HARPOOLE

This pride, this pride, brings all to beggary, I seru'de your father, and your grandfather, Show me such two men now: no, no, Your backs, your backs, the devil and pride, Has cut the throat of all good housekeeping, They were the best Yeomen's Master's, that Ever were in England. They may fit at the gate well enough, but the devil of any thing you give them, except they will eat stones. My Alms knights: nay, th'are yours, It is a shame for you, and I'll stand too't, Your foolish alms maintains more vagabonds, Then all the noblemen in Kenned beside. Out you rogues, you knaves, work for your livings, Alas poor men, Oh Lord, they may beg their hearts out, Theres no more charity amongst men, Then amongst so many mastiff dogs, What make you here, you needy knaves? Away, away, you villains. What should I give them? you are grown so beg garly, you have scarce a bit of bread to give at your door: you talk of your religion so long, that you have banished cham ritie from amongst you, a man may make a flax shop in your kitchen chimneys, for any fire there is stirring. Who I driven them hence? if I driven poor men from your door, I'll be hanged, I know not what I may come to my self: yea, God help you poor knaves, you see the world i'faith, well, you had a mother: well, God be with thee good Lady, thy soul's at rest: she gave more in shirts and smocks to poor children, then you spend in your house, & yet you live a beg gar too. Welcome good fellow, welcome, who wouldst thou speak with? Yes I am one of his men, but thou canst not speak with my lord. I'll tell thee that, when I know thy errand. Then keep it to thy self, and walk Like a knave as thou camest. Then thou servest him not, I believe, what lord is thy master? In good time, and what wouldst thou have with my lord Cobham? Swounds you slave, do you set up your bills here, go to, take it down again, dost thou know what thou dost, dost thee know on whom thou servest process? I am glad thou knowest him yet, and sirrah dost not thou know, that the lord Cobham is a brave lord, that keeps good beef and beer in his house, and every day feeds a hundred poor people at's gate, and keeps a hundred tall fell lowes? Marry this sir, is this process parchment And this seal wax? If this be parchment, & this wax, eat you this parch meant, and this wax, or I will make parchment of your skin, and beat your brains into wax: Sirrah Sumner dispatch, devour, sirrah devour. Sirrah, no railing, but betake you to your teeth, thou shalt eat no worse then thou bringest with thee, thou bringest it for my lord, and wilt thou bring my lord worse then thou wilt eat thy self? Oh do you sir me now, all's one for that, but isle make you eat it, for bringing it. Can you not? sbould isle beat you until you have a stomach. he beats him. Be champping, be chawing sir, or I'll chaw you, you rogue, the purest of the honey. Oh Lord sir, o o, he eats. Feed, feed, wholesome rogue, wholesome. Cannot you Like and honest Sumner walk with the devil your brother, to fetch in your Bailiffs rends, but you must come to a noble men house with process? Sbloud if thy seal were as broad as the led that covers Rochester church, thou shouldst eat it. Who's within there? will you shame my Lord, is there no beer in the house? Butler I say. Give him Beer. he drinks. There, tough old sheepskins, bore dry meat. Yea marry sir, so I mean you shall eat more then your own word, for isle make you eat all the words in the pro cease. Why you drab monger, cannot the secrets of all the wen ches in a sheire serve your turn, but you must come hither with a citation with a pox? I'll cite you. he has then worser ne. A cup of sack for the Sumner. Here slave I drink to thee. Now if thou findest thy stomach well, because thou shalt see my Lord keep's meat in's house, if thou wilt go in thou shalt have a piece of beef to thy break fast. I am glad on't, that n be walking towards Rochester to keep your stomach warm: and Sumner, if I may know you disturb a good wench within this Diocese, if I do not make thee eat her petticoat, if there were four yards of Kentish cloth in't, I am a villain. Farewell Sumner. Enter Constant ble. Welcome Constable, welcome Constable, what news with thee? Hast thou been at the Alchouse, hast thou sought there? And honest Constable, and honest Constable, call forth him that keeps the Alchouse there. Sirrah, what strangers do you lodge, there is a robbery done this morning, and we are to search for all suspected per sons. What, is he here in thy house now? Bring her forth Constable, bring her forth, let's see her, let's see her. Welcome sweet lass, welcome. A plump girl by the mass, a plump girl, would Dol would, wilt thou forsake the priest, and go with