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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 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.