FIRK

Here be the cavaliers, and the coronels, master. Pray, now you are in the cutting vain, cut Me out a pair of counterfeits, or else my work will not pass currant, heigh down a down. Your cousin? no master, one of your ants, hang her, let them alone. Thou do for her? then that she loves not: Rafe, thou n in faith I would have yearkt and down a down derry, this géere w How merry? why our buttocks went Iiggy jog gy Like a quagmyre: well sir Roger Oatmeal, if I thought all meal of that nature, I would eat nothing but bag pud dings. 'Tis true, because mistress Rose drank to him. I care not, I'll be none. Whoop, yonder comes Sibil. Sib whore, welcome to London. Nay by the mass, we had tickling cheer Sibil, and how the plague dost thou and mistress Rose, and my L. Mayor? I put the women in first. Hark butterbox, vow you must yely out some spreken. odd gone Frister. me to my young mistress, to pull A thing? away, is it a men thing, or a woman's thing? No by my troth, neither does that know me? I have no acquaintance with it, 'tis a mere stranger to me. Would would old shoo, that Wertenberg new, how a murren came this ague fit of foolishness upon thee? And why mayest not thou be my sweet Ass? would, would. No knave sir, I am Firk the shoemaker, lusty Ro gers chief lusty journeyman, and I come hither to take up the pretty leg of sweet mistress Rose, and thus hoping your worship is in as good health as I was at the making hereof, I bid you farewell, yours Firk. 'Tis happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or else I would not have vouchsafed to come back to you, I am moved, for I stir. I am glad to see your worship so merry, I have no maw to this gear, no stomach as yet to a read petticoat. I sing now to the tune of Rogero Roger my fellow is now my master. Yes forsooth, yea marry. No forsooth, no marry. Honest fellow, no sir, not so sir, my profession is the Gentle Craft, I care not for seeing, I love feeling, let me feel it here, aurium tenus, ten pieces of gold, genuum tenus, ten pieces of silver, and then Firk is your man in a new pair of strechers. Send simpering Sib away. Am I sure that Pauls steeple is a handful higher then London stone? or that the pissing conduit leaks nothing but pure mother Bunch? am I sure I am lusty Firk, Gods nails do you think I am so base to gull you? I never go to church, but I know the name of it, it is a swearing church, stay a while, 'tis: I by the mass, no, no, 'tis I by my troth, no nor that, 'tis I by my faith, that that, 'tis I by my Faith's church under Pauls cross, there they shall be knit Like a pair of stockings in matrimony, there theile be in conie. Yes forsooth. No forsooth, I think Hans is no body, but Hans no spirit. Then you must rise betimes, for they mean to fall to their heigh pass, and repass, pindy pandy, which hand will you have, very early. Yes, by their troth. Yes, when I kiss your wife, would, would, heres no craft in the Gentle Craft, I came hither of purpose with shoes to sir Rogers worship, while Rose his daughter be coniecatcht by Hans: soft now, these two gulles will be at Saint Faith's church to morrow morning, to take master Bridegroom, and mistress Bride napping, and they in the mean time shall chop up the matter at the Savoy: but the best sport is, sir Roger Otly will find my fellow lame, Rafes wife going to marry a gentleman, and then heel stop her in steed of his daughter; o brave, there will be fine tickling sport: to now, what have I to do? o I know now a mess of shoemakers meat at the wool sack in I vie lane, to cozen my gentleman of lame Rafes wife, thats true, alack, alack girls, hold out tack, for now smocks for this tumbling shall go to wrack. exit Did she give Thee this gold? Oh glorious glittering gold; she's thine own, 'tis thy wife, and she loves Thee, for I'll stand toot, theres no woman will give gold to any man, but she thinks better of him than she thinks of them she gives silver to: and for Hamon, neither Hamon nor Hang man shall wrong Thee in London: Is not òur old master Eire lord Mayor? Speak my hearts. To him sir? yes sir, and to me, and others: good more row Jane, how dost thou? good Lord, how the world is chan ged with you, God be thanked. Thou seest he lives: Lass, go pack home with him: now M. Hamon, where your mistress your wife? Yea sir, she must sir, she shall sir, what then? mend it. Stand to that Rafe, the appurtenances are thine own, Hammon, look not at her. Blue coat be quiet, weel give you a new livery else, weel make Shrove Tuesday Saint Georges day for you: look not Hammon, lere not, I'll Firk you, for thy head now, one glance, one sheeps eye, any thing at her, touch not a rag, least I and my brothers beat you to clouts. A shoemaker fell his flesh and blood, o indignity! Touch the gold creature if you dare, ya're best be trudging: here Jane take thou it, now lets home my hearts. Is he married? God give him joy, I am glad of it: they have a fair day, and the sign is in a good planet, Mars in Venus. Truly I am sorry for't, a Bride's a pretty