Scene First. Abington. Near Master Barneses House: The Orchard

Enter Master Goursey and his wife, and Master Barnes and his wife, with their two sonnes, and their two servants.

Maister Goursey. Good maister Barnes, this entertaine of yours,
So full of courtesie and rich delight,
Makes me misdoubt my poore ability
In quittance of this friendly courtesie.

M. Bar. O master Goursey, neighbour amitie
Is such a jewell of high reckoned worth,
As for the attaine of it what would not I
Disburse, it is so precious in my thoughts!

M. Gou. Kinde sir, neere dwelling amity indeed
Offers the hearts enquiry better view
Then love thats seated in a farther soyle:
As prospectives the neerer that they be
Yeeld better judgement to the judging eye;
Thinges seene farre off are lessened in the eye,
When their true shape is seene being hard by.

M. Bar. True, sir, tis so; and truely I esteeme
Meere amity, familiar neighbourhood,
The cousen germaine unto wedded love.

M. Gou. I, sir, thers surely some aliance twixt them,
For they have both the off-spring from the heart:
Within the hearts bloud ocean still are found
Jewels of amity and jemmes of love.

M. Bar. I, master Goursey, I have in my time
Seene many shipwracks of true honesty;
But incident such dangers ever are
To them that without compass sayle so farre:
Why, what need men to swim when they may wade?
But leave this talke, enough of this is said:
And, master Goursey, in good faith, sir, wellcome;—
And, mistresse Goursey, I am much in debt
Unto your kindnes that would visit me.

Mi. Gou. O master Barnes, you put me but in minde
Of that which I should say; tis we that are
Indebted to your kindness for this cheere:
Which debt that we may repay, I pray lets have
Sometimes your company at our homely house.

Mi. Bar. That, mistresse Goursey, you shall surely have;
Heele be a bolde guest I warrant ye,
And boulder too with you then I would have him.

Mis. Gou. How doe ye meane he will be bolde with me?

Mi. Bar. Why, he will trouble you at home, forsooth,
Often call in, and aske ye how ye doe;
And sit and chat with you all day till night,
And all night too, if he might have his will.

M. Bar. I, wife, indeed, I thanke her for her kindnes;
She hath made me much good cheere passing that way.

Mi. Bar. Passing well done of her; she is a kinde wench.—
I thanke ye, mistresse Goursey, for my husband;
And if it hap your husband come our way
A hunting or such ordinary sportes,
Ile do as much for yours as you for mine.

M. Gou. Pray doe, forsooth.—Gods Lord, what meanes the woman?
She speakes it scornefully: i faith I care not;
Things are well spoken, if they be well taken.— [Aside.]
What, mistresse Barnes, is it not time to part?

Mis. Bar. Whats a clocke, sirra?

Nicholas. Tis but new strucke one.

M. Gou. I have some busines in the towne by three.

M. Bar. Till then lets walke into the orchard, sir.
What, can you play at tables?

M. Gou. Yes, I can.

M. Bar. What, shall we have a game?

M. Gou. And if you please.

M. Bar. I faith, content; weele spend an hower so.—
Sirra, fetch the tables.

Nic. I will, sir.

Exit.

Phil. Sirra Franke, whilst they are playing heere,
Weele to the greene to bowles.

Fra. Phillip, content.—Coomes, come hyther, sirra:
When our fathers part, call us upon the greene.—
Phillip, come, a rubber, and so leave.

Phil. Come on.

Exeunt [Phillip and Francis].

Coom. Sbloud, I doe not like the humour of these springals; theil spend all their fathers good at gamming. But let them trowle the bowles upon the greene; Ile trowle the bowles in the buttery by the leave of God and maister Barnes: and his men be good fellows, so it is; if they be not, let them goe snick up.

Exit.

Enter Nicholas with the tables.

M. Bar. So, set them downe.—
Mistresse Goursey, how doe you like this game?

Mi. Gou. Well, sir.

M. Bar. Can ye play at it?

Mis. Gou. A little, sir.

M. Bar. Faith, so can my wife.

M. Gou. Why, then, master Barnes, and if you please,
Our wives shall try the quarrell twixt us two,
And weele looke on.

M. Bar. I am content.—What, woman, will you play?

Mis. Gou. I care not greatly.