me. You old mad merry Constable, art thou advised of that would, well said Dol, fill some ale here. O you oh worser mad colt, i'faith I'll feak you: fill all the pots in the house there. Would Dol, thou hast a sweet pair of lips by the mass. Fill sweet Doll, I'll drink to thee. embracing her Doll, canst thou love me? a mad mere ry lass, would to God I had never seen thee. No licking for you Constable, hand off, hand off. Priest, she shall not. Vicar, I'll fit here in spite of thee, is this fit stuff for a priest to carry up and down with him? You whooreson stoned Vicar. Swounds Vicar, I'll geld you. flies upon him. You whooreson bawdy priest. Thou art a thief I warrant thee. Thou art the madest priest that ever I met with. Well said mad priest, weel in and be friends, exeunt. Shall I attend your lordship to the court? Be of good cheer my Lord, if they be foes weel scramble shrewdly with them, if they be friends they are well come: one of that m (my Lord, Warden) is your friend, but me thinks my lady weeps, I Like not that. Treason M. Shrieve, sbloud what treason? Patience good madame, things at worst will mend, And if they do not, yet our lives may end. Oh that I had the Bishop in that fear, aside That once I had his Sumner by our selves. Sbloud my lord Bishop, you do me wrong, I am nei there heretic nor puritane, but of the old church, isle swear, drink ale, kiss a wench, go to mass, eat fish all Lent, and fast Fridays with cakes and wine, fruit and spicery, shrive me of my old sins afore Easter, and begin new afore whitson tide. That knave was simply put upon the Bishop. But do not Sumner as voule answer it, for I have there English books my lord, that isle not partly with for your Bishopric, Bevis of Hampton, Owleglasse, the Friar and the Boy, Ellen of Rumming, Robin hood, and other such godly stories which if you burn, by this flesh isle make you drink their ashes in S. Margets ale. exeunt. Who calls there? I will sir. Nothing but to borrow your upper garments a lit tle; not a word more, for if you do, you die: peace, for waking the children, there, put them on, dispatch, my lord, the window that goes out into the leads, is sure enough, I told you that be before, there, make you ready, isle convey him after, and bind him surely in the inner room. Here my Lord, come come away. I beseech you good my lord of Rochester, be favo rabble to my lord and master. Hear me my Lord, hard under Islington wait you my coming, I will bring my Lady ready, with horses to convey you hence. Nay my good lord of Rochester, isle bring you to S. Albons through the woods, I warrant you. Nay since I am passed the Towers liberty, thou partest not so. be draws. You cowardly rogues. sir John escapes. Stand off if you love your puddings. There, now it works, then let me speed, for now is the fittest time for me to escape away. exit Well mine host, I pray thee help me to a pair of fair sheets, and I'll go lodge with him. Who calls there? Yes marry do I, zounds, I can not find my hose, this Irish rascal that was lodged with me all night, hath stolen my apparel, and has left me nothing but a lousy mantle, and a pair of broags. Get up, get up, and if the carrier and his wench be asleep, change you with them as he hath done with me, and see if we can escape. What art thou that bidst me stand? Sbloud Constable, art thou mad? am I and Irish man? I faith my Lord, I am in, get out how I can. Yea, yea my lord, Harpoole is so resolved, I wreak of death the less, in that I die Not by the sentence of that envious priest The Bishop of Rochester, o were it he, Or by his means that I should suffer here, It would be double torment to my soul. Yea, yea, I am a fool still, with all your wit you will die a beggar, go too. Hang you roags, hang you, theres nothing but misery amongst you, you fear no law you. Exit. Yonders one master Butler of the privy cham ber, is sent unto you from the King. Fellow, what ails thee? dost thou quake? dost thou shake? dost thou tremble? would? Come sir. you are welcome, if you love my lord. Sir, yonder my lord walks, you see him, I'll have your men into the Cellar the while. What, hast thou never and empty room in thy house for me? Well, God grant me patience, I could eat this conger. My lord is not at home, therefore it were good Sum ner you carried your process back. Oh that it were the blessed will of God, that thou and I were within twenty mile of it, on Salisbury plain! I would loose my head if ever thou broughtest thy head hither a gain. aside. His case is hard my lord, you shall safely get out of the Tower, but I will down upon them, in which time get you away. My lord be ruled by me, take this occasion while 'tis offered, and on my life your lordship shall escape.