Scene Eleventh. The Fields between the Grove and the Forest

Enter Phillip.

Phillip. So ho!

Raph. So ho!

Phil. Frances, art thou there?

Ra. No, heres no Francis. Art thou Will, my man?

Phil. Will foole your man, Will gose your man!
My backe, sir, scornes to weare your liverie.

Raph. Nay, sir, I moov'de but such a question to you,
And it hath not disparegd you, I hope;
Twas but mistaking; such a night as this
May well deceive a man. God boye, sir.

[Exit.]

Phil. Gods will, tis sir Raph Smith, a vertuous knight!
How gently entertaines he my hard answer!
Rude anger made my tongue unmannerly:
I crie him mercie. Well, but all this while
I cannot finde a Francis.—Francis, ho!

[Enter Will.]

Wil. Francis, ho! O, you call Francis now!
How have ye usde my Nan? come, tell me, how.

Phil. Thy Nan! what Nan?

Wil. I, what Nan, now! say, do you not seeke a wench?

Phi. Yes, I do.

Wil. Then, sir, that is she.

Phil. Art not thou [he] I met withall before?

Wil. Yes, sir; and you did counterfeit before,
And said to me you were not sir Raph Smith.

Phil. No more I am not. I met sir Raph Smith;
Even now he askt me if I saw his man.

Wil. O, fine!

Phil. Why, sirra, thou art much deceived in me:
Good faith, I am not he thou thinkst I am.

Wil. What are ye, then?

Phi. Why, one that seekes one Francis and a wench.

Wil. And Francis seekes one Phillip and a wench.

Phil. How canst thou tell?

Wil. I met him seeking Phillip and a wench,
As I was seeking sir Raph and a wench.

Phil. Why, then, I know the matter: we met crosse,
And so we mist; now here we finde our losse.
Well, if thou wilt, we two will keepe togither,
And so we shall meet right with one or other.

Wil. I am content: but, do you heare me, sir?
Did not sir Raph Smith aske yee for a wench?

Phi. No, I promise thee, nor did he looke
For any but thy selfe, as I could gesse.

Wil. Why, this is strange: but, come, sir, lets away;
I feare that we shall walke here till it be day.

Exeunt.

Enter Boy.

[Boy.] O God, I have runne so far into the winde, that I have runne myselfe out of winde! They say a man is neere his end when he lackes breath; and I am at the end of my race, for I can run no farther: then here I be in my breath bed, not in my death bed.

[Exit.]

Enter Coomes.

Coom. They say men moyle and toile for a poore living; so I moyle and toile, and am living, I thanke God; in good time be it spoken. It had been better for me my mistresse angell had beene light, for then perhaps it had not lead me into this darknesse. Well, the divell never blesses a man better, when he purses up angels by owlight: I ranne through a hedge to take the boy, but I stuck in the ditch, and lost the boy. [Falls.] Swounds, a plague on that clod, that mowlhil, that ditch, or what the devil so ere it were, for a man cannot see what it was! Well, I would not for the prize of my sword and buckler any body should see me in this taking, for it would make me but cut off their legges for laughing at me. Well, downe I am, and downe I meane to be, because I am wearie; but to tumble downe thus, it was no parte of my meaning: then, since I am downe, here Ile rest me, and no man shall remoove me.

Enter Hodge.

Hodg. O, I have sport in coney, i faith! I have almost burst myselfe with laughing at mistresse Barnes. She was following of her daughter; and I, hearing her, put on my fellow Dickes sword and buckler voyce and his swounds and sbloud words, and led her such a daunce in the darke as it passes. 'Heere she is,' quoth I. 'Where'? quoth she. 'Here,' quoth I. O, it hath been a brave here and there night! but, O, what a soft natured thing the durt is! how it would endure my hard treading, and kisse my feete for acquaintance! and how courteous and mannerly were the clods to make me stumble onelie of purpose to entreate me lie downe and rest me! But now, and I could find my fellow Dicke, I would play the knave with him honestly, i faith. Well, I will grope in the darke for him, or Ile poke with my staffe, like a blinde man, to prevent a ditch. He stumbles on Dick Coomes.

Coom. Whose that, with a poxe?

Hod. Who art thou, with a pestilence?

Coom. Why, I am Dicke Coomes.

Hodg. What, have I found thee, Dicke? nay, then, I am for yee, Dicke. [Aside.]—Where are ye, Dicke? [Assuming Mistresse Goursey's voice.]

Coom. What can I tell where I am?

Hodg. Can yee not tell? come, come, ye waight on your mistresse well! come on your wayes; I have sought you till I am wearie, and calde ye till I am hoarse: good Lord, what a jaunt I have had this night, hey ho!

Coom. Ist you, mistresse, that came over me? sbloud, twere a good deed to come over you for this nights worke. I cannot affoord all this paines for an angell: I tell ye true; a kisse were not cast away upon a good fellow, that hath deserved more that way then a kisse, if your kindnesse would affoord it him: what, shall I have it, mistresse?