Mis. Bar. Nor I, but that I thinke sheele play me false.

M. Gou. Ile see she shall not.

Mis. Bar. Nay, sir, she will be sure you shall not see,
You of all men shall not marke her hand;
She hath such close conveyance in her play.

M. Gou. Is she so cunning growne? Come, come, lets see.

Mis. Gou. Yea, mistris Barnes, will ye not house your jests,
But let them rome abroad so carelesly?
Faith, if your jealious tongue utter another,
Ile crosse ye with a jest, and ye were my mother.— [Aside.]
Come, shall we play?

Mis. Bar. I, what shall we play a game?

Mis. Gou. A pound a game.

M. Gou. How, wife?

Mis. Gou. Faith, husband, not a farthing lesse.

M. Gou. It is too much; a shilling were good game.

M[is]. Gou. No, weell be ill huswives once;
You have oft been ill husbands: lets alone.

M. Bar. Wife, will you play so much?

Mis. Bar. I would be loath to be so franke a gaimster
As mistresse Goursey is; and yet for once
Ile play a pound a game aswell as she.

M. Bar. Go to, youle have your will. Offer to goe from them.

Mis. Bar. Come, ther's my stake.

Mis. Gou. And ther's mine.

Mis. Bar. Throw for the dice. Ill luck! they are yours.

M. Bar. Master Goursey, who sayes that gamings bad,
When such good angels walke twixt every cast?

M. Gou. This is not noble sport, but royall play.

M. Bar. It must be so where royals walke so fast.

Mis. Bar. Play right, I pray.

Mi. Gou. Why, so I doe.

Mis. Bar. Where stands your man?

Mis. Gou. In his right place.

Mis. Bar. Good faith, I thinke ye play me foule an ace.

M. Bar. No, wife, she playes ye true.

Mis. Bar. Peace, husband, peace; ile not be judged by you.

Mis. Gou. Husband, master Barnes, pray both goe walke;
We cannot play, if standers by doe talke.

M. Gou. Well, to your game; we will not trouble ye.

[Goursey and Barnes] goe from them.

Mi. Gou. Where stands your man now?

Mi. Bar. Doth he not stand right?

Mi. Gou. It stands betweene the pointes.

Mi. Bar. And thats my spight.
But yet me thinkes the dice runnes much uneven,
That I throw but dewes ase and you eleven.

Mis. Gou. And yet you see that I cast downe the hill.

Mi. Bar. I, I beshrew ye, tis not with my will.

Mis. Gou. Do ye beshrew me?

Mi. Bar. No, I beshrew the dice,
That turne you up more at once then me at twise.

Mi. Gou. Well, you shall see them turne for you anon.

Mi. Bar. But I care not for them when your game is done.

Mi. Gou. My game! what game?

Mi. Bar. Your game, your game at tables.

Mi. Gou. Well, mistresse, well, I have red Æsops fables,
And know your morrals meaning well enough.

Mi. Bar. Loe, you'l be angry now! heres good stuffe.

[Re-enter Goursey and Barnes.]

M. Gour. How now, woman? who hath wonne the game?

Mi. Gou. No body yet.

M. Bar. Your wife's the fairest for't.

Mi. Bar. I, in your eye.

Mi. Gou. How do you meane?

Mi. Bar. He holds you fairer for't then I.

Mi. Gou. For what, forsooth?

Mi. Bar. Good gamster, for your game.

M. Bar. Well, try it out; t'is all but in the bearing.

Mi. Bar. Nay, if it come to bearing, shee'l be best.

Mi. Gou. Why you'r as good a bearer as the rest.

Mi. Bar. Nay, thats not so; you beare one man too many.

Mi. Gou. Better doe so then beare not any.

Mi. Ba. Beshrew me, but my wives jestes grow too bitter;
Plainer speeches for her were more [fit]ter:
Malice lyes inbowelled in her tongue,
And new hatcht hate makes every jest a wrong. [Aside.]

Mi. Go. Looke ye, mistresse, now I hit yee.

Mi. Bar. Why, I, you never use to misse a blot,
Especially when it stands so faire to hit.

Mi. Gou. How meane ye, mistresse Barnes?

Mi. Ba. That mistresse Gourse's in the hitting vaine.

Mi. Gou. I hot your man.

