find work, Hodge is not for you.
Offers to go.
Eyre. Stay, my fine Hodge. 80
Firk. Faith, an your foreman go, dame, you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman; if Roger remove, Firk follows. If Saint Hugh’s bones shall not be set a-work, I may prick mine all in the walls, and go play. Fare ye well, master; good-bye, dame. 86
Eyre. Tarry, my fine Hodge, my brisk foreman! Stay, Firk! Peace, pudding-broth! By the Lord of Ludgate, I love my men as my life. Peace, you gallimaufry![2138] Hodge, if he 90 want work, I ’ll hire him. One of you to him; stay,—he comes to us.
Lacy. Goeden dach, meester, ende u vro oak.[2139]
Firk. Nails,[2140] if I should speak after him without drinking, I should choke. And you, 95 friend Oake, are you of the gentle craft?
Lacy. Yaw, yaw, ik bin den skomawker.[2141]
Firk. Den skomaker, quoth ’a! And hark you, skomaker, have you all your tools, a good rubbing-pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your 100 four sorts of awls, and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand-and-thumb-leathers, and good St. Hugh’s bones to smooth up your work? 104
Lacy. Yaw, yaw; be niet vorveard. Ik hab all de dingen voour mack skooes groot and cleane.[2142]
Firk. Ha, ha! Good master, hire him; he ’ll make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth than I can in earnest.
Eyre. Hear ye, friend, have ye any skill in 110 the mystery[2143] of cordwainers?
Lacy. Ik weet niet wat yow seg; ich verstaw you niet.[2144]
Firk. Why, thus, man: [Imitating by gesture 114 a shoemaker at work.] Ich verste u niet, quoth ’a.
Lacy. Yaw, yaw, yaw; ick can dat wel doen.[2145]
Firk. Yaw, yaw! He speaks yawing like a jackdaw that gapes to be fed with cheese-curds. Oh, he ’ll give a villanous pull at a 120 can of double-beer; but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeymen.
Eyre. What is thy name?
Lacy. Hans—Hans Meulter. 125
Eyre. Give me thy hand; th’ art welcome.— Hodge, entertain him; Firk, bid him welcome; come, Hans. Run, wife, bid your maids, your trullibubs,[2146] make ready my fine men’s breakfasts. To him, Hodge! 130
Hodge. Hans, th’ art welcome; use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows; if not, thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a giant.
Firk. Yea, and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua. 135 My master keeps no cowards, I tell thee.—Ho, boy, bring him an heel-block, here ’s a new journeyman.
[Enter Boy.]
Lacy. O, ich wersto you; ich moet een halve dossen cans betaelen; here, boy, nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke.[2147]141
[Exit Boy.]
Eyre. Quick, snipper-snapper, away! Firk, scour thy throat; thou shalt wash it with Castilian liquor.
[Enter Boy.]
Come, my last of the fives, give me a can. Have to thee, Hans; here, Hodge; here, Firk; 146 drink, you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre, the shoemaker.—Here, Hans, and th’ art welcome.
Firk. Lo, dame, you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh. This 151 beer came hopping in well.
Marg. Simon, it is almost seven.
Eyre. Is ’t so. Dame Clapper-dudgeon?[2148] Is ’t seven a clock, and my men’s breakfast not ready? Trip and go, you sous’d conger,[2149] 156 away! Come, you mad hyperboreans; follow me, Hodge; follow me, Hans; come after, my fine Firk; to work, to work a while, and then to breakfast.
Exit.
Firk. Soft! Yaw, yaw, good Hans, though 161 my master have no more wit but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman.
Exeunt.