thing. Yea truly God help the poor couple, they are lame and blind. Lie down sirs, and laugh, my fellow Rafe is taken for Roland Lacy, and Jane for mistress damask rose, this is all my knavery. To him lame Rafe, heres brave sport. Why here is good laid mutton as I promised you. Punish the iornyman villain, but not the journey man shoemaker. Enter Dodger. Adue monsieur Dodger, farewell fools, would would, O if they had stayed I would have so lambde them with outes, Oh heart, my codpiece point is ready to fly in pieces every time I think upon mistress Rose, but let that pass, as my Lady Mairesse says. And I'll promise you meat enough, for simpering Susan keeps the larder, I'll lead you to victuals my brave soldiers, follow your captain, Oh brave, hark, hark. O brave, o sweet bell, Oh delicate pancakes, oh pen the doors my hearts, and shut up the windows, keep in the house, let out the pancakes: o rare my hearts, lets march together for the honour of saint Hugh to the great new hall in Gracious street corner, which our Master the new lord Mayor hath built. Nay more my hearts, every Shrouetuesday is our year of Jubilee: and when the pancake bel rings, we are as free as my lord Mayor, we may shut up our shops, and make holiday: I'll have it called, Saint Hughes Holiday. Oh eternal credit to us of the gentle Craft, march fair my hearts, o rare. exeunt. Oh my Lord, it will be rare. Tickle it? some of them have taken their liquour stan ding so long, that they can stand no longer: but for meat, they would eat it and they had it. Heigh for the honour of the shoemakers. exeunt. Truly master cormorant, you shall do God good sir vice to let Rafe and his wife stay together, she's a young new married woman, if you take her husband away from her a night, you undo her, she may beg in the day time, for he's as good a workman at a prick & and awl, as any is in our trade. See, see Hodge, how my master raves in come dation of Rafe. Why be doing with me, or my fellow Hodge, be not idle. What seggen de reggen de copen, slopen, laugh Hodge laugh. Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twen tie porpentines as and earnest penny. If she take me down, I'll take her up, yea and take her down too, a button, hold lower. Would, would, my master will be as proud as a dog in a doublet, all in beaten damask and velvet. To him master, Oh sweet master, Oh sweet wares, prunes, almons, sugarcandy, carrat roots, turnups, Oh brave fatting meat, let not a man buy a nutmeg but your self. Then 'tis by the Gentle Craft, and to call one knave gently, is no harm: fit your worship merry: Sib your young mistress I'll so bob then, now my master M. Eyre is Lord Mayor of London. I truly, she shall be laid atone side Like a pair of old shoes else, and be occupied for no use. Yea and the horns too, master. Here Rafe, here's three two pences, two carry into France, the third shall wash our souls at parting (for sorrow is dry) for my sake, Firk the Basa mon cues. Oh master, is't you that speak bandog and bedlam this morning, I was in a dream, and mused what mad man was God into the street so early, have you drunk this morning that your throat is so clear? Let them wash my face that will eat it, good mai ster send for a souse wife, if yowl have my face cleaner. Master I am dry as dust, to hear my fellow Ro her talk of fair weather, let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and plowboyes, and those that work in the fields, pray for brave days, we work in a dry shop, what care I if it rain? enter Eyres wife. Yet thats but a dry beating, heres still a sign of drought. enter Lacy singing. Master, for my life yonders a brother of the Gen tle Craft, if he bear not saint Hughes bones, I'll forfeit my bones, he's some uplandish workman, hire him good master, that I may learn some gibble, gabble, 'twill make us work the faster. I that he shall. Faith, and your foreman go, dame you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman, if Roger remove, Firk follows, if S. Hugh's bones shall not be set a work, I may prick mine awl in the walls, and go play: fare you well ma ster, God buy dame. Nayis if I should speak after him without drink king, I should choke, and you Friend Oak are you of the Gentle Craft? Den skomaker quoth a, and hark you skomaker, have you all your tools, a good rubbing pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your four sorts of awls and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand and thumb-leathers, and good S. Hugh's bones to smooth up your work. Would would good master hire him, heel make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth, then I can in earnest. Why thus man, Ich verste v niet quoth a. Yaw, yaw, he speaks yawing Like a Jack daw, that gapes to be fed with cheese curds, Oh heel give a villam nous pull at a Can of double Beer, but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeyman. Bring him quoth. you, héers no knavery, to bring me master to buy a ship, worth the lading of 2 or 3 hu ̄ dreaded thou sand pounds, alas thats