SCENE III.
Fris. O monstrous! who would think my master had so much wit in his old rotten budget? and yet, i' faith he is not much troubled with it neither. Why, what wise man in a kingdom would send me for the Dutchman? Does he think I'll not cozen him? O fine, I'll have the bravest sport! O brave, I'll have the gallantest sport! O, come now, if I can hold behind, while I may laugh a while, I care not. Ha, ha, ha!
Enter Anthony.
Anth. Why, how now, Frisco; why laughest thou so heartily?
Fris. Laugh, Master Mouse, laugh! Ha, ha, ha!
Anth. Laugh! why should I laugh? or why art thou so merry?
Fris. O Master Mouse, Master Mouse! it would make any mouse, rat, cat, or dog laugh, to think what sport we shall have at our house soon at night. I'll tell you all: my young mistress sent me after Master Heigham and his friends to pray them come to our house, after my old master was abed. Now I went, and I went; and I run, and I went; and whom should I meet but my master Pisaro[517] and the strangers; so my master very worshipfully (I must needs say) examined me whither I went. Now, I durst not tell him an untruth, for fear of lying; but told him plainly and honestly mine errand. Now, who would think my master had such a monstrous plaguy wit? he was as glad as could be; out of all Scotch-and-notch glad; out of all count glad: and so, sirrah, he bid the three uplandishmen come in their steads, and woo my young mistresses. Now it made me so laugh to think how they would be cozened, that I could not follow my master. But I'll follow him: I know he has gone to the tavern in his merry humour. Now, if you will keep this as secret as I have done hitherto, we shall have the bravest sport soon, as can be. I must be gone: say nothing. [Exit.
Anth. Well, it is so;
And we will have good sport, or it shall go hard:
This must the wenches know, or all is marr'd.
Enter the three Sisters.
Hark you, Miss Mall, Miss Laurentia, Miss Mat:
I have such news (my girls) will make you smile.
Mar. What be they, master? how I long to hear it!
Anth. A woman right, still longing and with child
For everything they hear or light upon.
Well, if you be mad wenches, hear it now.
Now may your knaveries give the deadliest blow
To night-walkers, eavesdroppers, or outlandlish love,
That e'er was stricken.
Math. Anthony La Mouche,
Move but the matter—tell us but the jest;
And if you find us slack to execute,
Never give credence, or believe us more.
Anth. Then know, the strangers, your outlandish loves,
Appointed by your father, come this night
Instead of Harvey, Heigham, and young Ned,
Under their shadows to get to your bed;
For Frisco simply told him why he went.
I need not to instruct—you can conceive—
You are not stocks nor stones, but have some store
Of wit and knavery too.
Math. Anthony, thanks
Is too-too small a guerdon for this news.
You must be English! Well, Sir Signer Sowse,[518]
I'll teach you tricks for coming to our house.
Laur. Are you so crafty? O, that night were come!
That I might hear my Dutchman, how he'd swear
In his own mother-language that he loves me.
Well, if I quit him not, I here pray God
I may lead apes in hell, and die a maid,[519]
And that were worser to me than a hanging.
Anth. Well said, old honest huddles. Here's a heap
Of merry lasses! Well, for myself,
I'll hie me to your lovers, bid them mask
With us at night, and in some corner stay
Near to our house, where they may make some play
Upon your rivals; and when they are gone,
Come to your windows.
Mar. Do so, good master.
Anth. Peace! begone.
For this our sport somebody soon will mourn.
[Exeunt Sisters. Manet Anthony.[520]
Enter Pisaro.
Pis. How favourable heaven and earth is seen
To grace the mirthful complot that is laid!
Night's candles burn obscure, and the pale moon,
Favouring our drift, lies buried in a cloud.
I can but smile to see the simple girls,
Hoping to have their sweethearts here to-night,
Tickled with extreme joy, laugh in my face;
But when they find the strangers in their steads,
They'll change their note, and sing another song.
Where be these girls here? what! to bed, to bed!
Maudlin, make fast the doors, rake up the fire.
Enter the three Sisters.[521]
God's me! 'tis nine o'clock! hark, Bow-bell rings.
Some look down below, and see who knocks. [Knocking.
And hark you, girls, settle your hearts at rest,
And full resolve you, that to-morrow morn
You must be wed to such as I prefer;
I mean Alvaro and his other friends.
Let me no more be troubled with your nays:
You shall do what I'll have, and so resolve.
Enter Moore.
Welcome, Master Moore, welcome.
What wind, a God's name, drives you forth so late?
Moore. Faith, sir, I am come to trouble you:
My wife this present night is brought to bed.
Pis. To bed? and what hath God sent you?
Moore. A jolly girl, sir.
Pis. And God bless her. But what's your will, sir?
Moore. Faith, sir, my house being full of friends,
Such as (I thank them) came to see my wife,
I would request you, that for this one night
My daughter Susan might be lodged here.
Pis. Lodge in my house? welcome, with all my heart.
Mat, hark you, she shall lie with you:
Trust me, she could not come in fitter time.
For (hear you, sir) to-morrow in the morning
All my three daughters must be married.
Good Master Moore, let's have your company;
What say you, sir?
Enter a Servant.
Welcome, honest friend.
Moore. How now, sirrah, what's the news with you?
Pis. Mouche, hear you: stir betimes to-morrow,
For then I mean your scholars shall be wed.
What news, what news, man, that you look so sad?
Moore. He brings me word my wife is new fall'n sick,
And that my daughter cannot come to-night;
Or if she does, it will be very late.
Pis. Believe me, I am then more sorry for it.
But for your daughter, come she soon or late,
Some of us will be up to let her in,
For here be three mean not to sleep to-night.
Well, you must be gone: commend me to your wife.
Take heed how you go down: the stairs are bad.
Bring here a light.
Moore. 'Tis well, I thank you, sir. [Exit.
Pis. Good night, Master Moore: farewell, honest friend.
Come, come—to bed, to bed: 'tis nine and past.
Do not stand prating here to make me fetch you,
But get you to your chambers. [Exit Pisaro.
Anth. By'r Lady, here's short work! hark you, girls,
Will you to-morrow marry with the strangers?
Mar. I'faith, sir, no. I'll first leap out at window,
Before Marina marry with a stranger.
Anth. Yes, but your father swears you shall have one.
Math. Yes, but his daughters swear they shall have none.
These whoreson cannibals, these Philistines,
These tango-mongoes shall not rule o'er me.
I'll have my will and Ned, or I'll have none.
Anth. How will you get him? how will you get him?
I know no other way except it be this,
That when your father's in his soundest sleep,
You ope the door, and run away with them.
All Sisters. So we will, rather than miss of them.
Anth. 'Tis well-resolved, i' faith, and like yourselves.
But hear you! to your chambers presently,
Lest that your father do descry our drift.
[Exeunt Sisters.
Mistress Susan should come, but she cannot;
Nor perhaps shall not, yet perhaps she shall.
Might not a man conceit a pretty jest,
And make as mad a riddle as this is?
If all things fadge now,[522] as all things should do,
We shall be sped; faith, Mat shall have her due.