Hodg. Fie, fie, I must not kisse my man.

Coom. Nay, nay, nere stand; shall I, shall I? nobody sees: say but I shall, and Ile smacke yee soundly, i faith.

Hodg. Away, bawdie man! in trueth, Ile tell your maister.

Coom. My master! go to, neere tell me of my maister: he may pray for them that may, he is past it; and for mine own part, I can do somewhat that way, I thanke God; I am not now to learne, and tis your part to have your whole desire.

Hod. Fie, fie, I am ashamed of you: would you tempt your mistresse to lewdnesse?

Coom. To lewdnesse! no, by my troth, thers no such matter in't, it is for kindnesse; and, by my troth, if you like my gentle offer, you shall have what courteously I can affoord ye.

Hod. Shall I indeed, Dicke? I faith, if I thought nobody would see—

Coom. Tush, feare not that; swones, they must have cattes eyes, then.

Hod. Then, kisse me, Dick.

Coom. A kinde wenche, i faith! [Aside].—Where are yee, mistresse?

Hodge. Heere, Dick. O, I am in the darke! Dick, go about.

Coom. Nay, Ile grope sure: where are yee now?

Hodge. Heere.

Coom. A plague on this poast! I would the carpenter had bin hangd that set it up so.—Where are yee now?

Hod. Heere.

Exit.

Coo. Here! O, I come. [Exit.] A plague on it, I am in a pond, mistres!

Hod. [re-entering.] Ha, ha! I have led him into a pond.—Where art thou, Dick?

Coomes. [within.] Up to the middle in a pond!

Hod. Make a boate of thy buckler, then, and swim out. Are yee so hot, with a pox? would you kisse my mistresse? coole ye there, then, good Dick Coomes. O, when he comes forth, the skirts of his blew coate will dropp like a paint-house! O, that I could see, and not be seene, how he would spaniell it, and shake himselfe when he comes out of the pond! But Ile be gone; for now heele fight with a flye, if he but buz in his eare.

Exit.

[Re]enter Coomes.

Coom. Heeres so hoing with a plague! so hang, and ye wil, for I have bin almost drownd. A pox of your lips, and ye call this kissing! Yee talke of a drownd rat, but twas time to swim like a dog; I had bin served like a drowned cat els. I would he had digd his grave that digd the pond! my feete were foule indeed, but a lesse pale then a pond would have served my turne to wash them. A man shall be served thus alwayes, when he followes any of these females; but tis my kinde heart that makes me thus forward in kindnes unto them: well, God amend them, and make them thankfull to them that would do them pleasure. I am not drunke, I would ye should know it; and yet I have drunke more then will do me good, for I might have had a pumpe set up with as good March beere as this was, and nere set up an alebush for the matter. Well, I am somewhat in wroth, I must needs say; and yet I am not more angrie then wise, nor more wise then angrie but Ile fight with the next man I meete, and it be but for luck sake; and if he love to see him selfe hurt, let him bring light with him; Ile do it by darkling els, by Gods dines. Well, heere will I walke, whoso ever sayes nay.

Enter Nicholas [with a torch].

Nic. He that worse may, must holde the candle; but my maister is not so wise as God might have made him. He is gone to seeke a hayre in a hennes nest, a needle in a bottle of haye, which is as sildome seene as a black swan: he is gone to seeke my yong mistresse; and I thinke she is better lost then found, for who so ever hath her, hath but a wet eele by the taile. But they may do as they list; the law is in their owne hands; but, and they would be ruld by me, they should set her on the leland, and bid the divell split her; beshrew her fingers, she hath made me watch past mine hower; but Ile watch her a good turne for it.

Coom. How, whose that? Nicholas!—So, first come, first servd; I am for him.—How now, proverbe, proverbe? sbloud, howe now, proverbe?

Ni. My name is Nicholas, Richard; and I knowe your meaning, and I hope ye meane no harme: I thanke ye, I am the better for your asking.

Coo. Where have you been a whoring thus late, ha?

Ni. Master Richard, the good wife would not seeke her daughter in the oven unlesse she had been there her selfe: but, good Lord, you are knuckle deep in durt!—I warrant, when he was in, he swore Walsingham, and chaft terrible for the time.—Looke, the water drops from you as fast as hops.

Coom. What needst thou to care, whipper-jenny, tripe-cheekes? out, you fat asse!

Ni. Good words cost nought, ill wordes corrupts good manners, Richard: for a hasty man never wants woe; and I had thought you had bin my friend; but I see al is not gold that glisters; ther's falshood in fellowship; amicus certus in re certa cernitur; time and truth tries all; and tis an olde proverbe, and not so old as true, bought wit is best; I can see day at a little hole; I know your minde as well as though I were within you; tis ill halting before a criple: go to, you seek to quarrel; but beware of had I wist; so long goes the pot to the water, at length it comes home broken; I know you are as good a man as ever drew sword, or as was ere girt in a girdle, or as ere went on neats leather, or as one shall see upon a summers day, or as ere lookt man in the face, or as ere trode on Gods earth, or as ere broke bread or drunk drinke; but he is proper that hath proper conditions; but be not you like the cowe, that gives a good sope of milke, and casts it downe with her heeles; I speake plainly, for plaine dealing is a jewel, and he that useth it shal dye a begger; well, that happens in an houre, that happens not in seaven yeeres; a man is not so soone whole as hurt; and you should kill a man, you would kisse his—well, I say little, but I thinke the more.—Yet Ile give him good words; tis good to hold a candle before the devell; yet, by Gods me, Ile take no wrong, if he had a head as big as Brasse, or lookt as high as Poules steeple. [Aside.]

Coo. Sirra, thou grashoper, that shalt skip from my sword as from a sith; Ile cut thee out in collops, and egs, in steekes, in sliste beefe, and frye thee with the fire I shall strike from the pike of thy buckler.

Nich. I, Brag's a good dog; threatned folkes live long.

Coo. What say ye, sir?

Nic. Why, I say not so much as How do ye?

Coo. Do ye not so, sir?

Nic. No, indeed, what so ere I thinke; and thought is free.

Coo. You whoreson wafer-cake, by Gods dines, Ile crush yee for this!

Ni. Give an inch, and youle take an elle; I wil not put my finger in a hole, I warrant ye: what, man! nere crow so fast, for a blinde man may kill a hare; I have knowne when a plaine fellow hath hurt a fencer, so I have: what! a man may be as slow as a snaile, but as fierce as a lyon and he be mooved; indeed, I am patient, I must needs say, for patience in adversity brings a man to the Three Cranes in the Ventree.

Coo. Do ye heare? set downe your torch; drawe, fight, I am for ye.

Ni. And I am for ye too, though it be from this midnight to the next morne.

Coo. Where be your tooles?

Nic. Within a mile of an oake, sir; hee's a proud horse will not carry his owne provender, I warrant ye.

Coo. Now am I in my quarrelling humor, and now can I say nothing but Sownes, draw! but Ile untrus, and then have to it. [Aside.]

Enter [severally] Hodge and Boy.

Hod. Whose there? boy! honest boy, well met: where hast thou bin?

Boy. O Hodge, Dicke Coomes hath been as good as a crye of hounds, to make a breathd hayre of me! but didst thou see my master?

Hod. I met him even now, and he askt me for thee, and he is gone up and downe, whoing like an owle for thee.

Boy. Owle, ye asse!

Hod. Asse! no, nor glasse, for then it had been Owleglasse: but whose that, boy?

Bo. By the masse, tis our Coomes and Nicolas; and it seemes they are providing to fight.

Hod. Then, we shall have fine sport, i faith. Sirra, lets stand close, and when they have fought a bout or two, weele run away with the torch, and leave them to fight darkling; shall we?

Boy. Content; Ile get the torch: stand close.

Coo. So, now my back hath roome to reach: I doe not love to be lac't in, when I goe to lace a rascall. I pray God, Nicholas proove not a fly: it would do me good to deale with a good man now, that we might have halfe a dozen good smart stroakes. Ha, I have seen the day I could have daunst in my fight, on, two, three, foure, and five, on the head of him; six, seaven, eight, nine, and ten, on the sides of him; and, if I went so far as fifteene, I warrant I shewed him a trick of one and twentie; but I have not fought this foure dayes, and I lacke a little practise of my warde; but I shall make a shift: ha, close [Aside].—Are ye disposed, sir?

Nic. Yes, indeed, I feare no colours: change sides, Richard.

Coo. Change the gallowes! Ile see thee hangd first.

Nich. Well, I see the foole will not leave his bable for the Tower of London.

Coo. Foole, ye roge! nay, then, fall to it.

Nic. Good goose, bite not.

Coo. Sbloud, how pursey I am! Well, I see exercise is all: I must practise my weapons oftner; I must have a goale or two at foote-ball before I come to my right kind [Aside].—Give me thy hand, Nicholas: thou art a better man then I took thee for, and yet thou art not so good a man as I.

Ni. You dwell by ill neighbours, Richard; that makes yee praise your selfe.

Coo. Why, I hope thou wilt say I am a man?

Ni. Yes, Ile say so, if I should see yee hangd.

Coo. Hangd, ye roge! nay, then, have at yee. [While they fight, exeunt Hodge, and Boy with the torch.] Swones, the light is gone!

Ni. O Lord, it is as darke as pitch!

Coo. Well, heere Ile lye, with my buckler thus, least striking up and downe at randall, the roge might hurt me, for I cannot see to save it, and Ile hold my peace, least my voyce should bring him where I am.

[Lies down and covers himself with his buckler.]

Nic. Tis good to have a cloake for the raine; a bad shift is better than none at all; Ile sit heere, as if I were as dead as a doore naile.