nothing, a trifle, a babble Hodge. Mum, here comes my dame and my master, shéele scold on my life, for loitering this Monday, but al's one, let them all say what they can, Monday's our holiday. Smart for me dame, why dame, why? Nay dame, you shall not weep and wail in woe for me: master I'll stay no longer, here's a vennentorie of my shop tools: adue master, Hodge farewell. Fools? nails if I tarry now, I would my guts might be turned to shoo-thread. And heers a face for any Lady in Christendom. A dozen Cans? Oh brave, Hodge now I'll stay. And I a pair of shoes for Sibyl my Lords maid, I deal with her. Nay dame, if my master prove not a Lord, and you a Lady, hang me. Tipple dame? no, we have been bargaining with Skellum Skanderbag: can you Dutch spreaken for a ship of silk Cypress, laden with sugar Candy. Nails my master looks Like a threadbare cloak new turned, and dressed: Lord, Lord, to see what good raiment both? dame, dame, are you not enamoured? Yaw heb veil ge drunk, quoth a: they may well be called butter-boxes, when they drink fat veil, and thick bear too: but come dame, I hope you'll chide us no more. Rising in your flesh do you feel say you? I you may be with child, but why should not my master feel a rising in his flesh, having a gown and a gold ring on, but you are such a shrew, you'll soon pull him down. I forsooth. Take it? well I go, and he should not take it, Firk swears to forswear him, yes forsooth I go to Guild Hall. Oh rare, your excellence is full of eloquence, how Like a new cart wheel my dame speaks, and she looks Like and old musty ale-bottle going to scalding. God forbid your worship should fallen into that hu mour, I run. exit. 'Tis her worship speaks so, and not she, no faith mistress, speak me in the old key, too it Firk, there good Firk, ply your business Hodge, Hodge, with a full mouth: I'll fill your bellies with good cheer till they cry twang. Oh rare, Oh brave, come Hodge, follow me Hans, Weel be with them for a morris dance. exeunt. Here be some have done their parts to be as proper as he. Heigh down a down dery. Not so neither, my organ pipe squeaks this mor ning for want of licoring: heigh down a down dery. Master. I master, for I lack my breakfast, 'tis munching time, and passed Snails Ralph thou hast lost thy partly of three pots, a countryman of mine gave me to breakfast. Yea forsooth, 'tis a very brave shoe, and as fit as a padding. No point: shall I betray my brother? no, shall I prove Judas to Hans? no, shall I cry treason to my corporation? no, I shall be firked and yerked then, but give me your angel, your angel shall tell you. Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths: but for Hans prauns, upon my word to morrow morning, he and young mistress Rose go to this géere, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else turn Firk to a firkin of butter to tanne leather withal. I sir, I am sirrah, you mean me, do you not? Yea and drunk with, Wertenberg thou Gargantua, my master keeps no cowards, I tell thee: he, boy, bring him and heel-block, heers a new journeyman. Lo dame you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh, this beer came hopping in well. Soft, yaw, yaw, good Hans, though 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. For yarking & seeming let me alone, & I come toot. 'Tis but three half pence, I think: yes, 'tis three pence, I smel the Rose. Run good Hans, Oh Hodge, Oh mistress, Hodge. heave up thine ears, mistress smug up your looks, on with your best apparel, my master is chosen, my master is called nay condemned by the cry of the country to be sheriff of the City, for this famous year now to come: and time now being, a great many men in black gowns were asked for their voices, and their hands, and my master had all their fists about his ears presently, and they cried I, I, I, I, and so I came away, wherefore without all other grieve, I do salute you mistress shrieve. Thou he with a woman to build nothing but Crip ple-gates! Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be he may light upon his matrimony by such a device, for wed ding and hanging goes by destiny. Oh musical be still! Oh Hodge, Oh my brothers! theres cheer for the heavens, venison pastimes walk up and down piping hight, Like sergeants, beef and brewesse comes mar ching in dry fats, fritters and pancakes comes trowling in in wheel barrows, hens and oranges hopping in por ters baskets, colloppes and eggs in scuttles, and tarts and custards comes quavering in in malt shovels. Hans shoemaker, o yes, stay, yes I have him, I tell you what, I speak it in secret, mistress Rose, and he are by this time: no not so, but shortly are to come over one another with, Can you dance the shaking of the sheets? it is that Hans, I'll so gull these diggers. Yea forsooth no varlet, forsooth no base, forsooth I am but mean, no crattie neither, but of the Gentle Craft. Yes sir, shoemakers dare stand in a woman's quarrel I warrant you, as deep as another, and deeper too. Firk does follow, Hodge pass out in state. Exeunt.