OLD ARTHUR

'Tis told me M. Lusam, that my son And your chased daughter whom we matched together, Wrangle and fallen at odds, and brawl, and chide. Nay pray you M. Lusam say not so, There was great hope, though they were matched but young Their virtues would have made then sympathise, And live together Like two quiet Saints, If fame be true, the most fault's in my son. Nay sir, I do not altogether excuse Your daughter, many lay the blame on her, Oh sir, you praise your child too palpably, She's mild and chased, but not admired so much. Yes if a man do well consider her, Your daughter is the wonder of her sex. What is she? I think 'tis best to go straight to the house And make them friends again: what think you sir? But if we love their credits or their quiets we must go And reconcile them to their former love: Where there is strife betwixt a man and wife 'tis hell, And mutual love may be compared to heaven: For then their souls and spirits are at peace. Come M. Lusam, now 'tis dinner time, When we have dinde, the first work we will make, Is to decide their jars for pity sake. This is my sons house, were it best go in, How say you master Lusam? I say 'tis best. Nay, nay, it is not best, I'll tell you why, Happily the fire of hate is quite extinct From the dead embers, now to rake them up, Should the least spark of discontent appear, To make the flame of hatred burn a fresh, The heat of this dissension might scorch us, Which in his own cold ashes smothered up, May die in silence, and revive no more: And therefore tell me, is it best or no? I say it is not best. But shall we lose our labour to come hither, And without sighed of our two children? Go back again, nay we will in that's certain. Nay but hark you sir, will you not knock? Tush, is't not my sons and your daughters door, And shall we two stand knocking? Lead the way. Thou art a knave, although thou be my son, Have I with care and trouble brought thee up, To be a staff and comfort to my age, A Pillar to support me, and a Crutch To lean on in my second infancy, And dost thou use me thus? thou art a knave. I say he is a knave. I therein son Arthur, Thou shewdst thy self no better then a knave. Accuse her, here she stands, spit in her face If she be guilty in the least of these. Well go too wild oats, spend thrift, prodigal, I'll cross thy name quite from my reckoning book: For these accounts, faith it shall skathe thee somewhat, I will not say what somewhat it shall be. I could say somewhat in my sons reproof, But till I meet him I will let it pass. Daughter farewell, with weeping eyes I partly, Witness these tears, thy griete sus near my heart. We Master Justice Reason come about A serious matter that concerns us near. Why look you M. Lusam, you are such another You will be talking, what concerns us near, And know not why we come to M. Justice. No sir not you. Why sir as yet you do not know the case. And as I told you, my unruly son Once having bid his wife home to my house, There took occasion to be much aggrieved About some household matters of his own, And in plain terms they fell in controversy. Lord what a man are you, you were not there That time, as I remember you were rid Down to the North, to see some friends of yours. Why sir I have not named the parties yet, Nor tucht the fault that is complained upon. And as I said, they fell in controversy: My son not Like a husband gave her words Of great reproof, despite, and contumely. Which she poor soul digested patiently: This was the first time of their falling out. As I remember at the self same time One Thomas the Earl of Surreys gentleman Dinde at my table. You are the strangest man, this gentle man That I speak of, I am sure you never favu, He came but lately from beyond the sea. First know the offender, how began the strife Betwixt this gentlewoman and my son, Since when sir he hath used her not Like one That should partake his bed, but Like a slave. My coming was, that you being in office And in authority, should call before you My unthrift son, to give him some advise, Which he will take better srom you, then me That am his Father. Here's the gentlewoman Wife to my son, and daughter to this man, Whom I perforce compelled to live with us. What can you say sir in this doubtful case? Why what should we write? What M. Justice Reason, are you here? Who would have thought to have met you in this place? I pray you lets hear him. Daughter me thinks you are exceeding sad: A Jest, thats excellent. I promise you it was exceeding good. In sooth he would, a passing passing Jest. Oh forward to the Jest in any case. My heart does taste the sweetness of your pledge, And I am glad to see this sweet accord. My sons wife dead? Fain would I speak, if grief would suffer me. I come for favour, as a father should, Pitying the fallen and ruin of his son. Good M. Justice think upon my son. Lusam, thou seekest to rob me of my son, my only son. Lusam, I say thou art a bloodsucker, A tyrant, a remorseless Cannibal: Old as I am I'll prove it on thy bones. I if thou seekest the ruin of my son, Thou art a tyrant and a bloodsucker. Nay more thou art a dotard. And in the right of my accursed son, I challenge thee the field, meet me I say To morrow morning beside Islington, And bring thy sword & buckler if thou darest. Whom do I see my sons wife? Oh welcome, welcome, daughter now I see, God by his power hath preserved thee. But daughter who did take thee from thy graven? A shrow, you wrong her, all the towhe admires her, For mildness, chastnesse, and humility. Now I remember too, that's not so good, For diverse reasons I think best stay here, And leave them to their wrangling, what think you? Nay we will go that's certain. Yet if our going should breed more unrest, More discord, more dissension, more debate, More wrangling where there is enough already, It better stay then go. I knock in any case. I have cause, Just cause to call thee dotard, have I not?