Mi. Bar. I, I, my man, my man; but, had I knowne,
I would have had my man stood neerer home.

Mi. Gou. Why, had ye kept your man in his right place,
I should not then have hit him with an ase.

Mis. Bar. Right, by the Lord! a plague upon the bones!

Mi. Gou. And a hot mischiefe on the curser too!

M. Bar. How now, wife?

M. Gour. Why, whats the matter, woman?

Mi. Gou. It is no matter: I am——

Mis. Bar. I, you are——

Mi. Gou. What am I?

Mis. Bar. Why, thats as you will be ever.

Mis. Gou. That's every day as good as Barneses wife.

Mi. Bar. And better too: then what needs al this trouble?
A single horse is worse then that beares double.

M. Bar. Wife, go to, have regard to that you say;
Let not your words passe foorth the vierge of reason,
But keep within the bounds of modesty,
For ill report doth like a bayliffe stand,
To pound the straying and the wit-lost tongue,
And makes it forfeit into follies hands.
Well, wife, you know tis no honest part
To entertaine such guests with jestes and wronges:
What will the neighbring country vulgar say,
When as they heare that you fell out at dinner?
Forsooth, they'l call it a pot quarrell straight;
The best they'l name it, is a womans jangling.
Go too, be rulde, be rulde.

Mi. Bar. Gods Lord, be rulde, be rulde!
What, thinke ye I have such a babies wit,
To have a rods correction for my tongue?
Schoole infancie; I am of age to speake,
And I know when to speake: shall I be chid
For such a——

Mi. Gou. What a? nay, mistresse, speake it out;
I scorne your stopt compares: compare not me
To any but your equals, mistresse Barnes.

M. Gou. Peace, wife, be quiet.

M. Bar. O, perswade, perswade!—
Wife, mistresse Goursey, shall I winne your thoughts
To composition of some kind effects?
Wife, if you love your credit, leave this strife,
And come shake hands with mistresse Goursey heere.

Mi. Ba. Shall I shake hands? let her go shake her heeles;
She gets nor hands, nor friendship at my hands:
And so, sir, while I live I will take heed,
What guests I bid againe unto my house.

M. Bar. Impatient woman, will you be so stiffe
In this absurdnes?

Mi. Ba. I am impatient now I speake;
But, sir, Ile tell you more another time:
Go too, I will not take it as I have done.

Exit.

Mis. Gou. Nay, she might stay; I will not long be heere
To trouble her. Well, maister Barnes,
I am sorry that it was our happes to day,
To have our pleasures parted with this fray:
I am sorrie too for all that is amisse,
Especially that you are moov'de in this.
But be not so, tis but a womans jarre,
Their tongues are weapons, words there blowes of warre.
'Twas but a while we buffeted you saw,
And each of us was willing to withdraw;
There was no harme nor bloudshed you did see:
Tush, feare us not, for we shall well agree.
I take my leave, sir.—Come, kinde harted man,
That speakes his wife so faire, I, now and than;
I know you would not for an hundreth pound
That I should heare your voyces churlish sound;
I know you have a farre more milder tune
Then 'Peace, be quiet, wife'; but I have done.
Will ye go home? the doore directs the way;
But, if you will not, my dutie is to stay.

[Exit.]

M. Bar. Ha, ha! why, heres a right woman, is there not?
They both have din'de, yet see what stomacks they have!

M. Gou. Well, maister Barnes, we cannot do with all:
Let us be friends still.

M. Bar. O, maister Goursey, the mettell of our minds,
Having the temper of true reason in them,
Affoordes a better edge of argument
For the maintaine of our familiar loves
Then the soft leaden wit of women can;
Wherefore with all the parts of neighbour love
I impart my selfe to maister Goursey.

M. Gou. And with exchange of love I do receive it:
Then here weel part, partners of two curst wives.

M. Ba. Oh, where shall wee find a man so blest that is not?
But come; your businesse and my home affaires
Makes me deliver that unfriendly worde
Mongst friends—farewell.

M. Gou. Twentie farewels, sir.

M. Bar. But harke ye, maister Goursey;
Looke ye perswade at home as I will do:
What, man! we must not alwayes have them foes.

M. Go. If I can helpe it.

M. Bar. God helpe, God helpe!
Women are even untoward creatures still.

Exeunt.