KING

Is our lord Mayor of London such a gallant? I am with child till I behold this half cap, But all my doubt is, when we come in presence, His madness will be dashed clean out of countenance. Which to prevent, Let some one give him notice, 'tis our pleasure, That he put on his wonted merriment: Set forward. Well Lacy though the fact was very foul, Of your renolting from our kingly love, And your own duty, yet we pardon you, Rise both, and mistress Lacy, thank my Lord Mayor For your young bridegroom here. Nay, I pray Thee good lord Mayor, be even as merry as if thou Wertenberg among thy shoemakers, It does me good to see thee in this humour. Tell me infaith mad Eyre, how old thou art. But all this while I do not know your age. Would would: say Cornwall, didst thou ever see his Like? Lincoln, what news with you? Where is the traitor? Lincoln. Cornwall, lay hold on Lacy: Lincoln, speak: What canst thou lay unto thy Nephews charge? Good Lincoln pry Thee pause a while, Even in thine eyes I read what thou wouldst speak, I know how Lacy did neglect our love, Ran himself deeply (in the highest degree) Into vile treason. Lincoln, he was: now have we pardned him, It not a base want of true valours fire, That held him out of France, but loves desire. Nor shalt thou Lincoln, I forgive you both. Are they not married? Shall I divorce them then? Oh be it far, That any hand on earth should dare untie, The sacred knot knit by Gods majesty, I would not for my crown disjoin their hands, That are conjoined in holy nuptial bans, How sayest thou Lacy? wouldst thou lose thy Rose? But Rose I am sure her Lacy would forgo. You hear them Lincoln. Yet canst thou find ith heart to partly these two? Who seeks, beside you, to divorce these lovers? Sir Roger Oteley, our last Mayor I think, Would you offend Loves laws? Well, you shall have your wills, you sue to me, To prohibit the match: Soft, let me see, You both are married, Lacy, art thou not? Then upon thy life, I charge Thee, not to call this woman wife. Nay Rose, never woo me, I tell you true, Although as yet I am a bachelor, Yet I beléèue I shall not marry you. Yea, so profound? I cannot Rose, but you I must divide: Fair maid, this bridegroom cannot be your bride. Are you pleased Lincoln ? Oteley, are you pleased? Then must my heart be eased, For credit me, my conscience lives in pain, Till these whom I deuorcde be joined again: Lacy, give me thy hand, Rose, lend me thine. Be what you would be: kiss now: so, thats fine, At night (lovers) to bed: now let me see, Which of you all mislikes this harmony? Why tell me Oteley, shines not Lacies name, As bright in the world's eye, as the gay beams Of any citizen? Come on then, at shake hands, I'll have you friends, Where there is much love, all discord ends, What says my mad Lord Mayor to all this love? Nay, my mad Lord Mayor (that shall be thy name) If any grace of mine can length thy life, One honour more I'll do thee, that new building, Which at thy cost in Cornehill is erected, Shall take a name from us, weel have it called, The Leaden hall, because in digging it, You found the led that covereth the same. Lincoln, a word with you. With the old troop which there we keep in pay, We will incorporate a new supply: Before one summer more pass over my head, France shall repent England was injured. What are all those? My mad lord Mayor, are all these shoemakers? Mad Simon, would they any thing with us? Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you shall have patent To hold two market days in Leden hall, Mondays and Fridays, those shall be the times: Will this content you? What is it my Lord Mayor? I shall undo thee Eyre, only with feasts, Already have I been too troublesome, Say, have I not? Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say, I have not met more pleasure on a day, Friends of the Gentle Craft, thanks to you all, Thanks my kind Lady Mairesse for our there, Come Lords, a white lets revel it at home, When all our sports, and banquetings are dome, Wars most right wrongs which frenchmen have begun. no more, Dost thou not know, that love respects no blood? Cares not for difference of birth, or state, The maid is young, well born, fair, virtuous, A worthy bride for any gentleman: Beside, your nephew for her sake did stoop To bore necessity: and as I hear, Forgetting honours, and all courtly pleasures, To gain her love, became a shoemaker. As for the honour which he lost in France, Thus I redeem it: Lacy, kneel Thee down, Arise sir Roland Lacy : tell me now, Tell me in earnest Oteley, canst thou chide? Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride.