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A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 01

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Title: A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 01

Compiler: Robert Dodsley

Editor: William Carew Hazlitt


        
Release date: October 1, 2005 [eBook #9050]
                Most recently updated: January 2, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9050

Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOLUME 01 ***




Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and Distributed Proofreaders




A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS


VOL. I


FOURTH EDITION, NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND
ENLARGED WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS, AND NEW NOTES


BY
W. CAREW HAZLITT.



CONTENTS

Preface
Interlude of the Four Elements
Calisto and Melibaea
Everyman: a Moral Play
Hickscorner
The Pardoner and the Friar
The World and the Child (Mundus and Infans)
God's Promises
The Four P.P.
A New Interlude, called Thersites
Footnotes




PREFACE.


After the lapse of about half a century since the issue of the last
edition of _Dodsley's Select Collection of Old Plays_,[1] and the
admittance of that work into the honourable rank of scarce and dear
books, it seemed a desirable thing to attempt, with such additional
improvements as might be practicable or expedient, a revival of a
publication which has been a favourite with the lovers of our early drama
since its first publication more than a hundred years ago. Between 1744,
the date of its original appearance, and 1825, it passed through three
editions; and it may be remarked that the tendency in each successive
edition has been to remodel the undertaking on the principle of rejecting
plays which from time to time have been lifted up (so to speak) into the
collected works of their respective authors, and to substitute for them
plays which have either suffered unmerited obscurity in original and rare
editions, or have lain so far scattered about in various other
collections; and in the present instance that principle has been strictly
adhered to.[2]

It is desirable that it should be seen precisely in what manner, and to
what extent, the edition now offered differs from its predecessors as
regards the contents. The points of variation are three: 1. Omissions; 2.
Additions of pieces not included in the former editions; 3. Additional
plays now first reprinted from the originals. The first division
comprises the following productions which, since the last republication
of Dodsley, have been taken up into the collected editions of their
respective authors:--

Ferrex and Porrex              _Sackville, &c_.
Alexander and Campaspe         _Lyly_.
Jew of Malta                   _Marlowe_.
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay   _Greene_.
Edward the First               _Peele_
Edward the Second              _Marlowe_.
Pinner of Wakefield            _Greene_.
Four Prentices of London       _Heywood_.
Mayor of Quinborough           _Middleton_.
Malcontent                     _Marston, &c_.
All Fools                      _Chapman_.
Woman Killed with Kindness     _Heywood_.
Honest Whore (two parts)       _Decker and Middleton_.
The White Devil                _Webster_.
Eastward Hoe                   _Marston, &c_.
A Mad World, my Masters        _Middleton_.
The Roaring Girl               _Middleton_.
The Widow's Tears              _Chapman_.
The Widow                      _Jonson, &c_.
The Wits                       _Davenant_.
The Jovial Crew                _Brome_.

The second and third characteristics of our book are the ADDITIONS,
which, as we have stated, are of two kinds. In the first place, we may
enumerate the dramas new to Dodsley's collection, though previously
edited in a variety of forms:

Interlude of the Four Elements                _Anon_.
                 Disobedient Child            _Ingelend_.
                 Trial of Treasure            _Anon_.
                 Youth                        _Anon_.
                 Lusty Juventus               _Wever_.
Hickscorner, An Interlude                     _Anon_.
Everyman, An Interlude                        _Anon_.
Pardoner and Friar, An Interlude              _Heywood_.
Jack Juggler |                                _Anon_.
Thersites    | Interludes                     _Anon_.
Ralph Roister Doister                         _Udall_.
Cambyses                                      _Preston_.
Conflict of Conscience                        _Woodes_.
Three Ladies of London                        _Wilmot_.
Three Lords and Three Ladies of London        _Wilmot_.
Rare Triumphs of Love and Fortune             _Anon_.
Knack to Know a Knave                         _Anon_.
Jeronimo (Part the First)                     _Anon_.
Two Angry Women of Abingdon                   _Porter_.
Spanish Tragedy                               _Kyd_.
Solyman and Perseda                           _Anon_.
How a Man may choose a Good Wife from a Bad   _Anon_.
Englishmen for my Money                       _Haughton_.
Second Maiden's Tragedy                       _Anon_.
Wily Beguiled                                 _Anon_.
Return from Parnassus                         _Anon_.
New Wonder                                    _Rowley_.
Rebellion                                     _Rawlins_.
Lust's Dominion                               _Anon_.

"The Lost Lady," by Sir William Berkley or Barkley; "The Marriage Night,"
by Lord Falkland; "The Shepherd's Holiday," by Joseph Butter;
"Andromana," by J.S., and "All Mistaken, or the Mad Couple," which were
given by Dodsley in 1744, but were omitted in the second and third
impressions, have been restored to their places.

The remaining feature, recommending the undertaking to indulgent notice,
is perhaps the most important and interesting. Subjoined is a list of the
dramatic compositions which have never hitherto appeared in any series of
Old English Plays, and of which the originals are of the utmost rarity:--

1. The Tragi-Comedy of Calisto and Melibaea, 1520.
2. Nice Wanton, An Interlude, 1560.
3. An Interlude, called Like Will to Like, by Ulpian
   Fulwell, 1568.
4. The History of Jacob and Esau, 1568.
5. The Marriage of Wit and Science, 1570.

A strictly chronological arrangement has been adopted. Such a plan
appeared to be the most desirable and the most obvious, as it facilitates
our appreciation of the gradual and progressive development of dramatic
composition. If it may be thought to labour under any disadvantage, it is
perhaps that it has the effect of throwing into a single consecutive
series, without discrimination, pieces which are mere interludes, and
others which are characterised by higher qualities, and aspire to belong
to the regular drama. But the evil will be found not to be of a very
serious kind, and it will disappear after the earlier volumes of the
collection.

In fixing the order of sequence, the place of a production in the series
has been occasionally determined by the date at which it is believed to
have been written or presented, rather than by the date at which it left
the printer's hands. Such is the case with Heywood's "Pardoner and
Friar," and the anonymous interlude of "New Custom;" as well as with
"Ralph Roister Doister," and "Gammer Gurton's Needle," all of which may
be taken to belong to a period some time anterior to their publication.

A leading characteristic of the collection as now reconstructed is the
great preponderance of pieces, of which the authors are not known, or by
authors who have not left more than one or two dramatic productions. It
was judged expedient, in the interest of purchasers, to give a preference
to these single or anonymous plays, as it will probably not be long
before the works of every voluminous writer are collected. Those of
Jonson, Shirley, Peele, Greene, Ford, Massinger, Middleton, and Chapman,
have already been edited, and Brome's, Deckers, Heywood's, and
Glapthorne's will follow in due course. To all these the new DODSLEY will
serve as a supplement and companion.

The editor felt himself in a position of somewhat special difficulty and
delicacy, when it became necessary to consider the question of retaining
or excluding the prefatory matter attached to the impressions of this
work in 1744 and 1780. A careful and impartial perusal of that matter
made it evident that the prudent course, on the whole, was to reject
these prolegomena. There was no alternative but their entire preservation
or their entire suppression; for any arbitrary alterations or
curtailments would have been liable to objection or censure. In the first
place, there was Dodsley's own preface, chiefly occupied by a sketch of
the history of our stage, but based on the most imperfect information,
and extremely unsatisfactory, if not misleading. Then there was, like
Pelion heaped on Ossa, Isaac Reed's introduction, more elaborate and
copious than Dodsley's, yet far from complete or systematic, and not
improved by the presence of an appendix or sequel. Reed, of course, went
over the same ground as Dodsley had already traversed with inferior
ability and less ample resources at his command, and there were
repetitions, as might be expected, of the same particulars. There seemed
to be two forms of weakness--redundancy on the one hand and meagreness on
the other. Again, all the information collected by Dodsley and Reed was
to be found elsewhere, with innumerable improvements and corrections of
mistakes, the subject itself more methodically handled, and the early
annals of the English drama and theatre almost presented to the public
view under a new aspect, by Mr Collier, in his well-known work printed in
1831, a publication heartily welcomed and appreciated at the time of its
appearance and long after, and even now a literary monument, of which it
may be said that, with whatever defects it may possess, it reflects as
much credit on its author as a far more perfect performance brought to
completion at the present day under more favourable auspices could
reflect on any one else. It was a long advance on anything which had been
attempted so far in the same direction; and to reproduce, in the face of
Mr Collier's volumes, the obsolete and superseded labours of Dodsley and
even Reed, seemed to be a waste of space which might be far more
beneficially occupied by additional texts.

As regards the orthography, it has to be pointed out that, in consonance
with the system adopted by Dyce and others, it has been reduced to our
modern standard; but at the same time it should be understood that the
_language_ of the writers has in every case been held sacred. Than the
spelling which occurs in early plays and tracts, more especially perhaps
those of a popular character, nothing can well be more capricious and
uncouth; but the phraseology and terms are on all accounts of value. Not
a word, therefore, nor even part of a word, has suffered alteration; and
wherever there was a doubt, as there might be in preparing for the press
once more such an extensive collection of pieces, it was thought better
to err on the side of caution. Weever, the author of "Funeral Monuments,"
retained with scrupulous exactitude the ancient spelling _ipsissimis
verbis_; and such a plan might be advisable and convenient with
sepulchral inscriptions or records; but in the matter before us what an
editor had principally, if not almost exclusively, to consider, was the
preservation in their fullest integrity of the language of the time and
the sense of the playwright.

The first and second editions of Dodsley's collection appear,
notwithstanding what is asserted to the contrary in Reed's preface, to
have been superintended with no very high degree of care, and the late Mr
Dyce, indeed, used to observe that the same criticism was applicable to
the edition of 1825. But the latter, with the fullest admission of its
defects, is certainly marked by great improvements on its predecessors in
more than one way. The labours of Hawkins[3] and Dilke[4] reflect
considerable honour upon those gentlemen.

It is almost superfluous to observe that the preceding editions, the last
and best not excepted, present a very large number of statements,
opinions, and readings, which more recent and more exact information has
shown to be erroneous. All these mistakes have been carefully rectified,
wherever the knowledge and experience of the editor enabled him to detect
them.[5]

A certain number of corruptions and obscurities remain, which it passed
the editor's ingenuity to eradicate or clear away. The printed remains of
our early drama have come down to us, for the most part, in a sadly
mutilated state, and the attempt to amend and restore the text to its
original purity will, it may be safely affirmed, never succeed more than
to a very imperfect extent. Even the late Mr Dyce's revised edition of
Shakespeare, 1868, abounds with misprints and other distortions of the
writer's sense; and we must abandon in some cases the hope of ever
arriving at the true readings. So it is with the miscellaneous assemblage
of dramatic productions here brought together. A great deal has been done
by a succession of editors to reduce the errors of the printer or copyist
to a minimum; but, after all, there are places where it would require the
assistance of the Sphinx to supply a chasm, or rectify a palpable
mistake.

The work, in its present state, should assuredly have some degree of
interest and worth; for it offers in one collected body the best
specimens of dramatic literature which the English language affords,
castigated and enriched by some of our best commentators and critics.

In these volumes, as now rearranged, it is trusted that very few
uncollected plays of real importance will be found wanting; but as an
enterprise of this kind can never amount to more than a _selection_, as
it purports to be, it appeared judicious, in making the choice, to give
the preference to such pieces as either illustrated the manners of the
period, or marked the gradual development of the dramatic art.

The only basis on which the present editor can rest, so far as he is
aware, the slightest claim to credit is the attention which he has
bestowed on the rearrangement of the collection as it now stands; the
conscientious and vigilant supervision of the whole matter here brought
together--prefaces, texts, and notes--and the correction of errors on the
part of his predecessors, occasioned by a variety of causes. In carrying
out even this unambitious programme, there was a fair share of labour and
difficulty, and, of course, it has involved the addition of a new crop of
notes scattered up and down the series, as well as the occasional
displacement of certain illustrative remarks founded on wrong _data_.

The Notes without any initial attached to them in the following pages,
may be presumed to be from the pen of Isaac Reed, with the exception of a
limited number, which were written by Dodsley himself, and which are not
easily mistakable. The matter signed _S_. appears to have been
communicated to Reed by George Steevens. The _C_. notes are Mr Collier's,
and _O.G_. stands for Octavius Gilchrist. For the notes which remain, and
which have been enclosed between brackets, the present editor alone is
answerable.

It is proposed to introduce in the concluding volume two indexes, one of
names and another of subjects, as the want of a ready means of reference
to passages, phrases, and characters in these old plays, is one which the
editor himself has so strongly felt as to make him desirous of removing
it, so far as possible, for his own sake and that of the public.

The long table of _errata_ to the former edition has, of course, been
attended to, and the _additional notes_ there placed at the end have been
arranged under their respective heads.

W.C.H.
KENSINGTON,
_1st November_ 1873.



DEDICATION.

TO SIR CLEMENT COTTEREL DORMER, KT.


Sir,--If there be anything in this collection worthy of being preserved,
it is to you the public is indebted for the benefit. Your obliging
readiness to communicate the stores of which you were possessed,
encouraged me to undertake the design, which otherwise I should have
despaired of prosecuting with success. Under the sanction of your name,
therefore, I beg leave to shelter the remains of these old dramatic
writers, which, but for your generosity had fallen with their authors
into utter oblivion. To your candour I submit the pains I have taken to
give a tolerably correct edition of them, and am with great respect, Sir,
your most obliged and obedient humble servant,

R. DODSLEY.[6]






INTERLUDE OF THE FOUR ELEMENTS.


_A new interlude and a merry of the nature of the Four Elements,
declaring many proper points of philosophy natural, and of divers strange
lands, and of divers strange effects and causes; which interlude, if the
whole matter be played, will contain the space of an hour and a half;
but, if ye list, ye may leave out much of the sad matter, as the
Messenger's part, and some of Nature's part, and some of Experience's
part, and yet the matter will depend conveniently, and then it will not
be past three-quarters of an hour of length. London: John Rastell_.

1519. 8vo, black letter.




MR HALLIWELL'S PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION.[7]


The curious interlude reprinted in the following pages is one of the
earliest moral plays in the English language known to exist, and it
possesses an interest beyond its connection with the history of the
stage, as being the only dramatic piece extant in which science is
attempted to be made popular through the medium of theatrical
representation. Only one copy of it is known to exist, but that is
unfortunately imperfect, a sheet in the middle and concluding leaves
being lost, so that we are left without the means of giving the reader
much information respecting it. On the other hand, while this
circumstance must excuse the brevity of these preliminary observations,
its singularity and extreme rarity offered additional inducements for
selecting it for republication.

An allusion to the discovery of the West Indies and America, "within this
twenty year," would appear to ascertain the date of the composition of
the play; but I suspect from internal evidence, the form and manner of
its dialogue, that it was not written so early as some authors have
supposed, Dr Dibdin assigning 1510 to the period of its appearance.[8]
The same writer considers it to be a production of Rastell's press; and
it has been stated, on somewhat doubtful authority, that the printer was
also the author; a combination that has seldom effected much service, and
has too frequently deteriorated the efforts of both. Be this as it may,
no great talent is displayed in the construction of the following piece,
the value of which must be allowed to consist in the curious illustration
it affords of the phraseology and popular scientific knowledge of the
day, and its curiosity as a link in the history of the drama, rather than
in any intrinsic merits of its own.

It is only necessary to add that the play was rather carelessly printed,
and a few very obvious errors have been corrected. With these exceptions,
the following pages present a faithful copy of the original, a very small
octavo volume in black letter.[9]




INTERLUDE OF THE FOUR ELEMENTS.


THE NAMES OF THE PLAYERS.

_Here follow the names of the players_.

The Messenger, Nature Natura[t]e, Humanity, Studious Desire, Sensual
Appetite, the Taverner, Experience, Ignorance; also, if ye list, ye may
bring in a Disguising.

_Here follow divers matters which be in this interlude contained_.

Of the situation of the four elements, that is to say, the earth, the
water, the air, and fire, and of their qualities and properties, and of
the generation and corruption of things made of the commixtion of them.

Of certain conclusions proving that the earth must needs be round, and
that it hangeth in the midst of the firmament, and that it is in
circumference above 21,000 miles.

Of certain conclusions proving that the sea lieth round upon the earth.

Of certain points of cosmography, as how and where the sea covereth the
earth, and of divers strange regions and lands, and which way they lie;
and of the new-found lands, and the manner of the people.

Of the generation and cause of stone and metal, and of plants and herbs.

Of the generation and cause of well-springs and rivers; and of the cause
of hot fumes that come out of the earth; and of the cause of the baths of
water in the earth, which be perpetually hot.

Of the cause of the ebb and flood of the sea.

Of the cause of rain, snow, and hail.

Of the cause of the winds and thunder.

Of the cause of the lightning, of blazing stars, and flames flying in the
air.



THE MESSENGER.

Th' abundant grace of the power divine,
Which doth illumine the world environ,
Preserve this audience, and cause them to incline
To charity, this is my petition;
For by your patience and supportation
A little interlude, late made and prepared,
Before your presence here shall be declared,
Which of a few conclusions is contrived,
And points of philosophy natural.
But though the matter be not so well declared,
As a great clerk could do, nor so substantial,
Yet the author hereof requireth you all,
Though he be ignorant, and can little skill,
To regard his only intent and good-will;
Which in his mind hath ofttimes pondered,
What number of books in our tongue maternal
Of toys and trifles be made and imprinted,
And few of them of matter substantial;
For though many make books, yet unneth ye shall
In our English tongue find any works
Of cunning, that is regarded by clerks.
The Greeks, the Romans, with many other mo,
In their mother tongue wrote warks excellent.
Then if clerks in this realm would take pain so,
Considering that our tongue is now sufficient
To expound any hard sentence evident,
They might, if they would, in our English tongue
Write works of gravity sometime among;
For divers pregnant wits be in this land,
As well of noble men as of mean estate,
Which nothing but English can understand.
Then if cunning Latin books were translate
Into English, well correct and approbate,
All subtle science in English might be learned,
As well as other people in their own tongues did.
But now so it is, that in our English tongue
Many one there is, that can but read and write,
For his pleasure will oft presume among
New books to compile and ballads to indite,
Some of love or other matter not worth a mite;
Some to obtain favour will flatter and glose,
Some write curious terms nothing to purpose.
Thus every man after his fantasy
Will write his conceit, be it never so rude,
Be it virtuous, vicious, wisdom or folly;
Wherefore to my purpose thus I conclude,
Why should not then the author of this interlude
Utter his own fantasy and conceit also,
As well as divers other nowadays do?
For wisdom and folly is as it is taken,
For that the one calleth wisdom, another calleth folly,
Yet among most folk that man is holden
Most wise, which to be rich studieth only;
But he that for a commonwealth busily
Studieth and laboureth, and liveth by God's law,
Except he wax rich, men count him but a daw![10]
So he that is rich is ever honoured,
Although he have got it never so falsely.
The poor, being never so wise, is reproved.
This is the opinion most commonly
Thoroughout the world, and yet no reason why;
Therefore in my mind, when that all such daws
Have babbled what they can, no force of two straws!
For every man in reason thus ought to do,
To labour for his own necessary living,
And then for the wealth of his neighbour also;
But what devilish mind have they which, musing
And labouring all their lives, do no other thing
But bring riches to their own possession,
Nothing regarding their neighbour's destruction;
Yet all the riches in the world that is
Riseth of the ground by God's sending,
And by the labour of poor men's hands;
And though thou, rich man, have thereof the keeping,
Yet is not this riches of thy getting,
Nor oughtest not in reason to be praised the more,
For by other men's labour it is got before.
A great-witted man may soon be enriched,
That laboureth and studieth for riches only;
But how shall his conscience then be discharged?
For all clerks affirm that that man precisely,
Which studieth for his own wealth principally,
Of God shall deserve but little reward,
Except he the commonwealth somewhat regard;
So they say that that man occupied is
For a commonwealth, which is ever labouring
To relieve poor people with temporal goods,
And that it is a common good act to bring
People from vice, and to use good living.
Likewise for a commonwealth occupied is he,
That bringeth them to knowledge that ignorant be;
But man to know God is a difficulty,
Except by a mean he himself inure,
Which is to know God's creatures that be:
As first them that be of the grossest nature,
And then to know them that be more pure;
And so, by little and little ascending,
To know God's creatures and marvellous working.
And this wise man at the last shall come to
The knowledge of God and His high majesty,
And so to learn to do his duty, and also
To deserve of His goodness partner to be.
Wherefore in this work declared shall ye see,
First of the elements the situation,
And of their effects the cause and generation;
And though some men think this matter too high,
And not meet for an audience unlearned,
Methink for man nothing more necessary
Than this to know, though it be not used,
Nor a matter more low cannot be argued;
For though the elements God's creatures be,
Yet they be most gross and lowest in degree.
How dare men presume to be called clerks,
Disputing of high creatures celestial,
As things invisible and God's high warks,
And know not these visible things inferial?
So they would know high things, and know nothing at all:
Of the earth here whereon they daily be,
Neither the nature, form, nor quantity.
Wherefore it seemeth nothing convenient
A man to study, and his time to bestow,
First for the knowledge of high things excellent,
And of light matters beneath nothing to know,
As of these four elements here below,
Whose effects daily appear here at eye,
Such things to know first were most meet study;
Which matter before your presence shortly
In this interlude here shall be declared
Without great eloquence in rhyme rudely,
Because the compiler is but small learned.
This work with rhetoric is not adorned,
For perhaps in this matter much eloquence
Should make it tedious or hurt the sentence.
But because some folk be little disposed
To sadness, but more to mirth and sport,
This philosophical work is mixed
With merry conceits, to give men comfort,
And occasion to cause them to resort
To hear this matter, whereto if they take heed,
Some learning to them thereof may proceed.
But they that shall now this matter declare
Openly here unto this audience,
Behold, I pray you, see where they are.
The players begin to appear in presence;
I see well it is time for me go hence,
And so I will do; therefore now shortly
To God I commit all this whole company.

_Hic intrat_ NATURA NATURATA, HUMANITY, _and_ STUDIOUS DESIRE, _portans
figuram_.


NATURA NATURATA.

The high, mighty, most excellent of all,
The Fountain of goodness, virtue, and cunning,
Which is eterne[11] of power most potential,
The Perfection and First Cause of everything,
I mean that only high Nature naturing.
Lo, He by His goodness hath ordained and created
Me here His minister, called Nature Naturate.
Wherefore I am the very naturate nature,
The immediate minister for the preservation
Of everything in His kind to endure,
And cause of generation and corruption
Of that thing that is brought to destruction.
Another thing still I bring forth again,
Thus wondersly I work, and never in vain.
The great world behold, lo, divided wondersly
Into two regions, whereof one I call
The ethereal region with the heavens high,
Containing the planets, stars, and spheres all;
The lower region, called the elemental,
Containing these four elements below,
The fire, the air, the water, and earth also.
But yet the elements and other bodies all
Beneath take their effects and operations
Of the bodies in the region ethereal.
By their influence and constellations,
They cause here corruptions and generations;
For if the movings above should once cease,
Beneath should be neither increase nor decrease.
These elements of themselves so single be
Unto divers forms cannot be divided,
Yet they commix together daily, you see,
Whereof divers kinds of things be engendered,
Which things eftsones, when they be corrupted,
Each element I reduce to his first estate,
So that nothing can be utterly annihilate;
For though the form and fashion of anything
That is a corporal body be destroyed,
Yet every matter remaineth in his being,
Whereof it was first made and formed;
For corruption of a body commixed
Is but the resolution by time and space
Of every element to his own place.
For who that will take any body corporal,
And do what he can it to destroy,
To break it or grind it into powder small,
To wash, to drown, to bren it, or to dry,
Yet the air and fire thereof naturally
To their own proper places will ascend,
The water to the water, the earth to the earth tend;
For if heat or moisture of anything certain
By fire or by water be consumed,
Yet earth or ashes on earth will remain,
So the elements can never be destroyed.
For essentially there is now at this tide
As much fire, air, water, earth, as was
Ever before this time, neither more nor less;
Wherefore thou, man--now I speak to thee--
Remember that thou art compound and create
Of these elements, as other creatures be,
Yet they have not all like noble estate,
For plants and herbs grow and be insensate.
Brute beasts have memory and their wits five,
But thou hast all those and soul intellective;
So by reason of thine understanding,
Thou hast dominion of other beasts all,
And naturally thou shouldst desire cunning
To know strange effects and causes natural;
For he that studieth for the life bestial,[12]
As voluptuous pleasure and bodily rest,
I account him never better than a beast.


HUMANITY.

O excellent prince, and great lord Nature,
I am thine own child and formed instrument!
I beseech thy grace, take me to thy cure,
And teach me such science thou thinkest expedient.


NATURE.

Then sith thou art so humble and benevolent,
That thing that is meet for thy capacity
And good for thy knowledge I shall instruct thee.
First of all, thou must consider and see
These elements, which do each other penetrate,
And by continual alteration they be
Of themselves daily corrupted and generate.
The earth as a point or centre is situate
In the midst of the world, with the water joined,
With the air and fire round, and whole environed.
The earth of itself is ponderous and heavy,
Cold and dry of his own nature proper;
Some part lieth dry continually,
And part thereof covered over with water,
Some with the salt sea, some with fresh river,
Which earth and the water together withal
So joined make a round figure spherical;
So the water which is cold and moist is found
In and upon the earth filling the hollowness,
In divers parts, lying with the earth round,
Yet the hills and mountains of the earth excess
Take nothing of it away the roundness,
In comparison because they be so small,
No more than the pricks do that be on a gall.
The air which is hot and moist also,
And the fire which is ever hot and dry,
About the earth and water jointly they go,
And compass them everywhere orbicularly,
As the white about the yoke of an egg doth lie.
But the air in the lower part most remaineth;
The fire naturally to the higher tendeth.
The ethereal region which containeth
The stars and planets, and every sphere,
About the elements daily moveth,
And covereth them round about everywhere.
Every star and sphere in strange manner
Upon his own poles moveth diversely,
Which now to declare were too long to tarry.
The fire and the air of their natures be light,
Therefore they move by natural providence;
The water, because it is ponderous in weight,
Moveth not naturally, but by violence
Of the stars and planets, by whose influence
The sea is compelled to ebb and flow daily,
And fresh waters to spring continually.
And though that the water be gross and heavy,
Yet nothing so gross as the earth, I wiss;
Therefore by heat it is vapoured up lightly,
And in the air maketh clouds and mists;
But as soon as ever that it grossly is
Gathered together, it descendeth again,
And causeth upon the earth hail, snow, and rain.
The earth, because of his ponderosity,
Avoideth equally the movings great
Of all extremities and spheres that be,
And tendeth to the place that is most quiet;
So in the midst of all the spheres is set
Foremost object from all manner moving,
Where naturally he resteth and moveth nothing.
Mark well now, how I have thee showed and told
Of every element the very situation
And quality, wherefore this figure behold
For a more manifest demonstration.
And because thou shouldst not put to oblivion
My doctrine, this man, called Studious Desire,
With thee shall have continual habitation,
Thee still to exhort more science to acquire.
For the more that thou desirest to know anything,
Therein thou seemest the more a man to be;
For that man that desireth no manner cunning,
All that while no better than a beast is he.
Why been the eyes made, but only to see,
The legs, to bear the body of a creature?
So everything is made to do his nature;
So likewise reason, wit, and understanding,
Is given to thee, man, for that thou shouldst indeed
Know thy Maker and cause of thine own being,
And what the world is, and whereof thou dost proceed;
Wherefore, it behoveth thee of very need
The cause of things first for to learn,
And then to know and laud the high God eterne.


HUMANITY.

O glorious Lord and Prince most pleasant!
Greatly am I now holden unto thee,
So to illumine my mind, that was ignorant,
With such noble doctrine as thou hast here shown me;
Wherefore I promise, upon my fidelity,
My diligence to do to keep in memory,
And thee for to honour still perpetually.


STUDIOUS DESIRE.

And sith it hath pleased thy grace to admit
Me upon this man to give attendance,
With thy doctrine here shown I shall quicken his wit,
And daily put him in remembrance;
His courage and desire I shall also enhance,
So that his felicity shall be most of all
To study and to search for causes natural.


NATURE.

Well, then, for a season I will depart,
Leaving you together here both twain;
What I have shown, man, print well in thine heart,[13]
And mark well this figure that here shall remain,
Whereby thou mayest perceive many things more plain
Concerning the matter I spoke of before;
And when that I shall resort here again,
Of high points of cunning I shall show thee more.


STUDIOUS DESIRE.

Now, Humanity, call to your memory
The cunning points that Nature hath declared;
And though he has shown divers points and many
Of the elements so wondersly[14] formed
Yet many other causes there are would be learned,
As to know the generation of things all
Here in the earth, how they be engendered,
As herbs, plants, well-springs, stone, and metal.


HUMANITY.

Those things to know for me be full expedient,
But yet in those points which Nature late showed me,
My mind in them as yet is not content,
For I can no manner wise perceive nor see,
Nor prove by reason why the earth should be
In the middes of the firmament hanging so small,
And the earth with the water to be round withal.


STUDIOUS DESIRE.

Me thinketh myself, as to some of those points
I could give a sufficient solution;
For, first of all, thou must needs grant this,
That the earth is so deep, and bottom hath none,
Or else there is some gross thing it standeth upon,
Or else that it hangeth, thou must needs consent,
Even in the middes of the firmament.


HUMANITY.

What then? go forth with thine argument.


STUDIOUS DESIRE.

Then mark well, in the day or in a winter's night,
The sun and moon, and stars celestial,
In the east first they do appear to thy sight,
And after in the west they do down fall,
And again in the morrow next of all,
Within twenty-four hours they be come just
To the east point again, where thou sawest them first.
Then if the earth should be of endless deepness,
Or should stand upon any other gross thing,
It should be an impediment, doubtless,
To the sun, moon, and stars in their moving;
Therefore, in reason, it seemeth most convenient
The earth to hang in the middes of the firmament.


HUMANITY.

Thine argument in that point doth me confound,
That thou hast made, but yet it proveth not right
That the earth by reason should be round;
For though the firmament, with his stars bright,
Compass about the earth each day and night,
Yet the earth may be plane, peradventure,
Quadrant, triangle, or some other figure.


STUDIOUS DESIRE.

That it cannot be plane I shall well prove thee:
Because the stars, that arise in the orient,
Appear more sooner to them that there be,
Than to the other dwelling in the Occident.
The eclipse is thereof a plain experiment
Of the sun or moon which, when it doth fall,
Is never one time of the day in places all;
Yet the eclipse generally is alway
In the whole world as one time being;
But when we, that dwell here, see it in the midday,
They in the west parts see it in the morning,
And they in the east behold it in the evening;
And why that should so be, no cause can be found,
But only by reason that the earth is round.


HUMANITY.

That reason proveth the earth at the least,
One ways to be round, I cannot gainsay,
As for to account from the east to the west;
But yet, notwithstanding all that, it may
Lese his roundness by some other way.


STUDIOUS DESIRE.

Nay, no doubt it is round everywhere,
Which I could prove, thou shouldst not say nay,
If I had thereto any time and leisure;
But I know a man called Experience,
Of divers instruments is never without,
Could prove all these points, and yet by his science
Can tell how many mile the earth is about,
And many other strange conclusions, no doubt.
His instruments could show thee so certain,
That every rude carter should them perceive plain.

HU.  Now would to God I had that man now here
     For the contemplation of my mind!
STU. If ye will, I shall for him inquire,
     And bring him hither, if I can him find.
HU.  Then might I say ye were to me right kind.
STU. I shall assay, by God that me dear bought,
     For cunning is the thing that would be sought.
SEN. Well hit, quoth Hykman, when that he smote
     His wife on the buttocks with a beer-pot.
     Aha! now good even, fool, good even!
     It is even thee, knave, that I mean.
     Hast thou done thy babbling?
STU. Yea, peradventure, what then?
SEN. Then hold down thy head like a pretty man, and take my blessing.
     Benedicite! I grant to thee this pardon,
     And give thee absolution
     For thy sooth saws; stand up, Jackdaw!
     I beshrew thy father's son,
     Make room, sirs, and let us be merry,
     With huffa gallant, sing tirl on the berry,
     And let the wide world wind![15]
     Sing, frisky jolly, with hey troly lolly,
     For I see well it is but a folly
     For to have a sad mind:
     For rather than I would use such folly,
     To pray, to study, or be pope holy,
     I had as lief be dead.
     By Gog's body, I tell you true!
     I speak as I think now, else I beshrew
     Even my next fellow's head!
     Master Humanity, sir, by your leave,
     I were right loth you to grieve,
     Though I do him despise;
     For if ye knew him as well as I,
     Ye would not use his company,
     Nor love him in no wise.
HU.  Sir, he looketh like an honest man,
     Therefore I marvel that ye can
     This wise him deprave.
SEN. Though he look never so well,
     I promise you he hath a shrewd smell.
HU.  Why so? I pray you tell.
SEN. For he savoureth like a knave.
STU. Hold your peace, sir, ye mistake me!
     What, I trow, that ye would make me
     Like to one of your kin.
SEN. Hark, sirs, hear ye not how boldly
     He calleth me knave again by policy?
     The devil pull off his skin!
     I would he were hanged by the throat,
     For by the mass I love him not:
     We two can never agree;
     I am content, sir, with you to tarry,
     And I am for you so necessary,
     Ye cannot live without me.
HU.  Why, sir, I say, what man be ye?
SEN. I am called Sensual Appetite,
     All creatures in me delight;
     I comfort the wits five,
     The tasting, smelling, and hearing;
     I refresh the sight and feeling
     To all creatures alive.
     For when the body waxeth hungry
     For lack of food, or else thirsty,
     Then with drinks pleasant
     I restore him out of pain,
     And oft refresh nature again
     With delicate viand.
     With pleasant sound of harmony
     The hearing alway I satisfy,
     I dare this well report;
     The smelling with sweet odour,
     And the sight with pleasant figure
     And colours, I comfort;
     The feeling, that is so pleasant,
     Of every member, foot, or hand,
     What pleasure therein can be
     By the touching of soft and hard,
     Of hot or cold, nought in regard,
     Except it come by me.
HU.  Then I cannot see the contrary,
     But ye are for me full necessary,
     And right convenient.
STU. Yea, sir, beware yet what ye do,
     For if you forsake my company so,
     Lord Nature will not be content.
     Of him ye shall never learn good thing,
     Nother virtue nor no other cunning,
     This dare I well say.
SEN. Marry, avaunt, knave! I thee defy!
     Did Nature forbid him my company?
     What sayest thou thereto? Speak openly.
HU.  As for that I know well nay.
SEN. No, by God! I am right sure;
     For he knoweth well no creature
     Without me can live one day.
HU.  Sir, I pray you be content,
     It is not utterly mine intent
     Your company to exile;
     But only to have communication,
     And a pastime of recreation
     With this man for a while.
STU. Well, for your pleasure I will depart.
HU.  Now go, knave, go! I beshrew thy heart!
     The devil send thee forward!
SEN. Now, by my troth, I marvel greatly,
     That ever ye would use the company
     So mich of such a knave;
     For if ye do no nother thing,
     But ever study and to be musing,
     As he would have you, it will you bring
     At the last unto your grave!
     Ye should ever study principal
     For to comfort your life natural,
     With meats and drinks delicate
     And other pastimes and pleasures among,
     Dancing, laughing, or pleasant song;
     This is meet for your estate.
HU.  Because ye say so, I you promise,
     That I have mused and studied such wise,
     Me thinketh my wits weary;
     My nature desireth some refreshing,
     And also I have been so long fasting,
     That I am somewhat hungry.
SEN. Well, then, will ye go with me
     To a tavern, where ye shall see
     Good pastance, and at your liberty
     Have whatsoever you will?
HU.  I am content so for to do,
     If that ye will not fro me go,
     But keep me company still.
SEN. Company, quotha? then that I shall point-device,
     And also do you good and true service,
     And thereto I plight my troth!
     And if that I ever forsake you,
     I pray God the devil take you!
HU.  Marry, I thank you for that oath!
SEN. A mischief on it! my tongue, lo!
     Will trip sometime, whatsoever I do;
     But ye wot that I mean well.
HU.  Yea, no force! let this matter pass;
     But saidst even now thou knewest, where was
     A good tavern to make solace?
     Where is that? I pray thee tell.
SEN. Marry, at the door even hereby;
     If we call anything on high,
     The taverner will answer.
HU.  I pray thee, then, call for him now.
SEN. Marry, I will! How, taverner, how!
     Why dost thou not appear?

                TAVERNER.

     Who is that calleth so hastily?
     I shrew thine heart, speak softly;
     I tell thee I am not here.

SEN. Then I beshrew thee, page, of thine age!
     Come hither, knave, for thine advantage;
     Why makest thou it so tow?
TA.  For mine advantage, marry, then I come.
     Beware, sirs, ho! let me have room!
     Lo, here I am! what sayest thou?
SEN. Marry, thus: here is a gentleman, I say,
     That neither ate nor drank this day;
     Therefore tell me, I thee pray,
     If thou have any good wine.
TA.  Ye shall have Spanish wine and Gascon,
     Rose colour, white, claret, rampion,
     Tyre, Capric, and Malvoisin,
     Sack, raspice, Alicant, rumney,
     Greek, ipocras, new-made clary,
     Such as ye never had;
     For if ye drink a draught or two,
     It will make you, ere ye thence go,
     By Gog's body, stark mad!
SEN. I wot thou art not without good wine;
     But here is a gentleman hath list to dine,
     Canst thou get him any good meat?
TA.  What meat, master, would ye have?
HU.  I care not, so God me save,
     So that it be wholesome to eat:
     I would we had a good stewed capon.
SEN. As for capons ye can get none,
     The king's taker took up each one;
     I wot well there is none to get.
TA.  Though all capons be gone, what then?
     Yet I can get you a stewed hen,
     That is ready dight.
HU.  If she be fat, it will do well.
TA.  Fat or lean, I cannot tell,
     But as for this I wot well
     She lay at the stews all night.
HU.  Thou art a mad guest, by this light!
SEN. Yea, sir, it is a fellow that never fails:
     But canst get my master a dish of quails,
     Small birds, swallows, or wagtails,
     They be light of digestion?
TA.  Light of digestion! for what reason?
SEN. For physic putteth this reason thereto,
     Because those birds fly to and fro,
     And be continual moving.
TA.  Then know I a lighter meat than that.
HU.  I pray thee, tell me what?
TA.  If ye will needs know at short and long,
     It is even a woman's tongue,
     For that is ever stirring![16]
HU.  Sir, I pray thee, let such fantasies be,
     And come hither near, and hark to me,
     And do after my bidding.
     Go, purvey us a dinner even of the most
     Of all manner of dishes both sod and roast,
     That thou canst get: spare for no cost,
     If thou make three course.
TA.  Then ye get neither goose nor swan,
     But a dish of dregs, a dish of bran,
     A dish of draff, and I trow then
     Ye cannot get three worse!
HU.  What, whoreson! wouldst thou purvey
     Bran, draff, and stinking dregs, I say;
     I hold thee mad, I trow.
TA.  Gog's passion! said ye not thus,
     That I should purvey you three coarse dishes,
     And these be coarse enou'!
HU.  Three coarse dishes, quotha?
     What, mad fool! thou mistakest me clean!
     I see well thou wott'st not what I mean,
     And understandest amiss;
     I mean this wise, I would have thee
     To purvey meat so great plenty,
     That thou shouldst of necessity
     Serve them at three courses.
     That is to understand, at one word,
     Thou shouldst bring them unto the board
     At three several times.
TA.  What then, I see well ye will make a feast.
HU.  Yea, by the rood! even with the greatest.
SEN. By my troth, then do your best
     Even after my mind;
     But ye must have more company.
HU.  That is true, and so would I gladly,
     If I knew any to find.
SEN. Why, will ye follow my counsel?
HU.  Yea.
SEN. Then we will have little Nell,
     A proper wench, she danceth well,
     And Jane with the black lace;
     We will have bouncing Bess also,
     And two or three proper wenches mo.
     Right fair and smoother of face.
HU.  Now be it so! thou art _sans_ peer.
TA.  Then I perceive ye will make good cheer.
HU.  Why, what should I else do?
TA.  If ye think so best, then will I
     Go before, and make all things ready
     Again ye come thereto.
HU.  Marry, I pray thee, do so.
TA.  Then, farewell, sirs; for I am gone.
HU.  And we shall follow thee anon
     Without any tarrying.
SEN. Then it is best, sir, ye make haste,
     For ye shall spend here but time in waste,
     And do no nother thing.
HU.  If ye will, let us go by and by.
SEN. I pray you be it, for I am ready,
     No man better willing.

_Exeat Sen. et Hu. Intrat Experiens et Stu_.

     Now, cousin Experience, as I may say,
     Ye are right welcome to this country
     Without any feigning.
EX.  Sir, I thank you thereof heartily,
     And I am as glad of your company
     As any man living.
STU. Sir, I understand that ye have been
     In many a strange country,
     And have had great facility
     Strange causes to seek and find.
EX.  Right far, sir, I have ridden and gone,
     And seen strange things many one,
     In Africa, Europe, and India;
     Both east and west I have been far,
     North also, and seen the south star
     Both by sea and land,
     And been in sundry nations,
     With people of divers conditions,
     Marvellous to understand.
STU. Sir, if a man have such courage,
     Or devotion in pilgrimage,
     Jerusalem unto
     For to account the next way,
     How many miles is it, I you pray,
     From hence thither to go?
EX.  Sir, as for all such questions,
     Of towns to know the situation,
     How far they be asunder,
     And other points of cosmography,
     Ye shall never learn them more surely
     Than by that figure yonder;
     For who that figure did first devise,
     It seemeth well he was wise,
     And perfect in this science;
     For both the sea and land also
     Lie true and just as they should do,
     I know by experience.
STU. Who, think you, brought here this figure?
EX.  I wot not.
STU. Certes, Lord Nature,
     Himself not long agone,
     Which was here personally
     Declaring high philosophy,
     And laft this figure purposely
     For Humanity's instruction.
EX.  Doubtless, right nobly done.
STU. Sir, this realm you know is called England,
     Sometimes Britain, I understand;
     Therefore, I pray you, point with your hand
     In what place it should lie.
EX.  Sir, this is England lying here,
     And that is Scotland that joineth him near,
     Compassed about everywhere
     With the ocean sea around;
     And next from them westwardly,
     Here by himself alone, doth lie
     Ireland, that wholesome ground.
     Here then is the narrow sea,
     To Calais and Boulogne the next way,
     And Flanders in this part;
     Here lieth France next him joining,
     And Spain southward from them standing,
     And Portugal in this quarter.
     This country is called Italy,
     Behold where Rome in the midst doth lie,
     And Naples here beyond;
     And this little sea that here is
     Is called the Gulf of Venice,
     And here Venice doth stand.
     As for Almaine lieth this way;
     Here lieth Denmark and Norway;
     And northward on this side
     There lieth Iceland where men doth fish,
     But beyond that so cold it is,
     No man may there abide.
     This sea is called the Great Ocean,
     So great it is that never man
     Could tell it, since the world began,
     Till now, within this twenty years,
     Westward be found new lands,
     That we never heard tell of before this
     By writing nor other means,
     Yet many now have been there;
     And that country is so large of room,
     Much lenger than all Christendom,
     Without fable or guile;
     For divers mariners had it tried,
     And sailed straight by the coast side
     Above five thousand mile!
     But what commodities be within,
     No man can tell nor well imagine;
     But yet not long ago
     Some men of this country went,
     By the king's noble consent,
     It for to search to that intent,
     And could not be brought thereto;
     But they that were th' adventurers[17]
     Have cause to curse their mariners,
     False of promise and dissemblers,
     That falsely them betrayed,
     Which would take no pains to sail farther
     Than their own list and pleasure;
     Wherefore that voyage and divers other
     Such caitiffs have destroyed.
     Oh, what a thing had be then,
     If that they that be Englishmen
     Might have been the first of all
     That there should have take possession,
     And made first building and habitation,
     A memory perpetual!
     And also what an honourable thing,
     Both to the realm and to the king,
     To have had his dominion extending
     There into so far a ground,
     Which the noble king of late memory,
     The most wise prince the seventh Herry,
     Caused first for to be found.
     And what a great meritorious deed
     It were to have the people instructed
     To live more virtuously,
     And to learn to know of men the manner,
     And also to know God their Maker,
     Which as yet live all beastly;
     For they nother know God nor the devil,
     Nor never heard tell of heaven nor hell,
     Writing nor other scripture;
     But yet, in the stead of God Almighty,
     They honour the sun for his great light,
     For that doth them great pleasure;
     Building nor house they have none at all,
     But woods, cots, and caves small,
     No marvel though it be so,
     For they use no manner of iron,
     Neither in tool nor other weapon,
     That should help them thereto:
     Copper they have, which is found
     In divers places above the ground,
     Yet they dig not therefore;
     For, as I said, they have none iron,
     Whereby they should in the earth mine,
     To search for any wore:
     Great abundance of woods there be,
     Most part fir and pine-apple tree,
     Great riches might come thereby,
     Both pitch and tar, and soap ashes,
     As they make in the east lands,
     By brenning thereof only.
     Fish they have so great plenty,
     That in havens take and slain they be
     With staves, withouten fail.
     Now Frenchmen and other have found the trade,
     That yearly of fish there they lade
     Above a hundred sail;
     But in the south part of that country
     The people there go naked alway,
     The land is of so great heat:
     And in the north part all the clothes
     That they wear is but beasts' skins,
     They have no nother fete;
     But how the people first began
     In that country, or whence they came,
     For clerks it is a question.
     Other things mo I have in store,
     That I could tell thereof, but now no more
     Till another season.
STU. Then at your pleasure show some other thing;
     It liketh me so well your communing,
     Ye cannot talk amiss.
EX.  Then will I turn again to my matter
     Of cosmography, where I was ere:
     Behold, take heed to this;
     Lo, eastward, beyond the great ocean,
     Here entereth the sea called Mediterranean,
     Of two thousand miles of length:
     The Soldan's country lieth hereby,
     The great Turk on the north side doth lie,
     A man of marvellous strength.
     This said north part is called Europa,
     And this south part called Africa,
     This east part is called India;
     But this new lands found lately
     Been called America, because only
     Americus did first them find.
     Lo, Jerusalem lieth in this country,
     And this beyond is the Red Sea,
     That Moses maketh of mention;
     This quarter is India Minor,
     And this quarter India Major,
     The land of Prester John:
     But northward this way, as ye see,
     Many other strange regions there be,
     And people that we not know.
     But eastward on the sea side
     A prince there is that ruleth wide,
     Called the Can of Catowe.
     And this is called the great east sea,
     Which goeth all along this way
     Towards the new lands again;
     But whether that sea go thither directly,
     Or if any wilderness between them do lie,
     No man knoweth for certain:
     But these new lands, by all cosmography,
     From the Can of Catowe's land cannot lie
     Little past a thousand miles:
     But from those new lands men may sail plain
     Eastward, and come to England again,
     Where we began erewhile.
     Lo, all this part of the earth, which I
     Have here descrived openly,
     The north part we do it call;
     But the south part on the other side
     Is as large as this full, and as wide,
     Which we know nothing at all,
     Nor whether the most part be land or sea,
     Nor whether the people that there be
     Be bestial or cunning;
     Nor whether they know God or no,
     Nor how they believe, nor what they do,
     Of this we know nothing.
     Lo, is not this a thing wonderful?
     How that--    [_Et subito Studious Desire dicat_.
STU. Peace, sir, no more of this matter!
     Behold where Humanity cometh here.
SEN. How say you, Master Humanity?
     I pray you have ye not be merry,
     And had good recreation?
HU.  Yes, I thank thee thereof every deal,
     For we have fared marvellously well,
     And had good communication.
TA.  What, how, master! where be ye now?
SEN. What! I shrew thee! what haste hast thou,
     That thou speakest so high?
TA.  So high, quotha? I trow ye be mad, by St Gile!
     For did ye not erewhile
     Make pointment openly.
     To come again all to supper,
     There as ye were to-day at dinner?
     And yet ye pointed not plain,
     What meat that ye will have dressed,
     Nor what delicacies ye love best.
     Methink you far oversayne.
HU.  As for mine own part I care not;
     Dress what meat thou lovest, spare not
     Whatsoever thou dost best think.
TA.  Now, if ye put it to my liberty,
     Of all meats in the world that be,
     By this light, I love best drink.[18]
SEN. It seemeth by thy face so to do,
     But my master will have meat also,
     Whatsoever it cost.
TA.  By God, sir, then ye must tell what.
HU.  At thy discretion: I force not,
     Whether it be sodden or roast.
TA.  Well, sir, then care not! let me alone;
     Ye shall see that all things shall be done,
     And ordained well and fine.
HU.  So I require thee heartily,
     And in any wise specially,
     Let us have a cup of new wine.
TA.  Ye shall have wine as new as can be,
     For I may tell you in privity,
     It was brewed but yesternight.
HU.  But that is nothing for my delight.
TA.  But then I have for your appetite
     A cup of wine of old claret;
     There is no better, by this light!
HU.  Well, I trust thee well enou'.
TA.  But one thing, if it please you now--
     Ye see well I take much pain for you,
     I trust ye will see to me.
HU.  Yea, I promise thee, get thee hence,
     And in this matter do thy diligence,
     And I shall well reward thee.
SEN. Because thou lookest for a reward,
     One thing for thee I have prepared,
     That here I shall thee give.
     Thou shalt have a knave's skin,
     For to put thy body therein,
     For term of thy life!
TA.  Now, gramercy, my gentle brother;
     And therefore thou shalt have another,
     For voiding of strife.
SEN. Now, farewell, gentle John!
TA.  Then farewell, fool, for I am gone!
SEN. Abide, turn once again! hark what I say!
     Yet there is another thing
     Would do well at our master's washing.
HU.  What thing is that, I thee pray?
SEN. Marry thus, canst thou tell us yet,
     Where is any rose water to get?
TA.  Yea, that I can well purvey,
     As good as ever you put to your nose,
     For there is a false wench called Rose
     Distilleth a quart every day.
SEN. By God! I would a pint of that
     Were poured even upon thy pate
     Before all this presence.
TA.  Yet I had liever she and I
     Were both together secretly
     In some corner in the spence;
     For, by God, it is a pretty girl!
     It is a world[19] to see her whirl,
     Dancing in a round;
     O Lord God! how she will trip!
     She will bounce it, she will whip,
     Yea, clean above the ground!
HU.  Well, let all such matters pass, I say,
     And get thee hence, and go thy way
     About this other matter.
TA.  Then I go straight; lo! fare ye well.
SEN. But look yet thou remember every deal
     That I spake of full ere.
TA.  Yes, I warrant you, do not fear.
                                  [_Exit Taverner_.
HU.  God's Lord! seest not who is here now?
     What, Studious Desire! what news with you?
STU. Ye shall know, sir, ere I go.
SEN. What, art thou here? I see well, I,
     The mo knaves the worse company.
STU. Thy lewd conditions thou dost still occupy,
     As thou art wont to do.
HU.  But, I say, who is this here in presence?
STU. Sir, this is the man called Experience,
     That I spake of before.
HU.  Experience! why, is this he?
     Sir, ye are right welcome unto me
     And shall be evermore!
EX.  Sir, I thank you thereof heartily,
     But I assure you faithfully
     I have small courage here to tarry,
     As long as this man is here.
SEN. Why, whoreson! what ailest at me?
EX.  For thou hast ever so lewd a property,
     Science to despise, and yet thou art he
     That nought canst nor nought wilt learn.
SEN. Marry, avaunt, knave! I make God avow,
     I think myself as cunning as thou,
     And that shall I prove shortly!
     I shall put thee a question now; come near,
     Let me see how well thou canst answer:
     How spellest this word Tom Couper
     In true orthography?
EX.  Tom Couper, quotha? a wise question hardly!
SEN. Yea, I tell thee again yet--Tom Couper, how spellest it?
     Lo! he hath forgotten, ye may see,
     The first word of his _a b c_.
     Hark, fool, hark, I will teach thee,
     P.a--pa.--t.e.r--ter--do together Tom Couper.
     Is not this a sore matter?
     Lo! here you see him proved a fool!
     He had more need to go to school,
     Than to come hither to clatter.
STU. Certain, this is a solution
     Meet for such a boy's question.
HU.  Sensual Appetite, I pray thee
     Let pass all trifles and vanity
     For a while, it shall not long be,
     And depart, I thee require;
     For I would talk a word or two
     With this man here, ere he hence go,
     For to satisfy my desire.
SEN. Why, Gog's soul! will ye so shortly
     Break pointment with yonder company,
     Where you should come to supper?
     I trust you will not break promise so.
HU.  I care not greatly, if I do;
     It is but a tavern matter.
SEN. Then will I go show them what you say.
HU.  Spare not, if thou wilt go thy way,
     For I will here tarry.
SEN. Then adieu for a while, I tell you plain,
     But I promise you, when I come again,
     I shall make yonder knaves twain
     To repent and be sorry!
EX.  Now I am full glad that he is gone!
STU. So am I, for good will he do none
     To no man living.
     But this is the man with whom ye shall,
     I trust, be well content withal,
     And glad of his coming;
     For he hath expound cunningly
     Divers points of cosmography,
     In few words and short clause.
HU.  So I understand he hath good science,
     And that he hath by plain experience
     Learned many a strange cause.
STU. Yea, sir, and I say for my part,
     He is the cunningest man in that art
     That ever I could find;
     For ask what question ye will do,
     How the earth is round, or other mo,
     He will satisfy your mind.
EX.  Why, what doubt have ye therein found?
     Think ye the earth should not be round?
     Or else how suppose ye?
HU.  One way it is round, I must consent,
     For this man proved it evident;
     Toward the east and occident
     It must needs round be.
EX.  And likewise from the south to north.
HU.  That point to prove were some thank worth.
EX.  Yes, that I can well prove,[20]
     For this ye know as well as I,
     Ye see the North Star in the sky,
     Mark well, ye shall unneth it spy,
     That ever it doth remove.
     But this I assure you, if you go
     Northward an hundredth mile or two,
     Ye shall think it riseth,
     And how that it is near approached
     The point over the top of your head,
     Which is called your zenith.
     Yet if ye go the other way,
     Southward ten or twelve days' journey,
     Ye shall then think anon
     It descended, and come more nigh
     The circle parting the earth and sky,
     As ye look straight with your eye,
     Which is called your horizon;
     But ye may go southward so far,
     That at the last that same star
     Will seem so far down right,
     Clear underneath your horizon,
     That sight thereof can you have none,
     The earth will stop your sight.
     This proveth of necessity
     That the earth must needs round be:
     This conclusion doth it try.
HU.  Now that is the properest conclusion
     That ever I heard, for by reason
     No man may it deny.
     But, sir, if that a man sail far
     Upon the sea, will then that star
     Do there as on the ground?
EX.  Yea, doubtless, sail northward, rise it will,
     And sail southward, it falleth still,
     And that proveth the sea round.
STU. So doth it in mine opinion;
     But know you any other conclusion
     To prove it round, save that alone?
EX.  Yea, that I know right well,
     As thus: mark well when the sea is clear,
     That no storm nor wave thereon doth 'ppear,
     This mariners can tell;
     Then if a fire be made on night
     Upon the shore, that giveth great light,
     And a ship in the sea far,
     They in the top the fire see shall,
     And they on hatch nothing at all,
     Yet they on hatches be near;
     Also on the sea, where men be sailing
     Far from land, they see nothing
     But the water and the sky;
     Yet when they draw the land more near,
     Then the hill-tops begin to appear,
     Still they near more high and high,
     As though they were still growing fast
     Out of the sea till, at last,
     When they come the shore to,
     They see the hill, top, foot, and all;
     Which thing so could not befal,
     But the sea lay round also.
HU.  Methinketh your argument somewhat hard.
EX.  Then ye shall have it more plainly declared,
     If ye have great desire;
     For here, lo, by mine instruments,
     I can show the plain experiments.
HU.  Thereto I you require.
EX.  With all my heart it shall be done;
     But for the first conclusion,
     That I speak of the fire,
     Be this the sea that is so round,
     And this the fire upon the ground,
     And this the ship that is here;
     You know well that a man's sight
     Can never be but in a line right.
HU.  Just you say; that is clear.
EX.  Mark well then; may not that man's eye.

[_Eight leaves are here wanting_.]

IGNORANCE. With arguing here their foolish [saws]
     That is not worth three straws.
     I love not this whoreson 'losophers,
     Nor this great cunning extromers,
     That tell how far it is to the stars;
     I hate all manner cunning!
     I would ye knew it, I am Ignorance!
     A lord I am of greater puissance
     Than the king of England or France,
     Yea, the greatest lord living!
     I have servants at my retinue,
     That long to me, I assure you,
     Herewith in England,
     That with me, Ignorance, dwell still,
     And term of life continue will,
     Above five hundred thousand.
SEN. Gog's nails, I have paid some of them, I trow.
IGN. Why, man, what aileth thee so to blow?
SEN. For I was at a shrewd fray.
IGN. Hast thou any of them slain, then?
SEN. Yea, I have slain them every man,
     Save them that ran away.
IGN. Why, is any of them scaped and gone?
SEN. Yea, by Gog's body, every one,
     All that ever were there.
IGN. Why, then, they be not all slain.
SEN. No, but I have put some to pain,
     For one whoreson there was, that turned again,
     And straight I cut off his ear.
IGN. Then thou hast made him a cutpurse.
SEN. Yea, but yet I served another worse!
     I smote off his leg by the hard arse,
     As soon as I met him there.
IGN. By my troth, that was a mad deed!
     Thou shouldst have smit off his head,
     Then he should never have troubled thee more.
SEN. Tush! then I had been but mad,
     For there was another man that had
     Smit off his head before!
IGN. Then thou hast quit thee like a tall knight!
SEN. Yea, that I have, by this light!
     But, I say, can you tell me right
     Where became my master?
IGN. What, he that you call Humanity?
SEN. Yea.
IGN. I wot never, except he be
     Hid here in some corner.
SEN. Gog's body! and true ye say,
     For yonder, lo! behold, ye may
     See where the mad fool doth lie.
IGN. Now, on my faith and truth,
     It were even great alms
     To smite his head from his body!
SEN. Nay, God forbid ye should do so,
     For he is but an innocent, lo!
     In manner of a fool.
     For as soon as I speak to him again,
     I shall turn his mind clean,
     And make him follow my school.
IGN. Then bid him rise, let us hear him speak.
SEN. Now, rise up, Master Huddypeke,
     Your tail toteth out behind!
     Fear not, man, stand up by and by;
     I warrant you rise up boldly!
     Here is none but is your friend.
HU.  I cry you mercy, master dear!
IGN. Why, what is cause thou hidest thee here?
HU.  For I was almost for fear,
     Even clean out of my mind.
SEN. Nay, it is the study that ye have had
     In this foolish losophy hath made you mad,
     And no other thing, i-wis.
IGN. That is as true as the gospel!
     Therefore I have great marvel,
     That ever thou wilt follow the counsel
     Of yonder two knaves.
HU.  O sir, ye know right well this,
     That when any man is
     In other men's company,
     He must needs follow the appetite
     Of such things as they delight
     Some time among, perdy!
IGN. But such knaves would alway have thee
     To put all thy mind and felicity
     In this foolish cunning to study;
     Which, if thou do, will make thee mad,
     And alway to be pensive and sad;
     Thou shalt never be merry.
SEN. Merry, quotha? no, I make God avow!
     But I pray thee, master, hark! one word now,
     And answer this thing:
     Whether thought you it better cheer
     At the tavern, where we were ere,
     Or else to clatter with these knaves here
     Of their foolish cunning?
HU.  Nay, I cannot say the contrary
     But that I had mich merrier company
     At the tavern than in this place.
SEN. Then if ye have any wit or brain,
     Let us go to the tavern again,
     And make some merry solace.
IGN. If he will do so, then doth he wisely.
HU.  By my troth, I care not greatly,
     For I am indifferent to all company,
     Whether it be here or there.
SEN. Then I shall tell you what we will do;
     Master Ignorance, you and he also
     Shall tarry both still here,
     And I will go fet hither a company,
     That ye shall hear them sing as sweetly
     As they were angels clear;
     And yet I shall bring hither another sort
     Of lusty bloods to make disport;
     That shall both dance and spring,
     And turn clean above the ground
     With friskas and with gambawds round,
     That all the hall shall ring.
     And that done, within an hour or twain,
     I shall at the town again
     Prepare for you a banket
     Of meats that be most delicate,
     And most pleasant drinks and wines thereat,
     That is possible to get,
     Which shall be in a chamber fair,
     Prepared point-device[21]
     With damask water made so well,
     That all the house thereof shall smell,
     As it were paradise.
     And after that, if ye will touch
     A fair wench naked[22] in a couch[23]
     Of a soft bed of down,
     For to satisfy your wanton lust,
     I shall appoint you a trull of trust,
     Not a fairer in this town!
     And when ye have taken your delight,
     And thus satisfied the appetite
     Of your wits five,
     Ye may say then I am a servant
     For you so necessary and pleasant,
     I trow none such alive!
HU.  Now, by the way that God did walk,
     It comforteth mine heart to hear thee talk,
     Thy match was never seen!
IGN. Then go thy way by and by,
     And bring in this company,
     And he and I will here tarry,
     Till thou come again.
HU.  And I pray thee heartily also.
SEN. At your request so shall I do.
     Lo! I am gone, now farewell!
     I shall bring them into this hall,
     And come myself foremost of all,
     And of these revels be chief marshal,
     And order all things well.
IGN. Now, set thy heart on a merry pin,
     Against these lusty bloods come in,
     And drive fantasies away.
HU.  And so I will, by heaven's King!
     If they either dance or sing,
     Have among them, by this day!
IGN. Then thou takest good and wise ways,
     And so shalt thou best please
     All this whole company;
     For the foolish arguing that thou hast had
     With that knave Experience, that hath made
     All these folk thereof weary;
     For all that they be now in this hall,
     They be the most part my servants all,
     And love principally
     Disports, as dancing, singing,
     Toys, trifles, laughing, jesting;
     For cunning they set not by.
HU.  I see well such company evermore,
     As Sensual Appetite is gone for,
     Will please well this audience.
IGN. Yea, that I suppose they will;
     But peace, hark! I pray thee be still,
     I ween they be not far hence.

[_Then the dancers without the hall sing this wise, and they within
answer, or else they may say it for need_.[24]]


THE DANCERS AND SENSUAL.

Peace, sirs, peace now! peace, sirs, all!


HUMANITY AND IGNORANCE.

Why, who is that so high doth call?


THE DANCERS.

Silence, I say, be you among,
For we be disposed to sing a song.


HUMANITY AND IGNORANCE.

Come in, then, boldly among this presence,
For here ye shall have good audience.
     Time to pass with goodly sport,
     Our sprites to revive and comfort,
     To pipe, to sing,
     To dance, to spring,
     With pleasure and delight,
     Following Sensual Appetite,
     To pipe, &c.

IGN. I can you thank; that is done well;
     It is pity ye had not a minstrel
     For to augment your solace.
SEN. As for minstrel, it maketh no force,
     Ye shall see me dance a course
     Without a minstrel, be it better or worse;
     Follow all: I will lead a trace.
HU.  Now have among you, by this light!
IGN. That is well said, by God Almight!
     Make room, sirs, and give them place.

[_Then he singeth this song and danceth withal, and evermore maketh
countenance according to the matter; and all the others answer
likewise_.]

     Dance we, dance we, prance we, prance we,
     So merrily let us dance ey, so merrily, &c.
     And I can dance it gingerly, and I, &c.
     And I can foot it by and by, and I, &c.
     And I can prank it properly,
     And I can countenance comely,[25]
     And I can croak it courtesly,
     And I can leap it lustily,
     And I can turn it trimly,
     And I can frisk it freshly,
     And I can look it lordly.
IGN. I can thee thank, Sensual Appetite!
     That is the best dance without a pipe,
     That I saw this seven year.[26]
HU.  This dance would do mich better yet,
     If we had a kit or taberet,
     But alas! there is none here.
SEN. Then let us go to the tavern again,
     There shall we be sure of one or twain
     Of minstrels, that can well play.
IGN. Then go, I pray ye, by and by,
     And purvey some minstrel ready,
     And he and I will follow shortly,
     As fast as ever we may.
HU.  Therewith I am right well content.
SEN. Then will I go incontinent,
     And prepare every thing
     That is metely to be done;
     And for lack of minstrels, the mean season,
     Now will we begin to sing.
     Now we will here begin to sing,
     For dance can we no more,
     For minstrels here be all lacking;
     To the tavern we will therefore.

                    [_Et exeunt cantando, &c_.

HU.  Now if that Sensual Appetite can find
     Any good minstrels after his mind,
     Doubt not we shall have good sport.
IGN. And so shall we have for a surety;
     But what shall we do now, tell me,
     The meanwhile for our comfort?
HU.  Then let us some lusty ballad sing.
IGN. Nay, sir, by the Heaven King!
     For methinketh it serveth for nothing,
     All such peevish prick-eared song!
HU.  Peace, man, prick-song may not be despised,
     For therewith God is well pleased,
     Honoured, praised, and served,
     In the church ofttimes among.
IGN. Is God well pleased, trow'st thou, thereby?
     Nay, nay, for there is no reason why,
     For is it not as good to say plainly,
     Give me a spade,
     As give me a spa, ve, va, ve, va, ve, vade?
     But if thou wilt have a song that is good,
     I have one of Robin Hood,
     The best that ever was made.
HU.  Then, a' fellowship, let us hear it.
IGN. But there is a burden, thou must bear it,
     Or else it will not be.
HU.  Then begin and care not to ...
     Down, down, down, &c.
IGN. Robin Hood in Barnsdale stood,[27]
     And leant him till a maple thistle;
     Then came our lady and sweet Saint Andrew.
     Sleepest thou, wakest thou, Geffrey Coke?
     A hundred winter the water was deep,
     I can not tell you how broad.
     He took a goose neck in his hand,
     And over the water he went.
     He start up to a thistle top,
     And cut him down a hollen club.
     He stroke the wren between the horns,
     That fire sprang out of the pig's tail.
     Jack boy, is thy bow i-broke?
     Or hath any man done the wriguldy wrag?
     He plucked muscles out of a willow,
     And put them into his satchel!
     Wilkin was an archer good,
     And well could handle a spade;
     He took his bent bow in his hand,
     And set him down by the fire.
     He took with him sixty bows and ten,
     A piece of beef, another of bacon.
     Of all the birds in merry England
     So merrily pipes the merry bottle![28]

                   NATURE.

     Well, Humanity, now I see plainly
     That thou hast used much folly,
     The while I have been absent.

HU.  Sir, I trust I have done nothing
     That should be contrary to your pleasing,
     Nor never was mine intent;
     For I have followed the counsel clear,
     As ye me bade, of Studious Desire,
     And for necessity among
     Sometime Sensual Appetite's counsel,
     For without him, ye know right well,
     My life cannot endure long.

                   NATURE.

     Though it be for thee full necessary
     For thy comfort sometime to satisfy
     Thy sensual appetite,
     Yet it is not convenient for thee
     To put therein thy felicity
     And all thy whole delight;
     For if thou wilt learn no science,
     Nother by study nor experience,
     I shall thee never advance;
     But in the world thou shalt dure then,
     Despised of every wise man,
     Like this-rude beast Ignorance.

         [_The original here ends imperfectly_.]






THE TRAGI-COMEDY OF CALISTO AND MELIBAEA.


_A new comedy in English in manner of an interlude right elegant and full
of craft of rhetoric: wherein is shewed and described as well the beauty
and good properties of women, as their vices and evil conditions, with a
moral conclusion and exhortation to virtue. [Col.] Johes rastell me
imprimi fecit. Cum privilegio regali. Folio, black letter_.

The only copy known of this piece is among the books of Malone in the
Bodleian Library, and it has never hitherto been reprinted. An account of
it is given, however, by Collier (_History of English Dramatic Poetry_,
ii. 408-12).




AN INTERLUDE, SHOWING THE BEAUTY AND GOOD PROPERTIES OF WOMEN.



                    MELIBAEA.

     Franciscus Petrarcus, the poet laureate,
     Saith that Nature, which is mother of all things,
     Without strife can give life to nothing create;
     And Heraclitus, the wise clerk, in his writing,
     Saith in all things create strife is their working;
     And there is nothing under the firmament
     With any other in all points equivalent.
     And, according to their diets rehearsed as thus,
     All things are create in manner of strife.
     These foolish lovers, then, that be so amorous,
     From pleasure to displeasure how lead they their life:
     Now sorry, now sad: now joyous, now pensive:
     Alas! I, poor maiden, then what shall I do,
     Cumbered by dotage of one Calisto?
     I know that Nature hath given me beauty,
     With sanguineous complexion, favour, and fairness:
     The more to God ought I to do fea'ty
     With will, life, land, and love of perfectness.
     I deny not but Calisto is of great worthiness,
     But what of that? for all his high estate,
     His desire I defy, and utterly shall hate.
     Oh, his sayings and suits so importune,
     That of my life he maketh me almost weary!
     Oh, his lamentations and exclamations on fortune,
     With similitude [of] manner as one that should die!
     But who shall pity this? In faith, not I.
     Shall I accomplish his carnal desire?
     Nay, yet at a stake rather bren in a fire.
     Of truth, I am sorry for his trouble;
     To strive with himself thus for love of me;
     But though his sorrows, I assure you, should double,
     Out of his danger[29] will I be at liberty.

[_Enter_ CALISTO _unseen_.]

CAL. What amiss, woman, now Christ benedicite?
                                        [_Aside_.
MEL. Nay, nay, he shall never that day see;
     His voluptuous appetite consented by me.
     Wist he now that I were present here,
     I assure you shortly he would seek me;
     And without doubt he doth now inquire,
     Whither I am gone, or where I should be.
     See, is he not now come? I repent[30] me
     Alas, of this man I can never be rid:
     Would to Christ I wist, where I might be hid.
CAL. By you, fair Melibaea, may be seen
     The grace, the gifts, the greatness of God.
MEL. Wherein?
CAL. In taking effect of Dame Nature's strene;[31]
     Nor yearthly, but angelic of likelihood;
     In beauty so passing the kind of woman-hood.
     O God, I might in your presence be able
     To manifest my dolours incomparable;
     Greater were that reward than the grace
     Heaven to obtain by works of pity!
     Not so glorious be the saints that see God's face,
     Ne joy not so much, as I do you to see.
     Yet difference there is between them and me,
     For they glorify by His assured presence,
     And I in torment because of your absence.
MEL. Why, thinkest thou that so great a reward?
CAL. Yea, more greater than if God would set me
     In heaven above all saints, and more in regard;
     And think it a more higher felicity.
MEL. Yet more greater thy reward shall be,
     If thou flee from the determination
     Of thy consent of mind by such temptation.
     I perceive the extent of thy words all,
     As of the wit of him, that would have the virtue
     Of me such a woman to become thrall.
     Go thy way with sorrow! I would thou knew
     I have, foul scorn of thee, I tell thee true,
     Or [of] any human creature with me should begin
     Any communication pertaining to sin.
     And I promise thee, where--thou art present,
     While I live, by my will I will be absent.
                                            [_Exit_.
CAL. Lo! out of all joy I am fallen in woe,
     Upon whom adverse fortune hath cast her chance
     Of cruel hate, which causeth now away to go
     The keeper of my joy and all my pleasance.
     Alas, alas, now to me what noyance!

      _Enter_ SEMPRONIO, _a parasite_.

SEM. _Dieu garde_, my lord, and God be in this place!
CAL. Sempronio?
SEM.       Yea, sir.
CAL.            Ah, sir, I shrew thy face!
     Why hast thou been from me so long absent?
SEM. For I have been about your business,
     To order such things as were convenient,
     Your house and horse, and all things, was to dress.
CAL. O Sempronio, have pity on my distress;
     For of all creatures I am the woefullest.
SEM. How so? what is the cause of your unrest?
CAL. For I serve in love to the goodliest thing
     That is or ever was.
SEM.                        What is she?
CAL. It is one which is all other exceeding:
     The picture of angels, if thou her see:
     Phoebus or Phoebe no comparison may be
     To her.
SEM.         What hight she?
CAL.                         Melibaea is her name.
SEM. Marry, sir, this would make a wild horse tame!
CAL. I pray thee, Sempronio, go fet me my lute,
     And bring some chair or stool with thee;
     The arguments of love that I may dispute,
     Which science, I find, thou[32] art without pity.
     Hie thee, Sempronio, hie thee, I pray thee.
SEM. Sir, shortly, I assure you, it shall be done.
                                           [_Exit Sem_.
CAL. Then farewell! Christ send thee again soon!
     Oh, what fortune is equal unto mine!
     Oh, what woeful wight with me may compare!
     The thirst of sorrow is my mixed wine,
     Which daily I drink with deep draughts of care.

          _Re-enter_ SEMPRONIO.

SEM. Tush, sir, be merry, let pass away the mare:[33]
     How say you, have I not hied me lightly?
     Here is your chair and lute to make you merry.
CAL. Merry, quotha? nay, that will not be;
     But I must needs sit for very feebleness.
     Give me my lute, and thou shalt see
     How I shall sing mine unhappiness.
     This lute is out of tune now, as I guess;
     Alas! in tune how should I set it,
     When all harmony to me discordeth each whit,
     As he, to whose will reason is unruly?
     For I feel sharp needles within my breast;
     Peace, war, truth, hatred, and injury:
     Hope and suspect, and all in one chest.
SEM. Behold, Nero, in the love of Poppaea[34] oppressed,
     Rome how he brent; old and young wept:
     But she took no thought, nor never the less slept.
CAL. Greater is my fire, and less pity showed me.
SEM. I will not mock; this fool is a lover.    [_Aside_.
CAL. What say'st thou?
SEM.                   I say, how can that fire be,
     That tormenteth but one living man, greater
     Than that fire that brenneth a whole city here,
     And all the people therein?
CAL.           Marry, for that fire is greatest,
     That brenneth very sore, and lasteth longest;
     And greater is the fire that brenneth one soul,
     Than that which brenneth an hundred bodies.
SEM. His saying in this none can control.    [_Aside_.
CAL. None but such as list to make lies!
     And if the fire of purgatory bren in such wise,
     I had liever my spirit in brute beasts should be,
     Than to go thither, and then to the deity.
SEM. Marry, sir, that is a spice of heresy.
CAL. Why so?
SEM. For ye speak like no Christian man.
CAL. I would thou knewest Melibaea worship I:
     In her I believe, and her I love.
SEM.                                   Ah, ah, then,
     With thee Melibaea is a great woman;
     I know on which foot thou dost halt on:
     I shall shortly heal thee, my life thereupon!
CAL. An incredible thing thou dost promise me.
SEM. Nay, nay, it is easy enough to do;
     But first, for to heal a man, knowledge must be
     Of the sickness; then to give counsel thereto.
CAL. What counsel can rule him, Sempronio,
     That keepeth in him no order of counsel?[35]
SEM. Ah, is this Calisto? his fire now I know well;
     How that love over him hath cast her net;
     In whose perseverance is all inconstancy.
CAL. Why, is not Elisaeus' love and thine met?
SEM.                                  What then?
CAL. Why reprovest me then of ignorance?
SEM. For thou settest man's dignity in obeisance
     To the imperfection of the weak woman.
CAL. A woman? Nay, a god of goddesses.
SEM.                         Believest that then?
CAL. Yea, and as a goddess I here confess;
     And I believe there is no such sovereign
     In heaven, though she be in earth.
SEM.                                    Peace, peace.
     A woman a god! nay, to God, a villain.
     Of your saying ye may be sorry.
CAL.                                 It is plain.
SEM. Why so?
CAL.         Because I love her, and think surely
     To obtain my desire I am unworthy.
SEM. O fearful heart! why comparest thou with Nimrod
     Or Alexander? of this world not lords only,
     But worthy to subdue heaven, as saying go'th;
     And thou reputest thyself more high
     Than them both, and despairest so cowardly
     To win a woman, of whom hath been so many
     Gotten and ungotten, never heard of any?
     It is recited in the Feast of Saint John:
     This is the woman of ancient malice;
     Of whom but of a woman was it sung on,
     That Adam was expulsed from Paradise?
     She put man to pain whom Eli did despise.
CAL. Then sith Adam gave him to their governance,
     Am I greater than Adam myself to advance?
SEM. Nay, but of those men it were wisdom,
     That overcame them to seek remedy,
     And not of those that they did overcome.
     Flee from their beginnings, eschew their folly:
     Thou knowest they do evil things many.
     They keep no mean, but rigour of intention;
     Be it fair [or] foul, wilful without reason.
     Keep them never so close, they will be showed,
     Give tokens of love by many subtle ways:
     Seeming to be sheep, and serpently shrewd:
     Craft in them renewing, that never decays.
     Their sayings and sightings provoking their plays.
     Oh, what pain is to fulfil their appetites,
     And to accomplish their wanton delights!
     It is a wonder to see their dissembling,
     Their flattering countenance, their ingratitude,
     Inconstancy, false witness, feigned weeping:
     Their vain-glory, and how they can delude:
     Their foolishness, their jangling not mew'd:
     Their lecherous lust and vileness therefore:
     Witchcrafts and charms to make men to their lore:
     Their embalming[36] and their unshamefacedness:
     Their bawdry, their subtlety, and fresh attiring!
     What trimming, what painting, to make fairness!
     Their false intents and flickering smiling:
     Therefore lo! it is an old saying
     That women be the devil's nets, and head of sin;
     And man's misery in Paradise did begin--
CAL. But what thinkest thou by me yet for all this?
SEM. Marry, sir, ye were a man of clear wit,
     Whom Nature hath endued with the best gifts,
     As beauty and greatness of members perfit:
     Strength, lightness; and beyond this each whit
     Fortune hath parted with you of her influence,
     For to be able of liberal expense.
     For without goods, whereof Fortune is lady,
     No man can have wealth. Therefore by conjecture
     You should be beloved of everybody.
CAL. But not of Melibaea now I am sure;
     And though thou hadst praised me without measure,
     And compared me without comparison,
     Yet she is above in every condition.
     Behold her nobleness, her ancient lineage,
     Her great patrimony, her excellent wit,
     Her resplendent virtue, her portly courage,
     Her godly grace, her sovereign beauty perfit!
     No tongue is able well to express it;
     But yet, I pray thee, let me speak awhile,
     Myself to refresh in rehearsing of my style.
     I begin at her hair, which is so goodly,
     Crisped to her heels, tied with fine lace.
     Far shining beyond fine gold of Araby:
     I trow the sun colour to it may give place;
     That who to behold it might have the grace,
     Would say in comparison nothing countervails--
SEM. Then is it not like hair of ass-tails?
CAL. Oh, what foul comparison! this fellow rails.
     Her gay glassing eyes so fair and bright;
     Her brows, her nose in a mean[37] no fashion fails;
     Her mouth proper and feat, her teeth small and white;
     Her lips ruddy, her body straight upright;
     Her little teats to the eye is a pleasure.
     Oh, what a joy it is to see such a figure!
     Her skin of whiteness endarketh the snow,
     With rose-colour ennewed.[38] I thee ensure
     Her little hands in mean[39] manner--this no trow[4]--
     Her fingers small and long, with nails ruddy: most pure
     Of proportion, none such in portraiture:
     Without peer: worthy to have for fairness
     The apple that Paris gave Venus the goodness.
SEM. Sir, have ye all done?
CAL.                        Yea, marry, what then?
SEM. I put case all this ye have said be true;
     Yet are ye more noble, sith ye be a man.
CAL. Wherein?
SEM.          She is imperfect, I would ye knew,
     As all women be, and of less value.
     Philosophers say the matter is less worthy
     Than the form; so is woman to man surely.
CAL. I love not to hear this altercation
     Between Melibaea and me her lover.
SEM. Possible it is in every condition
     To abhor her as much as you do love her
     In the woman beguiling is the danger,
     That ye shall see hereafter with eyes free.
CAL. With what eyes?
SEM.                 With clear eyes, trust me.
CAL. Why, with what eyes do I see now?
SEM. With dim eyes, which show a little thing much.
     But for ye shall not despair, I assure you
     No labour nor diligence in me shall grutch:
     So trusty and friendly ye shall find me such,
     In all things possible that ye can acquire
     The thing to accomplish to your desire.
CAL. God bring that to pass, so glad it is to me
     To hear thee thus, though I hope not in thy doings.
SEM. Yet I shall do it, trust me for a surety.
CAL. God reward thee for thy gentle intending;
     I give thee this chain of gold in rewarding.
SEM. Sir, God reward you, and send us good speed;
     I doubt not but I shall perform it indeed.
     But without rewards it is hard to work well.
CAL. I am content, so thou be not negligent.
SEM. Nay, be not you; for it passeth a marvel,
     The master slow, the servant to be diligent.
CAL. How thinkest it can be? show me thine intent.
SEM. Sir, I have a neighbour, a mother of bawdry,
     That can provoke the hard rocks to lechery.
     In all evil deeds she is perfect wise.
     I trow more than a thousand virgins
     Have been destroyed by her subtle devices,
     For she never faileth, where she begins:
     Alone by this craft her living she wins.
     Maids, wives, widows, and every one,
     If she once meddle, there escapeth none.
CAL. How might I speak with her, Sempronio?
SEM. I shall bring her hither unto this place;
     But ye must in any wise let rewards go,
     And show her your griefs in every case.
CAL. Else were I not worthy to attain grace.
     But, alas, Sempronio, thou tarriest too long.
SEM. Sir, God be with you.
CAL.           Christ make thee strong!    [_Exit Sem_.
     The mighty and perdurable God be his guide,
     As he guided the three kings into Bedlam[40]
     From the east by the star, and again did provide
     As their conduct to return to their own realm;
     So speed my Sempronio to quench the leme[41]
     Of this fire, which my heart doth waste and spend;
     And that I may come to my desired end!
     To pass the time now will I walk
     Up and down within mine orchard,
     And to myself go commune and talk;
     And pray that fortune to me be not hard;
     Longing to hear, whether made or marred,
     My message shall return by my servant Sempronio.
     Thus farewell, my lords; for a while I will go.

_Enter_ CELESTINA, _the bawd_.

CEL. Now the blessing that our lady gave her son,
     That same blessing I give now to you all!
     That I come thus homely, I pray you of pardon;
     I am sought and send for as a woman universal.
     Celestina, of truth, my name is to call;
     Sempronio for me about doth inquire,
     And it was told me I should have found him here.
     I am sure he will come hither anon;
     But the whilst I shall tell you a pretty game:
     I have a wench of Sempronio's, a pretty one,
     That sojourneth with me: Elicaea is her name.
     But the last day we were both nigh a stark shame,
     For Sempronio would have her to himself several;
     And she loveth one Crito better or as well.
     This Crito and Elicaea sat drinking
     In my house, and I also making merry;
     And as the devil would, far from our thinking,
     Sempronio almost came on us suddenly.
     But then wrought I my craft of bawdry;
     I bade Crito go up, and make himself room
     To hide him in my chamber among the broom.[42]
     Then made I Elicaea sit down a-sewing,
     And I with my rock[43] began for to spin;
     As who saith of Sempronio we had no knowing.
     He knocked at the door, and I let him in;
     And for a countenance I did begin
     To catch him in mine arms, and said, see, see!
     Who kisseth me, Elicaea, and will not kiss thee?
     Elicaea for a countenance made her grieved,
     And would not speak, but still did sew.
     Why speak ye not? quoth Sempronio, be ye moved?
     Have I not a cause, quoth she? no, quoth he, I trow.
     Ah! traitor, quoth she, full well dost thou know!
     Where hast thou been these three days from me,
     That the imposthumes and evil death take thee!
     Peace, mine Elicaea, quoth he, why say ye thus?
     Alas! why put you yourself in this woe?
     The hot fire of love so brenneth between us,
     That my heart is with yours, wherever I go;
     And for three days' absence to say to me so,
     In faith, methinketh, ye be to blame.
     But now hark well, for here beginneth the game!
     Crito, in my chamber above that was hidden,
     I think lay not easily, and began to rumble;
     Sempronio heard that, and asked who was within,
     Above in the chamber that so did tumble.
     Who? quoth she; a lover of mine! may-hap, ye stumble,
     Quoth he, on the truth, as many one doth.
     So up, quoth she, and look, whether it be sooth.
     Well, quoth he, I go. Nay, thought I, not so,
     I said, come, Sempronio, let this fool alone;
     For of thy long absence she is in such woe,
     And half beside herself, and her wit nigh gone.
     Well, quoth he, above yet there is one.
     Wilt thou know, quoth I? yea, quoth he, I thee require;
     It is a wench, quoth I, sent me by a friar.
     What friar? quoth he. Wilt thou needs know? quoth I; then
     It is the friar[44] ...
     Oh, quoth he, what a load hath that woman
     To bear him! Yea, quoth I; though women per case
     Bear heavy full oft, yet they gall in no place.
     Then he laughed; yea, quoth I, no more words of this
     For this time; too long we spend here amiss.

_Intrat_ SEMPRONIO.

SEM. O mother Celestine, I pray God prosper thee.
CEL. My son Sempronio, I am glad of our meeting.
     And, as I hear say, ye go about to seek me?
SEM. Of truth, to seek you was mine hither coming.
     Mother, lay apart now all other thing,
     And alonely tend to me, and imagine
     In that that I purpose now to begin.
     Calisto in the love of fair Melibaea
     Burneth; wherefore of thee he hath great need.
CEL. Thou say'st well, knowest not me Celestina?
     I have the end of the matter, and for more speed
     Thou shalt wade no farther; for of this deed
     I am as glad, as ever was the surgeon
     For salves for broke heads to make provision.
     And so intend I to do to Calisto:
     To give him hope and assure him remedy;
     For long hope to the heart much trouble will do.
     Wherefore to the effect thereof I will hie.
SEM. Peace, for methinketh Calisto is nigh.

_Intrat_ CALISTO _et_ PARMENO.

CAL. Parmeno.
PAR.          What say you?
CAL.                        Wottest who is here?
     Sempronio! that reviveth my cheer.
PAR. It is Sempronio, with that old bearded whore.
     Be ye they my master so sore fordoth long?[45]
CAL. Peace, I say, Parmeno, or go out of the door!
     Comest thou to hinder me? then dost thou me wrong;
     I pray thee help for to make me more strong,
     To win this woman: else, gods forbode,
     She hath equal power of my life under God.
PAR. Wherefore to her do ye make such sorrow?
     Think ye in her arse there is any shame?
     The contrary who telleth you, be never his borrow;
     For as much she glorifieth her in her name,
     To be called an old whore, as ye would of fame.
     Dogs in the street and children at every door
     Bark and cry out, There goeth an old whore!
CAL. How knowest all this? dost thou know her?
PAR. Yea that [I do time long][46] agone
     For a false whore, the devil overthrow her!
     My mother, when she died, gave me to her alone,
     And a starker bawd was there never none.
     For that I know I dare well say:[47]
     Let see the contrary who can lay.
     I have been at her house and seen her trinkets
     For painting; things innumerable;
     Squalms and balms; I wonder where she gets
     The things that she hath with folks for to fable,
     And to all bawdry ever agreeable.
     Yet worse than that, which will never be laft,
     Not only a bawd, but a witch by her craft.
CEL. Say what thou wilt, son, spare not me.
SEM. I pray thee, Parmeno, leave thy malicious envy.
                                  [_Calisto goes aside_.
PAR. Hark hither, Sempronio, here is but we three;
     In that I have said canst thou deny?
GAL. Come hence, Parmeno, I love not this, I;
     And, good mother, grieve you not, I you pray.
     My mind I shall show now, hark what I say.
     O notable woman, O ancient virtue!
     O glorious hope of my desired intent!
     The end of my delectable hope to renew:
     My regeneration to this life present,
     Resurrection from death so excellent;
     Thou art above [all] other. I desire humbly
     To kiss thy hands, wherein lieth my remedy.
     But mine unworthiness maketh resistance;
     Yet worship I the ground that thou goest on,
     Beseeching thee, good woman, with most reverence
     On my pain with thy pity to look upon.
     Without thy comfort my life is gone;
     To revive my dead spirits thou may'st prefer me,
     With the words of thy mouth to make or mar me.
CEL. Sempronio, can I live with these bones,
     That thy master giveth me here for to eat?
     Words are but wind; therefore at once
     Bid him close his mouth, and to his purse get.
     For money maketh [the] merchant, that must jet.[48]
     I have heard his words, but where be his deeds?
     For without money with me nothing speeds.   [_Aside_.
CAL. What saith she, Sempronio? alas, my heart bleeds,
     That I with you, good woman, mistrust should be.
SEM. Sir, she thinketh that money all thing feeds.
CAL. Then come on, Sempronio, I pray thee, with me;
     And tarry here, mother, awhile, I pray thee;
     For where of mistrust ye have me appealed,
     Have here my cloak, till your doubt be assoiled.
SEM. Now do ye well; for weeds among corn,
     Nor suspicions with friends, did never well.
     For[49] faithfulness of words turned to a scorn
     Maketh minds doubtful, good reason doth tell.
CAL. Come on, Sempronio, thou givest me good counsel.
SEM. Go ye before, and I shall wait you upon.
     Farewell, mother, we will come again anon.
                                                [_Exeunt_.
PAR. How say ye, my lords? see ye not this smoke,
     In my master's eyes that they do cast?
     The one hath his chain, the other his cloak;
     And I am sure they will have all at last.
     Ensample may be by this that is passed,
     How servants be deceitful in their master's folly,
     Nothing but for lucre is all their bawdry.  [_Aside_.
CEL. It pleaseth me, Parmeno, that we together
     May speak, whereby thou may'st see I love thee,
     Yet undeserved[50] now thou comest hither;
     Whereof I care not; but virtue warneth me
     To flee temptation, and follow charity:
     To do good against ill, and so I read thee,
     Sempronio, and I will help thy necessities.
     And in token now that it shall so be,
     I pray thee among us let us have a song.
     For where harmony is, there is amity.
PAR. What, an old woman sing?
CEL.                          Why not among?
     I pray thee no longer the time prolong.
PAR. Go to; when thou wilt, I am ready.
CEL. Shall I begin?
PAR.                Yea, but take not too high. [_Cantant_.
CEL. How say ye now by this, little young fool?[51]
     For the third part Sempronio we must get.
     After that thy master shall come to school
     To sing the fourth part, that his purse shall sweat;
     For I see craftly the song can set.
     Though thy master be hoarse, his purse shall sing clear,
     And taught to solf,[52] that woman's flesh is dear.
     How say'st to this, thou praty[53] Parmeno?
     Thou knowest not the world nor no delights therein:
     Dost understand me? in faith, I trow no,
     Thou art young enough the game to begin;
     Thy master hath waded himself so far in,
     And to bring him out lieth not in me, old poor--
PAR. Thou shouldst say it lieth not in me, old whore.
CEL. Ah, whoreson, a shame take such a knave!
     How darest thou with me, thou boy, be so bold?
PAR. Because such knowledge of thee I have.
CEL. Why, who art?
PAR.               Parmeno, son to Albert the old;
     I dwelt with thee by the river, where wine was sold,
     And thy mother, I trow, hight Claudena.
     That a wild-fire bren thee, Celestina!
CEL. But thy mother was as old a whore as I.
     Come hither, thou little fool, let me see thee:
     Ah, it is even he, by our blessed lady!
     What, little urchin, hast forgotten me?
     When thou layest at my bed's-feet, how merry were we!
PAR. Ah, thou old matron,[54] it were alms thou were dead!
     How wouldest thou pluck me up to thy bed's head,
     And embrace me hard unto thy belly!
     And for thou smelled'st oldly, I ran from thee.
CEL. A shameful whoreson! fie upon thee, fie, fie!
     Come hither, and now shortly I charge thee,
     That all this foolish speaking thou let be.
     Leave wantonness of youth; then shalt thou do well;
     Follow the doctrine of thy elders and counsel.
     To whom thy parents (on whose souls God have mercy!)
     In pain of cursing bade thee be obedient.
     In pain whereof, I command thee straitly,
     Too much in mastership put not thine intent:
     No trust is in them, if thine own be spent.
     Masters nowadays covet to bring about
     All for themselves, and let their servants go without.
     Thy master, men say, and as I think he be,
     But light care ich[55] not--who come to his service;
     Fair words shall not lack, but small rewards, trust me.
     Make Sempronio thy friend in any wise;
     For he can handle him in the best guise.
     Keep this, and for thy profit: tell it to none;
     But look that Sempronio and thou be one.
PAR. Mother Celestine, I wot not what ye mean;
     Calisto is my master, and so I will take him,
     And as for riches I defy it clean;
     For whosoever with wrong rich doth make him,
     Sooner than he gat it, it will forsake him.
     I love to live in joyful poverty,
     And to serve my master with truth and honesty.
CEL. Truth and honesty be riches of the name;
     But surety of wealth[56] is to have riches,
     And after that for to get him good fame.
     By report of friends, this is truth, doubtless;
     Then no such manner friend can I express
     As Sempronio, for both your profits to speed;
     Which lieth in my hands now, if ye be agreed.
     O Parmeno, what a life may we endure!
     Sempronio loveth the daughter of Eliso--
PAR. And who? Arusa?
CEL.                 Likest her?
PAR.                             Peradventure?
CEL. I shall get her to thee, that shall I do.
PAR. Nay, mother Celestine, I purpose not so.
     A man should be conversant, I hear tell,
     With them that be ill, and think to do well.
     Sempronio, his ensample shall not make me
     Better nor worse; nor his faults will I hide;
     But, mother Celestine, a question to thee--
     Is not sin anon in one espied?
     That is drowned in delight, how should he provide
     Against virtue to save his honesty?
CEL. Like a child without wisdom thou answerest me.
     Without company mirth can have none estate:
     Use no sloth; nature abhorreth idleness,
     Which leseth delight to nature appropriate.
     In sensual causes delight is chief mistress;
     Specially recounting love's business.
     To say thus doth she: the time thus they pass,
     And such manner they use, and thus they kiss and bass;
     And thus they meet and embrace together.
     What speech, what grace, what plays is between them!
     Where is she? there she goeth; let us see whither:
     Now pleased, now froward; now mum, now hem!
     Strike up, minstrel, with saws of love, the old problem.
     Sing sweet songs; now jousts and tourney.
     Of new inventions what conceits find they?
     Now she goeth to mass; to-morrow she cometh out.
     Behold her better; yonder goeth a cuckold.
     I left her alone: she cometh: turn about!--
     Lo thus, Parmeno, thou mayest behold
     Friends will talk together, as I have told.
     Wherefore perceive thou, that I say truly,
     Never can be delight without company.

_Hic iterum intrat_ CALISTO.

CAL. Mother, as I promised to assoil thy doubt,
     Here I give thee an hundred pieces of gold.
CEL. Sir, I promise you I shall bring it about,
     All thing to purpose, even as ye would;
     For your reward I will do as I should.
     Be merry, fear nothing, content ye shall be.
CAL. Then, mother, farewell; be diligent, I pray thee.
                                            [_Exit Celestine_.
     How sayest, Sempronio, have I done well?
SEM. Yea, sir, in my mind, and most according.
CAL. Then wilt thou do after my counsel?
     After this old woman will thou be hieing,
     To remember and haste her in everything.
SEM. Sir, I am content, as ye command me.
CAL. Then go, and bid Parmeno come, I pray thee.
                                            [_Exit Sempronio_.
     Now God be their guides! the posts[57] of my life,
     My relief from death, the ambassadors of my wealth!
     My hope, my hap; my quietness, my strife;
     My joy, my sorrow; my sickness, my health.
     The hope of this old woman; my heart telleth
     That comfort shall come shortly, as I intend.
     Or else come, death, and make of me an end.

_Enter_ PARMENO.

PAR. In faith, it maketh no force nor matter mich,
CAL. What sayest, Parmeno, what sayest to me?
PAR. Marry, I say plainly, that yonder old witch
     And Sempronio together will undo thee.
CAL. Ah, ill-tongued wretch, will ye not see?
     Thinkest thou, lurden, thou handlest me fair?
     Why, knave, wouldest thou put me in despair?
                                           [_Exit Calisto_.
PAR. Lo, sirs, my master, ye see, is angry;
     But this it is, tell fools for their profit,
     Or warn them for their wealth, it is but folly;
     For strike them on the heel, and as much wit
     Shall come forth at their forehead to perceive it.
     Go thy way, Calisto, for on my charge
     Thy thrift is sealed up, though thou be at large.
     Oh, how unhappy I am to be true;
     For other men win by falsehood and flattery:
     I lose for my truth: the world doth so ensue,
     Truth is put back, and taken for folly.
     Therefore now I will change my copy.
     If I had done, as Celestine bad me,
     Calisto to his mission still would have had me.
     This giveth me warning from henceforward
     How to deal with him for all thing as he will:
     I will [be] the same forward or backward.
     I will go straight to him, and follow him still:
     Say as he saith, be it good or ill;
     And sith these bawds get good provoking lechery,
     I trust flattery shall speed as well as bawdry.

_Hic exeat_ PARMENO _et intret_ MELIBAEA.

MEL. I pray you, came this woman here never sin'?[58]
     In faith, to enter here I am half adrad;
     And yet why so? I may boldly come in:
     I am sure from you all I shall not be had.
     But, Jesus, Jesus, be these men so mad
     On women, as they say? how should it be?
     It is but fables and lies, ye may trust me.

_Intret_ CELESTINA.

CEL. God be here!
MEL.              Who is there?
CEL.                            Will ye buy any thread?
MEL. Yea, marry, good mother, I pray you come in.
CEL. Christ save you, fair mistress, and God be your speed;
     And health be to you and your kin;
     And Mary, God's mother, that blessed virgin,
     Preserve and prosper your womanly personage,
     And well to enjoy your youth and pucellage!
     For that time pleasures are most escheved;[59]
     And age is the hospital of all manner sickness,
     The resting-place of all thought unrelieved;
     The sport of time, past the end of all quickness:
     Neighbour to death; a dry stock without sweetness:
     Discomfort, disease all age alloweth;
     A tree without sap, that small charge boweth.
MEL. I marvel, mother, ye speak so much ill
     Of age, that all folk desire effectuously.
CEL. They desire hurt for themselves as all of will;
     And the cause why they desire to come thereby,
     Is for to live; for death is so loathly.
     He that is sorrowful would live to be sorrier,
     And he that is old would live to be older.
     Fair damsel, who can show all the hurts of age?
     His weariness, feebleness, his discontenting;
     His childishness, frowardness of his rage;
     Wrinkling in the face, lack of sight and hearing;
     Hollowness of mouth, fall of teeth, faint of going;
     And, worst of all, possessed with poverty,
     And the limbs arrested with debility.
MEL. Mother, ye have taken great pain for age,
     Would ye not return to the beginning?
CEL. Fools are they that are past their passage,
     To begin again, which be at the ending;
     For better is possession than the desiring.
MEL. I desire to live longer; do I well, or no?
CEL. That ye desire well, I think not so;
     For as soon goeth to market the lamb's fell
     As the sheep's;[60] none so old but may live a year;
     And there is none so young but, ye wot well,
     May die in a day. Then no advantage is here
     Between youth and age; the matter is clear.
MEL. With thy fabling and thy reasoning, i-wis,
     I am beguiled; but I have known thee ere this:
     Art not Celestine, that dwelleth by the river side?
CEL. Yea, forsooth.
MEL.                Indeed, age hath arrayed[61] thee!
     That thou art she, now can scant be espied.
     Me thinketh by thy favour thou shouldest be she:
     Thou art sore changed, thou mayest believe me.
CEL. Fair maiden, keep thou well this time of youth;
     But beauty shall pass at the last, this is truth:
     Yet I am not so old as ye judge me.
MEL. Good mother, I joy much of thine accointenance,[62]
     And thy motherly reasons right well please me.
     And now I thank thee here for thy pastance.
     Farewell, till another time, that hap may chance,
     Again that we two may meet together.
     Mayhap ye have business, I know not whither.
CEL. O angelic image! O heart so precious!
     Oh, how thou speakest, it rejoiceth me to hear.
     Knowest thou not by the divine mouth gracious,
     That against the infernal fiend Lucifer
     We should not only live by bread here,
     But by our good works, wherein I take some pain:
     If ye know not my mind now, all is in vain.
MEL. Show me, mother, hardily all thy necessity,
     And, if I can, I shall provide the remedy.
CEL. My necessity! nay, God wot, it is not for me:
     As for mine, I left it at home surely.
     To eat when I will, and drink when I am dry;
     And I thank God ever one penny hath been mine,
     To buy bread when I list, and to have four for wine.
     Before I was widow, I cared never for it,
     For I had wine enough of mine own to sell;
     And with a toast in wine by the fire I could sit,
     With two dozen sops the colic to quell;
     But now with me it is not so well,
     For I have nothing but that is brought me
     In a pitcher-pot of quarts scant three.
     Thus I pray God help them that be needy;
     For I speak not for myself alone,
     But as well for other, however speed I.
     The infirmity is not mine, though that I groan,
     It is for another that I make moan,
     And not for myself: it is another way,
     But what I must moan, where I dare not say.
MEL. Say what thou wilt, and for whom thou lest.[63]
CEL. Now, gracious damsel, I thank you then,
     That to give audience ye be so prest,
     With liberal readiness to me old woman,
     Which giveth me boldness to show what I can
     Of one that lieth in danger by sickness
     Remitting his languor to your gentleness.
MEL. What meanest thou, I pray thee, gentle mother?
     Go forth with thy demand, as thou hast done.
     On the one part thou provokest me to anger,
     And on the other side to compassion:
     I know not how thy answer to fashion.
     The words which thou speakest in my presence
     Be so misty, I perceive not thy sentence.
CEL. I said I left one in danger of sickness,
     Drawing to death for ought that I can see:
     Now choose you or no to be murderess,
     Or revive him with a word to come from thee?
MEL. I am happy, if my word be of such necessity,
     To help any Christian man, or else gods forbid:
     To do a good deed is liking to God,
     For good deeds to good men be allowable,
     And specially to needy above all other;
     And ever to good deeds ye shall find me agreeable,
     Trusting ye will exhort me to none other.
     Therefore, fear not, speak your petition, good mother,
     For they that may heal sick folk, and do refuse them,
     Surely of their death they cannot excuse them.
CEL. Full well and graciously the case ye consider,
     For I never believed that God in vain
     Would give you such countenance and beauty together,
     But charity therewith to relieve folk in pain;
     And as God hath given you, so give him again.
     For folks be not made for themselves only,
     For then they should live like beasts all rudely,
     Among which beasts yet some be pitiful,[64]
     The unicorn humbleth himself to a maid;[65]
     And a dog in all his power ireful,
     Let a man fall to ground, his anger is delayed:[66]
     Thus by nature pity is conveyed.
     The cock, when he scrapeth, and happeth meat to find,
     Calleth for his hens: lo! see the gentle kind!
     Should human creatures then be of cruelness?
     Should not they to their neighbours show charity,
     And specially to them wrapped in sickness,
     When[67] they that may heal them cause the infirmity?
MEL. Mother, without delay, for God's sake show me,
     I pray thee heartily, without more praying,
     Where is the patient that so is paining.[68]
CEL. Fair damsel, thou mayest well have knowledge hereto:
     That in this city is a young knight,
     And of clear lineage, called Calisto,
     Whose life and body is all in thee, I plight.
     The pelican, to show nature's right,
     Feedeth his birds,--methinketh I should not preach thee!
     Thou wotest what I mean, as nature should teach thee.
MEL. Ha, ha, is this the intent of thy conclusion?
     Tell me no more of this matter, I charge thee.
     Is this the dolent[69] for whom thou makest petition?
     Art thou come hither thus to deceive me?
     Thou bearded dame, shameless thou seemest to be!
     Is this he that hath the passion of foolishness?
     Thinkest, thou ribald, I am such an one of lewdness?
     It is not said, I see well, in vain:
     The tongue of man and woman worst members be;
     Thou brute bawd, thou great enemy to honesty, certain;
     Cause of secret errors: Jesu, Jesu, benedicite
     Some good body take this old thief from me,
     That thus would me deceive with her false sleight!
     Go out of my sight now! get thee hence straight!
CEL. In an evil hour came I hither, I may say;
     I would I had broken my legs twain.
MEL. Go hence, thou brothel, go hence, in the devil way!
     Bidest thou yet to increase my pain?
     Wilt thou make me of this fool to be fain?
     To give him life, to make him merry,
     And to myself death, to make me sorry?
     Wilt thou bear away profit for my perdition,
     And make me lese the house of my father,
     To win the house of such an old matron
     As thou art, shamefullest of all other?
     Thinkest thou that I understand not, thou false mother,
     Thy hurtful message, thy false subtle ways?
     Make amends to God, thou livest too long days!
     Answer, thou traitress, how darest be so bold?
CEL. The fear of thee maketh me so dismayed,
     That the blood of my body is almost cold.
     Alas! fair maiden, what hast thou said
     To me poor widow? why am I denied?
     Hear my conclusion, which is of honesty;
     Without cause ye blame this gentleman and me.
MEL. I say I will hear no more of that fool:
     Was he not here with me even now?
     Thou old witch, thou bringest me in great dole:
     Ask him what answer he had of me, and how
     I took his demand, as now know mayest thou,
     More showing is but lost, where no mercy can be.
     Thus I answered him, and thus I answer thee.
CEL. The more strange she maketh, the gladder am I:
     There is no tempest, that ever doth endure.  [_Aside_.
MEL. What say'st thou, what say'st, thou shameful enemy?
     Speak out.
CEL.            So 'feard I am of your displeasure;
     Your anger is so great, I perceive it sure,
     And your patience is in so great an heat,
     That for woe and fear I both weep and sweat.
MEL. Little is the heat in comparison to say
     To the great boldness of thy demeaning.
CEL. Fair maiden, yet one word, now I you pray:
     Appease with patience, and bear my saying.
     It is for a prayer, mistress, my demanding,
     That is said ye have of Saint Appoline,
     For the toothache, whereof this man is in pain.
     And the girdle there thou wearest about thee,
     And so many holy relics it hath touched,
     That this knight thinketh his boot thou may'st be.
     Therefore let thy pity now be avouched;
     For my heart for fear like a dog is couched.
     The delight of vengeance whoso doth use,
     Pity at their need shall them refuse.
MEL. If this be true, that thou say'st to me now,
     Mine heart is lightened, perceiving the case:
     I would be content well, if I wist how,
     To bring this sick knight unto some solace.
CEL. Fair damsel, to thee be health and grace:
     For if this knight and ye were acquainted both two,
     Ye would not judge him the man that ye do.
     By God and by my soul, in him is no melancholy:
     With grace endued in freedom as Alexander,
     In strength as Hector, in countenance merry:
     Gracious, envy in him reigned never.
     Of noble blood, as thou knowest, and if ye ever
     Saw him armed, he seemeth a Saint George.
     Rather than to be made in nature's forge,
     An angel thou would'st judge him, I make a vow.
     The gentle Narcissus was never so fair,
     That was enamoured on his own shadow;
     Wherefore, fair maid, let thy pity repair:
     Let mercy be thy mother, and thou her heir.
     This knight, whom I come for, never ceaseth.
     But crieth out of pain, that still increaseth.
MEL. How long time, I pray thee, hath it holden him?
CEL. I think he be twenty-four years of age;
     I saw him born, and holp for to fold him.
MEL. I demand thee not thereof: thine answer assuage;
     I ask thee how long in this painful rage
     He hath lain?
CEL.               Of truth, fair maiden, as he says,
     He hath be in this agony this eight days.
     But he seemeth, [as] he had lain this seven year.
MEL. Oh, how it grieveth me the ill of my patient,
     Knowing his agony and thy innocency here.
     Unto mine anger thou hast made resistance,
     Wherefore thy demand I grant in recompense.
     Have here my girdle: the prayer is not ready;
     To-morrow it shall be: come again secretly.
     And, mother, of these words passed between us
     Show nothing thereof unto this knight,
     Lest he would report me cruel and furious.
     I trust thee now be true, for thoughts be light.
CEL. I marvel greatly thou dost me so atwite
     Of the doubt, that thou hast of my secretness:
     As secret as thyself I shall be doubtless.
     And to Calisto with this girdle Celestina
     Shall go, and his leady heart make whole and light.
     For Gabriel to our lady with Ave Maria
     Came never gladder than I shall to this knight.
     Calisto, how wilt thou now sit upright?
     I have showed thy water to thy physician:
     Comfort thyself: the field is half-won.  [_Aside_.
MEL. Mother, he is much beholden unto thee.
CEL. Fair maiden, for the mercy thou hast done to us
     This knight and I both thy beadfolks shall be.
MEL. Mother, if need be, I will do more than thus.
CEL. It shall be needful to do so and righteous;
     For this thus begun must needs have an end,
     Which never can be without ye condescend.
MEL. Well, mother, to-morrow is a new day:[70]
     I shall perform that I have you promised.
     Show to this sick knight in all that I may.
     Bid him be bold in all things honest,
     And though he to me as yet be but a guest,
     If my word or deed his health may support,
     I shall not fail; and thus bid him take comfort.
                                    [_Exit Melibaea_.
CEL. Now, Christ comfort thee, and keep thee in thy need!
     Now say you, now is not this matter carried clear?
     Cannot old Celestina her matter speed?
     A thing not well handled is not worth a bean.
     Now know ye by the half tale what the whole doth mean:
     These women at the first be angry and furious:
     Fair weather cometh after storms tempestuous.
     And now to Calisto I will me dress,
     Which lieth now languishing in great pain,
     And show him that he is not remediless;
     And bear him this to make him glad and fain;
     And handle him, so that ye shall see plain,
     That I am well worthy to bear the name,
     For to be called a noble arch dame.    [_Exit_.

_Intrat_ DANIO _pater_ MELIBAEAE.

     O marvellous God, what a dream had I to-night!
     Most terrible vision to report and hear!
     I had never none such, nor none yearthly wight.
     Alas! when I think thereon, I quake for fear;
     It was of Melibaea, my daughter dear.
     God send me good tidings of her shortly,
     For, till I hear from her, I cannot be merry.

_Intrat_ MELIBAEA.

MEL. O dear father, nothing may me more displease,
     Nothing may do me more annoyance,
     Nothing may do me greater disease,
     Than to see you, father, in any perturbance,
     For me chiefly, or for any other chance.
     But for me I pray you not to be sad,
     For I have no cause but to be merry and glad.
DAN. O sweet Melibaea, my daughter dear,
     I am replete with joy and felicity,
     For that ye be now in my presence here,
     As I perceive, in joy and prosperity;
     From death to life me thinketh it reviveth me;
     For the fearful dream that I had lately.
MEL. What dream, sir, was that, I pray you heartily?
DAN. Doubtless, me thought that I was walking
     In a fair orchard, where were places two:
     The one was a hot bath, wholesome and pleasing
     To all people that did repair thereto,
     To wash them and clean them from sickness also;
     The other a pit of foul stinking water;
     Shortly they died, all that therein did enter.
     And unto this wholesome bath methought that ye
     In the right path were coming apace,
     But before that methought that I did see
     A foul, rough bitch--a prick-eared cur it was--
     Which straking her body along on the grass,
     And with her tail licked her so, that she
     Made herself a fair spaniel to be.
     This bitch then (methought) met you in the way,
     Leaping and fawning upon you apace,
     And round about you did run and play,
     Which made you then disport and solace;
     Which liked you so well, that in short space
     The way to the hot bath anon ye left it,
     And took the straight way to the foul pit.
     And ever ye looked continually
     Upon that same bitch, and so much her eyed,
     That ye came to the foul pit-brink suddenly,
     Like to have fallen in, and to have been destroyed,
     Which when I saw, anon then I cried,
     Starting in my sleep, and therewith did awake;
     That yet for fear, methink, my body doth quake.
     Was not this a fearful dream and marvellous?
     I pray you, daughter, what think ye now to this?

_Hic_ MELIBAEA _certo tempore non loquitur, sed vultu lamentabili
respicit_.

     Why speak ye not? why be ye now so studious?
     Is there anything that hath chanced you amiss?
     I am your father: tell me what it is.
MEL. Alas, now your dream, which ye have expressed,
     Hath made me all pensive and sore abashed.
DAN. I pray you, dear daughter, now tell me why?
MEL. Sir, I know the cause of your vision,
     And what your dreadful dream doth signify.
DAN. Thereof would I fain now have knowlition.
MEL. Alas, dear father, alas, what have I done?
     Offended God as a wretch unworthy!
DAN. Wherein? despair not; God is full of mercy.

_Et genuflectat_.

MEL. Then on my knees now I fall down,
     And of God chiefly asking forgiveness;
     And next of you; for into oblivion
     I have put your doctrine and lessons doubtless.
DAN. Fear not, daughter, I am not merciless;
     I trust ye have not so greatly offended,
     But that right well it may be amended.
MEL. Ye have fostered me up full lovingly
     In virtuous discipline, which is the right path
     To all grace and virtue; which doth signify
     By your dream the fair, pleasant, wholesome bath:
     The foul pit, whereof ye dreamed, which hath
     Destroyed so many, betokeneth vice and sin,
     In which, alas, I had almost fallen in.
     The prick-eared cur and the foul bitch,
     Which made herself so smooth and fair to see,
     Betokeneth an old quean, a bawdy witch,
     Called Celestina, that woe might she be!
     Which with her fair words aye so persuaded me,
     That she had almost brought me hereunto,
     To fulfil the foul lust of Calisto.
DAN. Alas, dear daughter, I taught you a lesson,
     Which way ye should attain unto virtue:
     That was every morning to say an orison,
     Praying God for grace all vice to eschew.
MEL. O dear father, that lesson I have kept true;
     Which preserved me, for though I did consent
     In mind, yet had he never his intent.
DAN. The virtue of that prayer, I see well one thing,
     Hath preserved you from the shame of that sin;
     But because ye were somewhat consenting,
     Ye have offended God greatly therein;
     Wherefore, daughter, ye must now begin
     Humbly to beseech God of His mercy
     For to forgive you your sin and misery.
MEL. O blessed Lord, and father celestial,
     Whose infinite mercy no tongue can express,
     Though I be a sinner, wretch of wretches all,
     Yet of thy great mercy grant me forgiveness.
     Full sore I repent, my sin I confess:
     Intending henceforth never to offend more:
     Now humbly I beseech thy mercy therefore.
DAN. Now that is well said, mine own fair daughter;
     Stand up therefore, for I know verily,
     That God is good and merciful ever
     To all sinners which will ask mercy,
     And be repentant and in will clearly
     To sin no more. He of His great goodness
     Will grant them therefore His grace and forgiveness.
     Lo, here ye may see, what a thing it is
     To bring up young people virtuously,
     In good custom; for grace doth never miss
     To them that use good prayers daily,
     Which hath preserved this maid undoubtedly,
     And kept her from actual deed of shame:
     Brought her to grace: preserved her good name.
     Wherefore, ye virgins and fair maidens all,
     Unto this example now take good heed;
     Serve God daily; the sooner ye shall
     To honesty and goodness no doubt proceed;
     And God shall send you ever his grace at need
     To withstand all evil temptations,
     That shall come to you by any occasions.
     And ye, fathers, mothers, and other, which be
     Rulers of young folks, your charge is doubtless
     To bring them up virtuously, and to see
     Them occupied still in some good business;
     Not in idle pastime or unthriftiness,
     But to teach them some art, craft, or learning,
     Whereby to be able to get their living.
     The bringers-up of youth in this region
     Have done great harm because of their negligence,
     Not putting them to learning nor occupations:
     So, when they have no craft nor science,
     And come to man's state, ye see the experience,
     That many of them compelled be
     To beg or steal by very necessity.
     But if there be therefore any remedy,
     The heads and rulers must first be diligent
     To make good laws, and execute them straitly,
     Upon such masters that be negligent.
     Alas! we make no laws, but punishment,
     When men have offended. But laws evermore
     Would be made to prevent the cause before.
     If the cause of the mischiefs were seen before,
     Which by conjecture to fall be most likely,
     And good laws and ordinance made therefore
     To put away the cause, that were best remedy.
     What is the cause, that there be so many
     Thefts and robberies? It is because men be
     Driven thereto by need and poverty.
     And what is the very cause of that need?
     Because they labour not for their living;
     And truth is, they cannot well labour indeed,
     Because in youth of their idle upbringing.
     But this thing shall never come to reforming,
     But the world continually shall be nought,
     As long as young people be evil up-brought.
     Wherefore the eternal God, that reigneth on high,
     Send his merciful grace and influence
     To all governors, that they circumspectly
     May rule their inferiors by such prudence,
     To bring them to virtue and due obedience,
     And that they and we all by his great mercy
     May be partners of his blessed glory.

                     AMEN.[71]






EVERYMAN: A MORAL PLAY.



_EDITIONS.

For a list of the editions, see Hazlitt_ ut infrâ. _A facsimile of the
title-page of one of the editions by Skot is here given. Neither of the
editions by Pynson has the title_.




HAWKINS'S PREFACE.


This morality, or moral play, was published early in the reign of Henry
VIII.,[72] and is given from a black-letter copy,[73] preserved in the
library of the church of Lincoln. It was communicated to the editor with
the greatest politeness by the Rev. Dr Stinton, chancellor of that
church. The design of it was to inculcate great reverence for old mother
church and her Popish superstitions.

As the most ingenious Dr Percy has given an analysis of this and the
following moralities, they are, with his permission, prefixed to the
present edition:--"The subject of this piece is the summoning of man out
of the world by death; and its moral, that nothing will then avail him
but a well-spent life and the comforts of religion. This subject and
moral are opened in a monologue spoken by the Messenger (for that was the
name generally given by our ancestors to the prologue on their rude
stage). Then God is represented, who, after some general complaints on
the degeneracy of mankind, calls for Death, and orders him to bring
before his tribunal Everyman, for so is called the personage who
represents the human race. Everyman appears, and receives the summons
with all the marks of confusion and terror. When Death is withdrawn,
Everyman applies for relief in this distress to Fellowship, Kindred,
Goods, or Riches, but they successfully renounce and forsake him. In this
disconsolate state he betakes himself to Good Deeds, who, after
upbraiding him with his long neglect of her, introduces him to her sister
Knowledge, and she leads him to the holy man Confession, who appoints him
penance; this he inflicts upon himself on the stage, and then withdraws
to receive the sacraments of the priest. On his return he begins to wax
faint; and, after Strength, Beauty, Discretion, and Five Wits, have all
taken their final leave of him, gradually expires on the stage; Good
Deeds still accompanying him to the last. Then an angel descends to sing
his _requiem_; and the epilogue is spoken by a person called Doctor, who
recapitulates the whole, and delivers the moral.


DOCTOR.

'This moral men may have in mind;
Ye hearers, take it of worth old and young,
And forsake pride, for he deceiveth you in the end,
And remember Beauty, Five Wits, Strength, and Discretion.
They all at the last do Everyman forsake;
Save his Good Deeds there doth he take:
But beware, and they be small,
Before God he hath no help at all.'

"From this short analysis it may be observed that Everyman is a grave,
solemn piece, not without some rude attempts to excite terror and pity,
and therefore may not improperly be referred to the class of tragedy. It
is remarkable that in this old simple drama the fable is conducted upon
the strictest model of the Greek tragedy. The action is simply one, the
time of action is that of the performance, the scene is never changed,
nor the stage ever empty. Everyman, the hero of the piece, after his
first appearance, never withdraws, except when he goes out to receive the
sacrament, which could not well be exhibited in public; and during this,
Knowledge descants on the excellence and power of the priesthood,
somewhat after, the manner of the Greek chorus. And, indeed, except in
the circumstance of Everyman's expiring on the stage, the 'Samson
Agonistes' of Milton is hardly formed on a severer plan."[74]

The woodcuts accompanying this and the succeeding piece (_Hickescorner_),
occur in the original editions by Skot, and presumably were also in those
by Pynson.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.


MESSENGER.           KNOWLEDGE.
GOD.                 CONFESSION.
DEATH.               BEAUTY.
EVERYMAN.            STRENGTH.
FELLOWSHIP.          DISCRETION.
KINDRED.             FIVE WITS.
GOODS.               ANGEL.
GOOD DEEDS.          DOCTOR.


[Illustration]

[Illustration]


HERE BEGINNETH A TREATISE HOW THE HIGH FATHER OF HEAVEN SENDETH DEATH TO
SUMMON
EVERY CREATURE TO COME AND GIVE ACCOUNT OF THEIR LIVES IN THIS WORLD, AND
IS IN MANNER OF A MORAL PLAY.



MESSENGER.

I Pray you all give your audience,
And hear this matter with reverence,
By figure a moral play;
The Summoning of Everyman called it is,
That of our lives and ending shows,
How transitory we be all day:
This matter is wonders[75] precious,
But the intent of it is more gracious,
And sweet to bear away.
The story saith: man, in the beginning
Look well, and take good heed to the ending,
Be you never so gay:
Ye think sin in the beginning full sweet,
Which in the end causeth thy soul to weep,
When the body lieth in clay.
Here shall you see how Fellowship and Jollity,
Both Strength, Pleasure, and Beauty,
Will fade from thee as flower in May;
For ye shall hear, how our Heaven King
Calleth Everyman to a general reckoning:
Give audience, and hear what he doth say.


GOD[76] _speaketh_.

I perceive here in my Majesty,
How that all creatures be to me unkind,
Living without dread in worldly prosperity:
Of ghostly sight the people be so blind,
Drowned in sin, they knew me not for their God;
In worldly riches is all their mind,
They fear not my rightwiseness, the sharp rod;
My law that I showed, when I for them died,
They forget clean, and shedding of my blood red;
I hanged between two, it cannot be denied;
To get them life I suffered to be dead;
I healed their feet, with thorns hurt was my head:
I could do no more than I did truly,
And now I see the people do clean forsake me:
They use the seven deadly sins damnable,
As pride, covetise, wrath, and lechery,
Now in the world be made commendable:
And thus they leave, of angels the heavenly company,
Every man liveth so after his own pleasure,
And yet of their life they be nothing sure:
I see the more that I them forbear
The worse they be from year to year;
All that liveth appaireth[77] fast,
Therefore I will in all the haste
Have a reckoning of every man's person;
For, and I leave the people thus alone
In their life and wicked tempests,
Verily they will become much worse than beasts;
For now one would by envy another up eat;
Charity they do all clean forget.
I hoped well that every man
In my glory should make his mansion,
And thereto I had them all elect;
But now I see, like traitors deject,
They thank me not for the pleasure that I to them meant,
Nor yet for their being that I them have lent;
I proffered the people great multitude of mercy,
And few there be that asketh it heartly;
They be so cumbered with worldly riches,
That needs on them I must do justice,
On every man living without fear.
Where art thou, Death, thou mighty messenger?


DEATH.

Almighty God, I am here at your will,
Your commandment to fulfil.


GOD.

Go thou to Everyman,
And show him in my name
A pilgrimage he must on him take,
Which he in no wise may escape;
And that he bring with him a sure reckoning
Without delay or any tarrying.


DEATH.

Lord, I will in the world go run over all,
And cruelly out-search both great and small;
Every man will I beset that liveth beastly,
Out of God's laws, and dreadeth not folly:
He that loveth riches I will strike with my dart,
His sight to blind, and fro heaven to depart,
Except that alms be his good friend,
In hell for to dwell, world without end.
Lo, yonder I see Everyman walking:
Full little he thinketh on my coming:
His mind is on fleshly lusts and his treasure;
And great pain it shall cause him to endure
Before the Lord, heaven's King.
Everyman, stand still; whither art thou going
Thus gaily? hast thou thy Maker forgot?


EVERYMAN.

Why askest thou? Wouldest thou wit?


DEATH.

Yea, sir, I will show you; in great haste I am sent to thee
Fro God out of his Majesty.


EVERYMAN.

What! sent to me?


DEATH.

Yea, certainly:
Though you have forgot him here,
He thinketh on thee in the heavenly sphere;
As, ere we depart, thou shalt know.


EVERYMAN.

What desireth God of me?


DEATH.

That shall I show thee;
A reckoning he will needs have
Without any lenger respite.


EVERYMAN.

To give a reckoning longer leisure I crave;
This blind matter troubleth my wit.


DEATH.

On thee thou must take a long journey,
Therefore thy book of count with thee thou bring,
For turn again thou cannot by no way:
And look thou be sure of thy reckoning;
For before God thou shalt answer and show
Thy many bad deeds, and good but a few,
How thou hast spent thy life, and in what wise,
Before the chief lord of paradise.
Have ado that[78] we were in that way,
For, wit thou well, thou shalt make none attorney.


EVERYMAN.

Full unready I am such reckoning to give:
I know thee not; what messenger art thou?


DEATH.

I am Death, that no man dreadeth;
For every man I 'rrest, and no man spareth,
For it is God's commandment
That all to me should be obedient.


EVERYMAN.

O Death, thou comest, when I had thee least in mind;
In thy power it lieth me to save;
Yet of my good will I give thee, if thou will be kind,
Yea, a thousand pounds shalt thou have,
And [thou] defer this matter till another day.


DEATH.

Everyman, it may not be by no way;
I set not by gold, silver, nor riches,
Ne by pope, emperor, king, duke, ne princes;
For, and I would receive gifts great,
All the world I might get;
But my custom is clean contrary;
I give thee no respite, come hence, and not tarry.


EVERYMAN.

Alas! shall I have no lenger respite?
I may say Death giveth no warning:
To think on thee it maketh my heart sick;
For all unready is my book of reckoning:
But, [for] twelve year and I might have abiding,
My counting-book I would make so clear,
That my reckoning I should not need to fear.
Wherefore, Death, I pray thee for God's mercy,
Spare me, till I be provided of remedy.


DEATH.

Thee availeth not to cry, weep, and pray:
But haste thee lightly, that thou wert gone this journey;
And prove thy friends, if thou can;
For, wit thou well, the tide abideth no man,
And in the world each living creature
For Adam's sin must die of nature.


EVERYMAN.

Death, if I should this pilgrimage take,
And my reckoning surely make,
Show me, for Saint Charity,
Should I not come again shortly?


DEATH.

No, Everyman, and thou be once there,
Thou mayest never more come here,
Trust me verily.


EVERYMAN.

O gracious God, in the high seat celestial,
Have mercy on me in this most need.
Shall I have no company from this vale terrestrial
Of mine acquaince,[79] that way me to lead?


DEATH.

Yea, if any be so hardy,
That would go with thee, and bear thee company:
Hie thee that thou were gone to God's magnificence,
Thy reckoning to give before his presence.
What, weenest thou thy life is given thee,
And thy worldly goods also?


EVERYMAN.

I had ween'd so verily.


DEATH.

Nay, nay; it was but lend thee;
For, as soon as thou art gone,
Another awhile shall have it, and then go therefro,
Even as thou hast done.
Everyman, thou art mad, thou hast thy wits five,
And here on earth will not amend thy life;
For suddenly I do come.


EVERYMAN.

O wretched caitiff, whither shall I flee,
That I might escape this endless sorrow!
Now, gentle Death, spare me till to-morrow,
That I may amend me
With good advisement.


DEATH.

Nay, thereto I will not consent,
Nor no man will I respite;
But to the heart suddenly I shall smite
Without any advisement.
And now out of thy sight I will me hie;
See thou make thee ready shortly,
For thou mayest say, this is the day
That no man living may 'scape away.


EVERYMAN.

Alas! I may well weep with sighs deep:
Now have I no manner of company
To help me in my journey, and me to keep;
And also my writing is full unready.
How shall I do now for to excuse me!
I would to God I had never be got;[80]
To my soul a full great profit it had be;
For now I fear pains huge and great.
The time passeth: Lord, help, that all wrought!
For though I mourn, it availeth nought:
The day passeth, and is almost ago;
I wot not well what for to do.
To whom were I best my complaint to make?
What, and I to Fellowship thereof spake,
And showed him of this sudden chance!
For in him is all mine affiance;
We have in the world so many a day
Be good friends in sport and play,
I see him yonder certainly;
I trust that he will bear me company,
Therefore to him will I speak to ease my sorrow,
Well met, good Fellowship, and good morrow.


FELLOWSHIP _speaketh_.

Everyman, good morrow, by this day:
Sir, why lookest thou so piteously?
If anything be amiss, I pray thee, me say,
That I may help to remedy.


EVERYMAN.

Yea, good Fellowship, yea;
I am in great jeopardy.


FELLOWSHIP.

My true friend, show to me your mind;
I will not forsake thee, to my life's end,
In the way of good company.


EVERYMAN.

That was well spoken and lovingly.


FELLOWSHIP.

Sir, I must needs know your heaviness;
I have pity to see you in any distress:
If any have you wronged, ye shall revenged be,
Though I on the ground be slain for thee;
Though that I know before that I should die.


EVERYMAN.

Verily, Fellowship, gramercy.


FELLOWSHIP.

Tush! by thy thanks I set not a straw;
Show me your grief, and say no more.


EVERYMAN.

If I my heart should to you break,
And then you to turn your mind fro me,
And would not me comfort, when ye hear me speak,
Then should I ten times sorrier be.


FELLOWSHIP.

Sir, I say as I will do in deed.


EVERYMAN.

Then be you a good friend at need;
I have found you true here-before.


FELLOWSHIP.

And so ye shall evermore;
For in faith, and thou go to hell,
I will not forsake thee by the way.


EVERYMAN.

Ye speak like a good friend, I believe you well;
I shall deserve it, and I may.


FELLOWSHIP.

I speak of no deserving, by this day;
For he that will say and nothing do,
Is not worthy with good company to go:
Therefore show me the grief of your mind,
As to your friend most loving and kind.


EVERYMAN.

I shall show you how it is:
Commanded I am to go a journey,
A long way, hard and dangerous;
And give a strait account without delay
Before the High Judge Adonai;[81]
Wherefore, I pray you, bear me company,
As ye have promised in this journey.


FELLOWSHIP.

That is matter indeed; promise is duty;
But, and I should take such a voyage on me,
I know it well, it should be to my pain:
Also it make[s] me afeard certain.
But let us take counsel here as well as we can,
For your words would fear a strong man.


EVERYMAN.

Why, ye said, if I had need,
Ye would me never forsake, quick ne dead,
Though it were to hell truly.


FELLOWSHIP.

So I said certainly;
But such pleasures be set aside, the sooth to say,
And also if ye took such a journey,
When should we come again?


EVERYMAN.

Nay, never again till the day of doom.


FELLOWSHIP.

In faith, then will not I come there:
Who hath you these tidings brought?


EVERYMAN.

Indeed, Death was with me here.


FELLOWSHIP.

Now, by God that all hath bought,
If Death were the messenger,
For no man that is living to-day
I will not go that loath journey,
Not for the father that begat me.


EVERYMAN.

Ye promised otherwise, pardy.


FELLOWSHIP.

I wot well I said so truly,
And yet if thou wilt eat and drink, and make good cheer,
Or haunt to women the lusty company,
I would not forsake you, while the day is clear,
Trust me verily.


EVERYMAN.

Yea, thereto ye would be ready;
To go to mirth, solace and play,
Your mind will sooner apply
Than to bear me company in my long journey.


FELLOWSHIP.

Now, in good faith, I will not that way;
But, and thou will murder, or any man kill,
In that I will help thee with a good will.


EVERYMAN.

Oh, that is a simple advice indeed:
Gentle fellows[hip,] help me in my necessity;
We have loved long, and now I need,
And now, gentle Fellowship, remember me.


FELLOWSHIP.

Whether ye have loved me or no,
By Saint John, I will not with thee go.


EVERYMAN.

Yet, I pray thee, take the labour, and do so much for me,
To bring me forward, for Saint Charity,
And comfort me, till I come without the town.


FELLOWSHIP.

Nay, and thou would give me a new gown,
I will not a foot with thee go;
But, and thou had tarried, I would not have left thee so:
And as now God speed thee in thy journey!
For from thee I will depart, as fast as I may.


EVERYMAN.

Whither away, Fellowship? will you forsake me?


FELLOWSHIP.

Yea, by my fay; to God I betake thee.


EVERYMAN.

Farewell, good Fellowship; for this my heart is sore:
Adieu for ever, I shall see thee no more.


FELLOWSHIP.

In faith, Everyman, farewell now at the end;
For you I will remember that parting is mourning.


EVERYMAN.

Alack! shall we thus depart in deed,
O Lady, help, without any more comfort,
Lo,[82] Fellowship forsaketh me in my most need:
For help in this world whither shall I resort?
Fellowship here before with me would merry make;
And now little sorrow for me doth he take.
It is said, in prosperity men friends may find,
Which in adversity be full unkind.
Now whither for succour shall I flee,
Sith that Fellowship hath forsaken me?
To my kinsmen I will truly,
Praying them to help me in my necessity;
I believe that they will do so;
For kind will creep, where it may not go.[83]
I will go say; for yonder I see them go:
Where be ye now, my friends and kinsmen [lo?]


KINDRED.

Here be we now at your commandment:
Cousin, I pray thee, show us your intent
In any wise, and do not spare.


COUSIN.

Yea, Everyman, and to us declare
If ye be disposed to go any whither;
For, wot ye well, we[84] will live and die together.


KINDRED.

In wealth and woe we will with you hold;
For over his kin a man may be bold.


EVERYMAN.

Gramercy, my friends and kinsmen kind,
Now shall I show you the grief of my mind.
I was commanded by a messenger,
That is an high king's chief officer;
He bad me go on pilgrimage to my pain,
But I know well I shall never come again:
Also I must give a reckoning strait;
For I have a great enemy that hath me in wait,
Which intendeth me for to hinder.


KINDRED.

What account is that which ye must render?
That would I know.


EVERYMAN.

Of all my works I must show,
How I have lived, and my days spent;
Also of ill deeds that I have used
In my time, sith life was me lent,
And of all virtues that I have refused:
Therefore, I pray you, go thither with me
To help to make mine account, for Saint Charity.


COUSIN.

What, to go thither? Is that the matter?
Nay, Everyman, I had liever fast bread and water,
All this five year and more.


EVERYMAN.

Alas, that ever I was bore!
For now shall I never be merry,
If that you forsake me.


KINDRED.

Ah, sir! what, ye be a merry man!
Take good heart to you, and make no moan.
But one thing I warn you, by Saint Anne,
As for me ye shall go alone.


EVERYMAN.

My cousin, will you not with me go?


COUSIN.

No, by our lady, I have the cramp in my toe:
Trust not to me; for, so God me speed,
I will[85] deceive you in your most need.


KINDRED.

It availeth not us to tice:[86]
Ye shall have my maid with all my heart;
She loveth to go to feasts, there to be nice,
And to dance, and abroad to start:
I will give her leave to help you in that journey,
If that you and she may agree.


EVERYMAN.

No, show me the very effect of your mind;
Will you go with me, or abide behind?


KINDRED.

Abide behind! yea, that will I, and I may;
Therefore farewell till another day.


EVERYMAN.

How should I be merry or glad?
For fair promises men to me make;
But, when I have most need, they me forsake;
I am deceived, that maketh me sad.


COUSIN.

Cousin Everyman, farewell now;
For verily I will not go with you:
Also of mine own life an unready reckoning
I have to account, therefore I make tarrying;
Now God keep thee, for now I go.


EVERYMAN.

Ah, Jesu, is all come hereto?
Lo, fair words maketh fools fain;[87]
They promise, and nothing will do certain.
My kinsmen promised me faithfully,
For to abide with me steadfastly;
And now fast away do they flee:
Even so Fellowship promised me.
What friend were best me of to provide?
I lose my time here longer to abide;
Yet in my mind a thing there is:
All my life I have loved riches;
If that my Good now help me might,
It would make my heart full light:
I will speak to him in this distress:
Where art thou, my Goods and Riches?


GOODS.

Who calleth me? Everyman? what, hast thou haste?
I lie here in corners trussed and piled so high,
And in chests I am locked so fast,
Also sacked in bags, thou mayest see with thine eye,
I cannot stir; in packs, lo, where I lie!
What would ye have, lightly me say.


EVERYMAN.

Come hither, Good, in all the haste thou may;
For of counsel I must desire thee.


GOODS.

Sir, and ye in the world have sorrow or adversity,
That can I help you to remedy shortly.


EVERYMAN.

It is another disease that grieveth me;
In this world it is not, I tell thee so,
I am sent for another way to go,
To give a strait account general
Before the highest Jupiter of all:
And all my life I have had my pleasure in thee,
Therefore I pray thee now go with me;
For, peraventure, thou mayest before God Almighty
My reckoning help to clean and purify,
For it is said ever among,
That money maketh all right that is wrong.


GOODS.

Nay, nay, Everyman, I sing another song;
I follow no man in such voyages,
For, and I went with thee,
Thou shouldest fare much the worse for me:
For because on me thou diddest set thy mind,
Thy reckoning I have made blotted and blind,
That thine account thou cannot make truly;
And that hast thou for the love of me.


EVERYMAN.

That would grieve me full sore,
When I should come to that fearful answer:
Up, and let us go thither together.


GOODS.

Nay, not so; I am too brittle, I may not endure:
I will follow no man one foot, be ye sure.


EVERYMAN.

Alas! I have thee loved, and had great pleasure
All my life-days on my good and treasure.


GOODS.

That is to thy damnation without lesing,
For my love is contrary to the love everlasting;
But if thou had me loved moderately during,
As to the poor give part for the love of me,
Then shouldest thou not in this dolour have be,
Nor in this great sorrow and care.


EVERYMAN.

Lo, now was I deceived, ere I was ware,
And all, I may wete, mis-spending of time.


GOODS.

What, wenest thou that I am thine?


EVERYMAN.

I had went[88] so.


GOODS.

Nay, Everyman, I say no:
As for a while I was lent thee;
A season thou hast had me in prosperity;
My condition is man's soul to kill,
If I save one, a thousand I do spill:
Weenest thou that I will follow thee?
Nay, not fro this world, verily.


EVERYMAN.

I had weened otherwise.


GOODS.

Therefore to thy soul Good is a thief,
For when thou art dead, this is my guise,
Another to deceive in the same wise,
As I have do thee, and all to his soul's reprefe.


EVERYMAN.

O false Good, cursed may thou be,
Thou traitor to God, thou hast deceived me,
And caught me in thy snare.


GOODS.

Marry, thou brought thyself in care,
Whereof I am right glad:
I must needs laugh, I cannot be sad.


EVERYMAN.

Ah, Good, thou hast had long my hearty love;
I gave thee that which should be the Lord's above:
But wilt thou not go with me indeed?
I pray thee truth to say.


GOODS.

No, so God me speed;
Therefore farewell, and have good day.


EVERYMAN.

Oh, to whom shall I make my moan,
For to go with me in that heavy journey?
First Fellowship he said he would with me gone;
His words were very pleasant and gay,
But afterward he left me alone.
Then spake I to my kinsmen all in despair,
And also they gave me words fair,
They lacked no fair speaking;
But all forsake me in the ending.
Then went I to my Goods that I loved best,
In hope to have found comfort; but there had I least:
For my Goods sharply did me tell,
That he bringeth many in hell.
Then of myself I was ashamed,
And so I am worthy to be blamed:
Thus may I well myself hate.
Of whom shall I now counsel take?
I think that I shall never speed,
Till that I go to my Good Deed;
But, alas! she is so weak,
That she can nother go nor speak:
Yet will I venter on her now.
My Good Deeds, where be you?


GOOD DEEDS.

Here I lie cold in the ground;
Thy sins have me so sore bound,
That I cannot stir.


EVERYMAN.

O Good Deeds, I stand in great fear;
I must you pray of counsel,
For help now should come right well.


GOOD DEEDS.

Everyman, I have understanding,
That thou art summoned account to make
Before Messias of Jerusalem King;
And you do by me, that journey with[89] you will I take.


EVERYMAN.

Therefore I come to you my moan to make:
I pray you, that ye will go with me.


GOOD DEEDS.

I would full fain, but I cannot stand verily.


EVERYMAN.

Why, is there anything on you fall?


GOOD DEEDS.

Yea, sir, I may thank you of all;
If ye had perfectly cheered me,
Your book of account full ready now had be.
Look, the books of your works and deeds eke!
Behold how they lie under the feet,
To your soul's heaviness.


EVERYMAN.

Our Lord Jesus help me,
For one letter herein can I not see.


GOOD DEEDS.

Here is a blind reckoning in time of distress!


EVERYMAN.

Good Deeds, I pray you, help me in this need,
Or else I am for ever damned indeed;
Therefore help me to make my reckoning
Before the Redeemer of all thing,
That king is, and was, and ever shall.


GOOD DEEDS.

Everyman, I am sorry of your fall,
And fain would I help you, and I were able.


EVERYMAN.

Good Deeds, your counsel, I pray you, give me.


GOOD DEEDS.

That shall I do verily:
Though that on my feet I may not go,
I have a sister that shall with you also,
Called Knowledge, which shall with you abide,
To help you to make that dreadful reckoning.
                                [_Enter Knowledge_.


KNOWLEDGE.

Everyman, I will go with thee, and be thy guide,
In thy most need to go by thy side.


EVERYMAN.

In good condition I am now in every thing,
And am wholly content with this good thing,
Thanked be God my Creature.[90]


GOOD DEEDS.

And when he hath brought thee there,
Where thou shalt heal thee of thy smart,
Then go thou with thy reckoning and thy good deeds together.
For to make thee joyful at the heart
Before the blessed Trinity.


EVERYMAN.

My Good Deeds, I thank thee heartfully:
I am well content certainly
With your words sweet.


KNOWLEDGE.

Now go we together lovingly
To Confession, that cleansing river.


EVERYMAN.

For joy I weep: I would we there were;
But I pray you to instruct me by intellection,[91]
Where dwelleth that holy virtue Confession?


KNOWLEDGE.

In the house of salvation;
We shall find him in that place,
That shall us comfort by God's grace.
Lo, this is Confession: kneel down, and ask mercy;
For he is in good conceit with God Almighty.


EVERYMAN.

O glorious fountain that all uncleanness doth clarify,
Wash from me the spots of vices unclean,
That on me no sin may be seen;
I come with Knowledge for my redemption,
Redempt with heart and full contrition,
For I am commanded a pilgrimage to take,
And great accounts before God to make.
Now I pray you, Shrift, mother of salvation,
Help hither my good deeds for my piteous exclamation.


CONFESSION.

I know your sorrow well, Everyman:
Because with Knowledge ye come to me,
I will you comfort as well as I can;
And a precious jewel I will give thee,
Called penance, voider[92] of adversity:
Therewith shall your body chastised be
With abstinence and perseverance in God's service;
Here shall you receive that scourge of me,
Which is penance strong that ye must endure,
Remember thy Saviour was scourged for thee
With sharp scourges, and suffered it patiently:
So must thou, ere thou pass thy pilgrimage.
Knowledge, keep him in this voyage,
And by that time Good Deeds will be with thee;
But in anywise be sure of mercy,
For your time draweth fast; and ye will saved be,
Ask God mercy, and he will grant truly:
When with the scourge of penance man doth him bind,
The oil of forgiveness then shall he find.


EVERYMAN.

Thanked be God for his gracious work;
For now I will my penance begin:
This hath rejoiced and lighted my heart,
Though the knots be painful and hard within.


KNOWLEDGE.

Everyman, look your penance that ye fulfil,
What pain that ever it to you be;
And I shall give you counsel at will,
How your account ye shall make clearly.


EVERYMAN.

O eternal God, O heavenly figure,
O way of rightwiseness, O goodly vision,
Which descended down in a virgin pure,
Because he would Everyman redeem,
Which Adam forfeited by his disobedience,
O blessed Godhead, elect and high Divine,
Forgive me my grievous offence;
Here I cry thee mercy in this presence:
O ghostly treasure, O ransomer and redeemer!
Of all the world hope and conduyter,
Mirror of joy, foundation of mercy,
Which enlumineth heaven and earth thereby,
Hear my clamorous complaint, though it late be,
Receive my prayers of thy benignity,
Though I be a sinner most abominable,
Yet let my name be written in Moses' table.
O Mary, pray to the Maker of all thing
Me for to help at my ending,
And save me from the power of my enemy;
For Death assaileth me strongly:
And, Lady, that I may by mean of thy prayer
Of your son's glory to be partiner.
By the mean of his passion I it crave;
I beseek you help me my soul to save.
Knowledge, give me the scourge of penance,
My flesh therewith shall give acquittance;
I will now begin, if God give me grace.


KNOWLEDGE.

Everyman, God give you time and space!
Thus I bequeath you in the hands of our Saviour;
Now may you make your reckoning sure.


EVERYMAN.

In the name of all the Holy Trinity,
My body punished sore shall be,
Take this body for the sin of the flesh;
Also thou delightest to go gay and fresh;
And in the way of damnation thou did me bring,
Therefore suffer now strokes and punishing:
Now of penance I will wade the water clear,
To save me from purgatory, that sharp fire.[93]


GOOD DEEDS.

I thank God, now I can walk and go,
And am delivered of my sickness and woe;
Therefore with Everyman I will go, and not spare,
His good works I will help him to declare.


KNOWLEDGE.

Now, Everyman, be merry and glad;
Your Good Deeds cometh now, ye may not be sad:
Now is your Good Deeds whole and sound,
Going upright upon the ground.


EVERYMAN.

My heart is light, and shall be evermore;
Now will I smite faster than I did before.


GOOD DEEDS.

Everyman pilgrim, my special friend,
Blessed be thou without end;
For thee is prepared the eternal glory:
Ye have me made whole and sound,
Therefore I will bide by thee in every stound.


EVERYMAN.

Welcome, my Good Deeds, now I hear thy voice,
I weep for very sweetness of love.


KNOWLEDGE.

Be no more sad, but evermore rejoice,
God seeth thy living in His throne above;
Put on this garment to thy behove,
Which with your tears is now all wet,
Lest before God it be unsweet,
When ye to your journey's end come shall.


EVERYMAN.

Gentle Knowledge, what do ye it call?


KNOWLEDGE.

It is the garment of sorrow,
From pain it will you borrow;
Contrition it is,
That getteth forgiveness,
It pleaseth God passing-well.


GOOD DEEDS.

Everyman, will you wear it for your hele?[94]


EVERYMAN.

Now blessed be Jesu, Mary's son;
For now have I on true contrition:
And let us go now without tarrying.
Good Deeds, have we clear our reckoning?


GOOD DEEDS.

Yea, indeed, I have here.


EVERYMAN.

Then I trust we need not to fear;
Now, friends, let us not depart in twain.


KINDRED.

Nay, Everyman, that will we not certain.


GOOD DEEDS.

Yet must thou lead with thee
Three persons of great might.


EVERYMAN.

Who should they be?


GOOD DEEDS.

Discretion and Strength they hyght,[95]
And thy Beauty may not abide behind.


KNOWLEDGE.

Also ye must call to mind
Your Five Wits[96] as for your councillors.


GOOD DEEDS.

You must have them ready at all hours.


EVERYMAN.

How shall I get them hither?


KINDRED.

You must call them all together,
And they will hear you incontinent.


EVERYMAN.

My friends, come hither, and be present,
Discretion, Strength, my Five Wits and Beauty.


BEAUTY.

Here at your will we be all ready;
What will ye that we should do?


GOOD DEEDS.

That ye would with Everyman go,
And help him in his pilgrimage:
Advise you, will ye go with him or not in that voyage?


STRENGTH.

We will bring him all thither
To help and comfort him, ye may believe me.


DISCRETION.

So will we go with him altogether.


EVERYMAN.

Almighty God, loved may Thou be;
I give Thee laud[97] that I have hither brought
Strength, Discretion, Beauty, Five Wits: lack I nought:
And my Good Deeds, with Knowledge clear,
All be in my company at my will here;
I desire no more to my business.[98]


STRENGTH.

And I Strength will by you stand in distress,
Though thou wouldest in battle fight on the ground.


FIVE WITS.

And though it were thorow the world round,
We will not depart for sweet ne for sour.


BEAUTY.

No more will I unto death's hour,
Whatsoever thereof befall.


DISCRETION.

Everyman, advise you first of all,
Go with a good advisement and deliberation;
We all give you virtuous monition
That all shall be well.


EVERYMAN.

My friends, hark what I will you tell;
I pray God reward you in His heavenly sphere:
Now hearken all that be here;
For I will make my testament
Here before you all present:
In alms half my good I will give with my hands twain
In the way of charity with good intent,
And the other half still shall remain:
I it bequeath to be returned there it ought to be.
This I do in despite of the fiend of hell,
To go quit[99] out of his peril[100]
Ever after this day.


KNOWLEDGE.

Everyman, hearken what I will say;
Go to priesthood, I you advise,
And receive of him in any wise
The holy sacrament and ointment[101] together,
Then shortly see ye turn again hither,
We will all abide you here.


FIVE WITS.

Yea, Everyman, hie you that ye ready were:
There is no emperor, king, duke, ne baron,
That of God hath commission,
As hath the least priest in the world being;
For of the blessed sacraments pure and benign
He beareth the keys, and thereof hath cure
For man's redemption, it is ever sure,
Which God for our soul's medicine
Gave us out of his heart with great pain,
Here in this transitory life for thee and me:
The blessed sacraments seven there be,
Baptism, confirmation, with priesthood good,
And the sacrament of God's precious flesh and blood,
Marriage, the holy extreme unction, and penance;
These seven be good to have in remembrance,
Gracious sacraments of high divinity.


EVERYMAN.

Fain would I receive that holy body,
And meekly to my ghostly father I will go.


FIVE WITS.

Everyman, that is the best that ye can do;
God will you to salvation bring,
For good priesthood exceedeth all other thing;
To us holy scripture they do teach,
And converteth man fro sin heaven to reach;
God hath to them more power given
Than to any angel that is in heaven:
With five words he may consecrate
God's body in flesh and blood to take,
And handleth his Maker between his hands,[102]
The priest bindeth and unbindeth all bands
Both in earth and in heaven;
He[103] ministers all the sacraments seven:
Though we kiss thy feet, thou wert worthy:
Thou art the surgeon that cureth sin deadly,
No remedy may we find under God,
But all only priesthood.
Everyman, God gave priest[s] that dignity,
And setteth them in His stead among us to be;
Thus be they above angels in degree.


KNOWLEDGE.

If priests be good, it is so surely,
But when Jesu heng on the cross with great smart,
There he gave us out of his blessed heart
The same sacrament in great torment.
He sold them not to us, that Lord omnipotent;
Therefore Saint Peter the Apostle doth say,
That Jesus' curse hath all they,
Which God their Saviour do buy or sell,
Or they for any money do take or tell,
Sinful priests giveth the sinners example bad,
Their children sitteth by other men's fires, I have heard,
And some haunteth women's company,
With unclean life, as lusts of lechery;
These be with sin made blind.


FIVE WITS.

I trust to God, no such may we find:
Therefore let us priesthood honour,
And follow their doctrine for our soul's succour;
We be their sheep, and they [our] shepherds be,
By whom we all be kept in surety.
Peace! for yonder I see Everyman come,
Which hath made true satisfaction.


GOOD DEEDS.

Methink it is he indeed.


EVERYMAN.

Now Jesu Christ be your alder[104] speed!
I have received the sacrament for my redemption,
And then mine extreme unction;
Blessed be all they that counselled me to take it:
And now, friends, let us go without longer respite;
I thank God that ye have tarried so long.
Now set each of you on this rod your hand,
And shortly follow me;
I go before, there I would be:
God be our guide.


STRENGTH.

Everyman, we will not fro you go,
Till ye have gone this voyage long.


DISCRETION.

I Discretion will bide by you also.


KNOWLEDGE.

And though this pilgrimage be never so strong,
I will never part you fro:
Everyman, I will be as sure by thee,
As ever I was by Judas Maccabee.


EVERYMAN.

Alas! I am so faint I may not stand,
My limbs under me do fold:
Friends, let us not turn again to this land,
Not for all the world's gold;
For into this cave must I creep,


BEAUTY.

And turn to the earth, and there to sleep.


EVERYMAN.

What, into this grave? Alas!


BEAUTY.

Yea, there shall ye consume more and less.


EVERYMAN.

And what, should I smother here?
Yea, by my faith, and never more appear;
In this world live no more we shall,
But in heaven before the highest Lord of all.


BEAUTY.

I cross out all this: adieu, by Saint John;
I take my cap in my lap, and am gone.


EVERYMAN.

What, Beauty? whither will ye?


BEAUTY.

Peace! I am deaf, I look not behind me,
Not, and thou wouldst give me--all the gold in thy chest.


EVERYMAN.

Alas! whereto may I now trust?
Beauty doth fast away hie:
She promised with me to live and die.


STRENGTH.

Everyman, I will thee also forsake and deny,
The game liketh me not at all.


EVERYMAN.

Why then ye will forsake me all:
Strength, tarry, I pray you, a little space.


STRENGTH.

Nay, sir, by the rood of grace,
I will hie me from thee fast,
Though thou weep till thy heart brast.


EVERYMAN.

Ye would ever bide by me, ye said.


STRENGTH.

Yea, I have you far enough conveyed:
Ye be old enough, I understand,
Your pilgrimage to take on hand;
I repent me, that I hither came.


EVERYMAN.

Strength, you to displease I am to blame;
Yet promise is debt;[105] this ye well wot.


STRENGTH.

In faith, as for that I care not:
Thou art but a fool to complain;
Thou spendest thy speech and wasteth thy brain:
Go, thrist[106] thee into the ground.


EVERYMAN.

I had ween'd surer I should you have found:
But I see well, he that trusteth in his Strength,
Is greatly deceived at the length;
Both Strength and Beauty hath forsaken me,
Yet they promised me steadfast to be.


DISCRETION.

Everyman, I will after Strength be gone;
As for me, I will leave you alone.


EVERYMAN.

Why, Discretion, will ye forsake me?


DISCRETION.

Yea, in faith, I will go fro thee;
For when Strength is gone before,
Then I follow after evermore.


EVERYMAN.

Yet, I pray thee, for love of the Trinity,
Look in my grave once piteously.


DISCRETION.

Nay, so nigh will I not come.
Now farewell, fellows everichone.[107]


EVERYMAN.

Oh, all thing faileth, save God alone,
Beauty, Strength, and Discretion;
For, when Death bloweth his blast,
They all run fro me full fast.


FIVE WITS.

Everyman, of thee now my leave I take;
I will follow the other, for here I thee forsake.


EVERYMAN.

Alas! then may I both wail and weep;
For I took you for my best friend.


FIVE WITS.

I will no lenger thee keep:
Now farewell, and here an end.


EVERYMAN.

Now, Jesu, help! all hath forsaken me.


GOOD DEEDS.

Nay, Everyman, I will abide with thee,
I will not forsake thee indeed;
Thou shalt find me a good friend at need.


EVERYMAN.

Gramercy, Good Deeds, now may I true friends see
They have forsaken me everychone;
I loved them better than my good deeds alone:
Knowledge, will ye forsake me also?


KNOWLEDGE.

Yea, Everyman, when ye to death shall go;
But not yet for no manner of danger.


EVERYMAN.

Gramercy, Knowledge, with all my heart.


KNOWLEDGE.

Nay, yet I will not from hence depart,
Till I see where ye shall be come.


EVERYMAN.

Methinketh, alas! that I must be gone
To make my reckoning, and my debts pay;
For I see my time is nigh spent away.
Take ensample, all ye that this do hear or see,
How they that I loved best now forsake me;
Except my Good Deeds, that bideth truly.


GOOD DEEDS.

All earthly things is but vanity,
Beauty, Strength, and Discretion do man forsake,
Foolish friends and kinsmen, that fair spake;
All fleeth save Good Deeds, and that am I.


EVERYMAN.

Have mercy on me, God most mighty,
And stand by me, thou mother and maid Mary.


GOOD DEEDS.

Fear not, I will speak for thee.


EVERYMAN.

Here I cry, God mercy!


GOOD DEEDS.

Short our end and minish our pain:
Let us go, and never come again.


EVERYMAN.

Into thy hands, Lord, my soul I commend,
Receive it, Lord, that it be not lost;
As thou me boughtest, so me defend,
And save me fro the fiend's boast,
That I may appear with that blessed host
That shall be saved at the day of doom:
_In manus tuas_, of might most,
For ever _commendo spiritum meum_.
                                  [_Everyman dies_.


KNOWLEDGE.

Now hath he suffered that we all shall endure:
The Good Deeds shall make all sure;
Now hath he made ending,
Methinketh that I hear angels sing,
And make great joy and melody,
Where Everyman's soul shall received be.


THE ANGEL.

Come, excellent elect spouse to Jesu,
Here above thou shalt go.
Because of thy singular virtue:
Now thy soul is taken thy body fro,
Thy reckoning is crystal clear;
Now shalt thou into the heavenly sphere,
Unto the which all ye shall come
That liveth well, after the day of doom.


DOCTOR.

This memory all men may have in mind;
Ye hearers, take it of worth, old and young,
And forsake pride, for he deceiveth you in the end,
And remember Beauty, Five Wits, Strength, and Discretion,
They all at last do Everyman forsake,
Save his Good Deeds; [them he] there doth take:
But beware, for, and they be small,
Before God he hath no help at all;
None excuse may be there for Everyman:
Alas, how shall he do then?
For after death amends may no man make,
For then mercy and pity doth him forsake;
If his reckoning be not clear, when he doth come,
God will say, _Ite, maledicti, in ignem aeternum_;
And he that hath his account whole and sound,
High in heaven he shall be crowned;
Unto which place God bring us all thither,
That we may live body and soul together;
Thereto help the Trinity:
Amen, say ye, for Saint Charity.[108]

               FINIS.






HICKSCORNER.



_EDITIONS_.


_Hyckescorner. [At the end:] Enprynted by me Wynkyn de Worde. 4°, Black
letter.

Hycke scorner. [At the end:] Thus endeth the enterlude of Hycke scorner.
Imprinted at London in foster laene by John Waley. 4°, Black letter_.




HICKSCORNER.


This piece is printed from a black letter copy in Mr Garrick's
collection,[109] of which the following is a very accurate analysis,
extracted from Dr Percy's "Relics of Ancient English Poetry," vol. i. p.
130:--

"Hickscorner bears no distant resemblance to comedy: its chief aim seems
to be to exhibit characters and manners, its plot being much less regular
than the foregoing. The prologue is spoken by Pity, represented under the
character of an aged pilgrim; he is joined by Contemplation and
Perseverance, two holy men who, after lamenting the degeneracy of the
age, declare their resolution of stemming the torrent. Pity then is left
upon the stage, and presently found by Freewill, representing a lewd
debauchee who, with his dissolute companion, Imagination, relate their
manner of life, and not without humour describe the stews and other
places of base resort. They are presently joined by Hickscorner, who is
drawn as a libertine returned from travel, and agreeably to his name
scoffs at religion. These three are described as extremely vicious, who
glory in every act of wickedness. At length two of them quarrel, and Pity
endeavours to part the fray; on this they fall upon him, and put him into
the stocks, and then leave him. Pity then descants in a kind of lyric
measure on the profligacy of the age, and in this situation is found by
Perseverance and Contemplation, who set him at liberty, and advise him to
go in search of the delinquents. As soon as he is gone, Freewill appears
again, and after relating in a very comic manner some of his rogueries
and escapes from justice, is rebuked by the two holy men who, after a
long altercation, at length convert him and his libertine companion,
Imagination, from their vicious course of life, and then the play ends
with a few verses from Perseverance, by way of epilogue.

"It would be needless to point out the absurdities in the plan and
conduct of the foregoing play: they are evidently great. It is sufficient
to observe that, bating the moral and religious reflections of Pity, &c.,
the piece is of a comic caste, and contains a humorous display of some of
the vices of the age. Indeed, the author has generally been so little
attentive to the allegory, that we need only substitute other names to
his personages, and we have real characters and living manners."

The woodcuts prefixed to this and the foregoing play were very minutely
traced and executed by a masterly hand; and there being something
singular in giving the portraits of the _dramatis personae_, it is
presumed the following will be particularly pleasing to the reader.[110]

[It appears to have been from this drama or interlude, that the saying
arose of "Hickscorner's jests." (See Mr J.P. Collier's Diary, part iii.
p. 13.)]


[Illustration]

[Illustration]




HICKSCORNER.


PITY.

Now Jesu the gentle, that brought Adam fro hell,
Save you all, sovereigns, and solace you send:
And, of this matter that I begin to tell,
I pray you of audience, till I have made an end;
For I say to you, my name is Pity,
That ever yet hath been man's friend.
In the bosom of the second person in Trinity
I sprang as a plant, man's miss to amend;
You for to help I put to my hand:
Record I take of Mary that wept tears of blood;
I Pity within her heart did stand;
When she saw her son on the rood,
The sword of sorrow gave that lady wound;
When a spear clave her son's heart asunder,
She cried out, and fell to the ground;
Though she was woe, it was little wonder,
This delicate colour [had] that goodly lady,
Full pale and wan, she saw her son all dead,
Splayed on a cross with the five wells of pity,
Of purple velvet powdered with roses red.
Lo, I Pity thus made your errand to be sped,
Or else man for ever should have been forlore.
A maiden so laid his life to wed,
Crowned as a king the thorns pricked him sore.
Charity and I of true love leads the double rein;
Whoso me loveth damned never shall be.
Of some virtuous company I would be fain;
For all that will to heaven needs must come by me,
Chief porter I am in that heavenly city,
And now here will I rest me a little space,
Till it please Jesu of his grace
Some virtuous fellowship for to send.


CONTEMPLATION.

Christ that was christened, crucified, and crowned,
In his bosom true love was gaged with a spear,
His veins brast and bruised, and to a pillar bound,
With scourges he was lashed, the knots the skin tare,
On his neck to Calvary the great cross he bare,
His blood ran to the ground, as Scripture doth tell:
His burden was so heavy, that down under it he fell,
Lo, I am kin to the Lord, which is God's son;
My name is written foremost in the book of life,
For I am perfect Contemplation,
And brother to holy church that is our Lord's wife.
John Baptist, Anthony, and Jerome, with many mo,
Followed me here in holt,[111] heath, and in wilderness;
I ever with them went where they did go,
Night and day toward the way of rightwiseness:
I am the chief lantern of all holiness,
Of prelates and priests I am their patron;
No armour so strong in no distress,
Habergeon, helm, ne yet no Jeltron,
To fight with Satan am I the champion,
That dare abide, and manfully stand:
Fiends flee away, where they see me come;
But I will show you why I came to this land
For to preach and teach of God's sooth saws,
Ayenst vice that doth rebel ayenst him and his laws.


PITY.

God speed, good brother; fro whence came you now?


CONTEMPLATION.

Sir, I came from Perseverance to seek you.


PITY.

Why, sir, know you me?


CONTEMPLATION.

Yea, sir, and have done long; your name is Pity.


PITY.

Your name fain would I know.


CONTEMPLATION.

Indeed I am called Contemplation,
That useth to live solitarily;
In woods and in wildness[112] I walk alone,
Because I would say my prayers devoutly;
I love not with me to have much company:
But Perseverance oft with me doth meet,
When I think on thoughts that is full heavenly;
Thus he and I together full sweetly doth sleep.


PITY.

I thank God that we be met together.


CONTEMPLATION.

Sir, I trust that Perseverance shortly will come hither.


PITY.

Then I think to hear some good tiding.


CONTEMPLATION.

I warrant you, brother, that he is coming.


PERSEVERANCE.

The eternal God, that named was Messias,
He give you grace to come to his glory,
Wherever is joy in the celestial place,
When you of Satan winneth the victory,
Everyman ought to be glad to have in company,
For I am named good Perseverance,
That ever is guided by virtuous governance;
I am never variable, but doth continue,
Still going upward the ladder of grace,
And lode in me planted is so true,
And from the poor man I will never turn my face:
When I go by myself oft I do remember
The great kindness that God showed unto man,
For to be born in the month of December,
When the day waxeth short, and the night long,
Of his goodness that champion strong
Descended down fro the Father of rightwiseness,
And rested in Mary the flower of meekness.
Now to this place hither come I am
To seek Contemplation my kinsman.


CONTEMPLATION.

What, brother Perseverance? ye be welcome.


PERSEVERANCE.

And so be you also, Contemplation.


CONTEMPLATION.

Lo, here is our master Pity.


PERSEVERANCE.

Now truly ye be welcome into this country.


PITY.

I thank ye heartily, sir Perseverance.


PERSEVERANCE.

Master Pity, one thing is come to my remembrance;
What tithings hear you now?


PITY.

Sir, such as I can I shall show you:
I have heard many men complain piteously;
They say they be smitten with the swerd of poverty.
In every place where I do go:
Few friends poverty doth find,
And these rich men been unkind;
For their neighbours they will nought do,
Widows doth curse lords and gentle men,
For they constrain them to marry with their men,
Yea, whether they will or no:
Men marry for good,[113] and that is damnable,
Yea, with old women that is fifty and beyond:
The peril now no man dread will;
All is not God's law that is used in land;
Beware will they not, till death in his hand
Taketh his sword, and smiteth asunder the life vein,
And with his mortal stroke cleaveth the heart atwain:
They trust so in mercy, the lantern of brightness,
That no thing do they dread God's rightwiseness.


PERSEVERANCE.

O Jesu, sir, here is a heavy tiding.


PITY.

Sir, this is true, that I do bring.


CONTEMPLATION.

How am I beloved, master Pity, where ye come?


PITY.

In good faith, people have now small devotion;
And as for with you, brother Contemplation,
There meddleth few or none.


CONTEMPLATION.

Yet, I trust, that priests love me well?


PITY.

But a few, i-wis, and some never a deal.


CONTEMPLATION.

Why, sir, without me they may not live clean.


PITY.

Nay, that is the least thought that they have of fifteen;
And that maketh me full heavy.


CONTEMPLATION.

How, trow you that there be no remedy?


PITY.

Full hard, for sin is now so grievous and ill,
That I think that it be growen to an impossible,
And yet one thing maketh me ever mourning:
That priests lack utterance to show their cunning;
And all the while that clerks do use so great sin,
Among the lay people look never for no mending.


PERSEVERANCE.

Alas, that is a heavy case,
That so great sin is used in every place;
I pray God it amend.


CONTEMPLATION.

Now God, that ever hath been man's friend,
Some better tidings soon us send!
For now I must be gone.
Farewell, good brethren here;
A great errand I have elsewhere,
That must needs be done:
I trust I will not long tarry;
Thither will I hie me shortly,
And come again, when I have done.


PERSEVERANCE.

Hither again, I trust, you will come;
Therefore God be with you.


CONTEMPLATION.

Sir, needs I must depart now;
Jesu me speed this day.


PERSEVERANCE.

Now, brother Contemplation, let us go our way.


FREEWILL.

Aware, fellows, and stand a-room:
How say you? am not I a goodly person?
I trow, you know not such a guest:
What, sirs, I tell you, my name is Freewill,
I may choose whether I do good or ill;
But for all that I will do, as me list:
My conditions ye know not, perdè,
I can fight, chide, and be merry;
Full soon of my company ye would be weary,
And ye knew all.
What, fill the cup, and make good cheer!
I trow I have a noble here:
Who lent it me? By Christ, a frere;
And I gave him a fall.
Where be ye, sir? be ye at home?
Cock's passion, my noble is turned to a stone.
Where lay I last? Beshrew your heart, John;
Now, by these bones, she hath beguiled me:
Let see; a penny my supper, a piece of flesh ten-pence;
My bed right nought: let all this expense--
Now, by these bones, I have lost a halfpenny.
Who lay there? my fellow Imagination;
He and I had good communication
Of Sir John and Sybil,
How they were spied in bed together;
And he prayed her oft to come hither,
For to sing _lo, le, lo, lowe_.
They twain together had good sport;
But at the stews' side I lost a groat:
I trow I shall never i-the.[114]
My fellow promised me here to meet,
But I trow the whoreson be asleep
With a wench somewhere.
How, Imagination, come hither,
And you thrive, I lose a feather;
Beshrew your heart, appear.


IMAGINATION.

What, how, how, who called after me?


FREEWILL.

Come near, ye shall never i-the,
Where have ye be so long?


IMAGINATION.

By God, with me it is all wrong,
I have a pair of sore buttocks,
All in irons was my song,
Even now I sat gyved in a pair of stocks.


FREEWILL.

Cock's passion, and how so?


IMAGINATION.

Sir, I will tell you what I have do:
I met with a wench, and she was fair,
And of love heartily I did pray her,
And so promised her money:
Sir, she winked on me, and said nought,
But by her look I knew her thought;
Then into love's dance we were brought,
That we played the pyrdewy:
I wot not what we did together,
But a knave catchpole nighed us near,
And so did us aspy;
A stripe he gave me, I fled my touch,
And from my girdle he plucked my pouch:
By your leave he left me never a penny:
Lo, nought have I but a buckle,
And yet I can imagine things subtle
For to get money plenty;
In Westminster Hall every term I am,
To me is kin many a great gentleman,
I am knowen in every country;
And I were dead, the lawyers' thrift were lost:
For this will I do, if men would do cost,
Prove right wrong, and all by reason,
And make men lese both house and land,
For all that they can do in a little season,
Peach men of treason privily I can,
And when me list, to hang a true man.
If they will be money tell,
Thieves I can help out of prison,
And into lords' favours I can get me soon,
And be of their privy council.
But, Freewill, my dear brother,
Saw you nought of Hickscorner?
He promised me to come hither.


FREEWILL.

Why, sir, knowest thou him?


IMAGINATION.

Yea, yea, man; he is full nigh of my kin,
And in Newgate we dwelled together;
For he and I were both shackled in a fetter.


FREEWILL.

Sir, lay you beneath or on high on the seller?[115]


IMAGINATION.

Nay, i-wis, among the thickest of yeomen of the collar.[116]


FREEWILL.

By God, then you were in great fear.


IMAGINATION.

Sir, had I not been, two hundred had been thrust in an halter.


FREEWILL.

And what life have they there, all that great sort?


IMAGINATION.

By God, sir, once a year some taw halts of Burport:[117]
Yea, at Tyburn there standeth the great frame.
And some take a fall that maketh their neck lame.


FREEWILL.

Yea, but can they then go no more?


IMAGINATION.

Oh, no, man; the wrest is twist so sore,
For as soon as they have said _In manus tuas_ once,
By God, their breath is stopped at once.


FREEWILL.

Why, do they pray in that place there?


IMAGINATION.

Yea, sir, they stand in great fear,
And so fast tangled in that snare,
It falleth to their lot to have the same share.


FREEWILL.

That is a knavish sight to see them totter on a beam.


IMAGINATION.

Sir, the whoresons could not convey[118] clean;
For, and they could have carried by craft as I can,
In process of years each of them should be a gentleman.
Yet as for me I was never thief;
If my hands were smitten off, I can steal with my teeth;
For ye know well, there is craft in daubing:[119]
I can look in a man's face and pick his purse,
And tell new tidings that was never true, i-wis,
For my hood is all lined with lesing.[120]


FREEWILL.

Yea, but went ye never to Tyburn a pilgrimage?


IMAGINATION.

No, i-wis; nor none of my lineage,
For we be clerks all, and can our neck verse,
And with an ointment the judge's hand I can grease,
That will heal sores that be incurable.


FREEWILL.

Why, were ye never found reprovable?


IMAGINATION.

Yes, once I stall a horse in the field,
And leapt on him for to have ridden my way:
At the last a baily me met and beheld,
And bad me stand; then was I in a fray:
He asked, whither with that horse I would gone;
And then I told him it was mine own:
He said I had stolen him; and I said nay:
This is, said he, my brother's hackney.
For, and I had not excused me, without fail,
By our lady, he would have lad me straight to jail;
And then I told him the horse was like mine,
A brown bay, a long mane, and did halt behine,
Thus I told him, that such another horse I did lack;
And yet I never saw him, nor came on his back:
So I delivered him the horse again.
And when he was gone, then was I fain:
For and I had not excused me the better,
I know well I should have danced in a fetter.


FREEWILL.

And said he no more to thee but so?


IMAGINATION.

Yea, he pretended me much harm to do;
But I told him that morning was a great mist,
That what horse it was I ne wist:
Also I said, that in my head I had the megrin,
That made me dazzle so in mine eyen,
That I might not well see.
And thus he departed shortly from me.


FREEWILL.

Yea, but where is Hickscorner now?


IMAGINATION.

Some of these young men hath hid him in
Their bosoms, I warrant ye:
Let us make a cry, that he may us hear.


FREEWILL.

How now, Hickscorner, appear;
I trow thou be hid in some corner.


HICKSCORNER.

Ale[121] the helm, ale, veer, shoot off, veer sail, veer-a.


FREEWILL.

Cock's body, hark, he is a ship on the sea.


HICKSCORNER.

God speed, God speed; who called after me?


IMAGINATION.

What, brother, welcome by this precious body;
I am glad that I you see,
It was told me that you were hanged;
But out of what country come ye?


HICKSCORNER.

Sirs, I have been in many a country;
As in France, Ireland, and in Spain,
Portingal, Sevile, also in Almaine;
Friesland, Flanders, and in Burgoine,
Calabria, Pugle,[122] and Erragon,[123]
Britain, Biske, and also in Gascoine,
Naples, Greece, and in middes of Scotland;
At Cape,[124] Saint Vincent, and in the new found island,[125]
I have been in Gene[126] and in Cowe,
Also in the land of Rumbelow,[127]
Three mile out of hell;
At Rhodes, Constantine, and in Babylon[128]
In Cornwall, and in Northumberland,
Where men seethe rushes in gruel;
Yea, sir, in Chaldsea, Tartary, and India,
And in the Land of Women, that few men doth find:
In all these countries have I be.


FREEWILL.

Sir, what tidings hear ye now on the sea?


HICKSCORNER.

We met of ships a great navy,
Full of people that would into Ireland;
And they came out of this country:
They will never more come to England.


IMAGINATION.

Whence were the ships of them? knowest thou none?


HICKSCORNER.

Harken, and I will show you their names each one:
First was the _Regent_, with the _Michael_ of Brikilse;
The _George_, with the _Gabriel_, and the _Anne_ of Fowey;
The _Star_ of Saltash, with the _Jesus_ of Plymouth;
Also the _Hermitage_, with the _Barbara_ of Dartmouth,
The _Nicolas_ and the _Mary Bellouse_ of Bristow,
With the _Ellen_ of London and _James_ also:
Great was the people that was in them,
All true religious and holy women:
There was Truth and his kinsmen,
With Patience, Meekness, and Humility,
And all true maidens with their virginity,
Royal preachers, sadness and charity,
Right conscience and faith, with devotion,
And all true monks that keep their religion,
True buyers and sellers, and alms-deed doers,
Piteous people, that he of sin destroyers,
With just abstinence and good councillors,
Mourners for sin, with lamentation,
And good rich men that helpeth folk out of prison,
True wedlock was there also,
With young men that ever in prayer did go,
The ships were laden with such unhappy company,
But at the last God shope[129] a remedy,
For they all in the sea were drowned,
And on a quicksand they strake to ground;
The sea swallowed them everychone,
I wot well alive there scaped none.


IMAGINATION.

Lo, now my heart is glad and merry;
For joy now let us sing "Derry, derry."


HICKSCORNER.

Fellows, they shall never more us withstand;
For I see them all drowned in the Rase of Ireland.


FREEWILL.

Yea, but yet hark, Hickscorner,
What company was in your ship, that came over?


HICKSCORNER.

Sir, I will aid[130] you to understand,
There were good fellows above five thousand,
And all they been kin to us three:
There was falsehood, favell,[131] and jollity,
Yea, thieves, and whores, with other good company,
Liars, backbiters, and flatterers the while,
Brawlers, liars, jetters, and chiders,
Walkers by night, with great murderers,
Overthwart guile[rs] and jolly carders,
Oppressors of people, with many swearers,
There was false law with horrible vengeance,
Froward obstination with mischievous governance,
Wanton wenches, and also michers,
With many other of the devil's officers;
And hatred, that is so mighty and strong,
Hath made a vow for ever to dwell in England.


IMAGINATION.

But is that true, that thou dost show now?


HICKSCORNER.

Sir, every word as I do tell you.


FREEWILL.

Of whence is your ship? of London?


HICKSCORNER.

Yea, i-wis from thence did she come;
And she is named _The Envy_,
I tell you, a great vessel and a mighty:
The owner of her is called Ill-Will,
Brother to Jack Poller of Shooter's-Hill.


IMAGINATION.

Sir, what office in the ship bare ye?


HICKSCORNER.

Marry, I kept a fair shop of bawdry,
I had three wenches that were full praty,
Jane true and thriftless, and wanton Sybil,
If you ride her a journey, she will make you weary,
For she is trusty at need:
If ye will hire her for your pleasure,
I warrant, tire her shall ye never,
She is so sure in deed;
Ride, and you will, ten times a-day,
I warrant you she will never say nay,
My life I dare lay to wed.[132]


IMAGINATION.

Now pluck up your hearts, and make good cheer;
These tidings liketh me wonder well,
Now virtue shall draw arear arear:
Hark, fellows, a good sport I can you tell,
At the stews we will lie to-night,
And by my troth, if all go right,
I will beguile some praty wench,
To get me money at a pinch.
How say you? shall we go thither?
Let us keep company altogether,
And I would that we had God's curse,
If we somewhere do not get a purse;
Every man bear his dagger naked in his hand,
And if we meet a true man, make him stand,
Or else that he bear a stripe;
If that he struggle, and make any work,
Lightly strike him to the heart,
And throw him into Thames quite.


FREEWILL.

Nay, three knaves in a leash is good at nale:[133]
But thou lubber Imagination,
That cuckold thy father, where is he become?
At Newgate doth he lie still at jail?


IMAGINATION.

Avaunt, whoreson, thou shalt bear me a stripe;
Say'st thou, that my mother was a whore?


FREEWILL.

Nay, sir, but the last night
I saw Sir John and she tumbled on the floor.


IMAGINATION.

Now, by Cock's heart, thou shalt lose an arm.


HICKSCORNER.

Nay, sir, I charge you do him no harm.


IMAGINATION.

And thou make too much, I will break thy head too.


HICKSCORNER.

By Saint Mary, and I wist that, I would be ago.


IMAGINATION.

Aware, aware! the whoreson shall aby,
His priest will I be, by Cock's body.


HICKSCORNER.

Keep peace, lest knaves' blood be shed.


FREEWILL.

By God, if his was nought, mine was as bad.


IMAGINATION.

By Cock's heart, he shall die on this dagger.


HICKSCORNER.

By our Lady, then will ye be strangled in a halter.


IMAGINATION.

The whoreson shall eat him,[134] as far as he shall wade.


HICKSCORNER.

Beshrew your heart, and put up your blade,
Sheathe your whittle, or by Jis,[135] that was never born,
I will rap you on the costard with my horn;
What, will ye play all the knave?


IMAGINATION.

By Cock's heart, and thou a buffet shalt have.


FREEWILL.

Lo, sirs, here is a fair company, God us save;
For if any of us three be mayor of London,
I-wis, i-wis, I will ride to Rome on my thumb:
Alas! ah, see; is not this a great feres?
I would they were in a mill-pool above the ears;
And then I durst warrant, they would depart anon.


HICKSCORNER.

Help, help, for the passion of my soul;
He hath made a great hole in my poll,
That all my wit is set to the ground:
Alas! a leech for to help my wound.


IMAGINATION.

Nay, i-wis, whoreson, I will bite thee, ere I go.


FREEWILL.

Alas! good sir, what have I do?


IMAGINATION.

Ware, make room, he shall have a stripe, I trow.


PITY.

Peace, peace, sirs, I command you.


IMAGINATION.

Avaunt, old churl; whence comest thou?
And thou make too much, I shall break thy brow,
And send thee home ag

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