Enter Ralph, with a forked arrow through his head.
Ralph. When I was mortal, this my costive corps
Did lap up Figs and Raisons in the Strand,
Where sitting I espi'd a lovely Dame,
Whose Master wrought with Lingell and with All,
And underground he vampied many a Boot,
Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig:
To follow feats of Arms in warlike wise,
Through Waltham Desart; where I did perform
Many atchievements, and did lay on ground
Huge Barbaroso, that insulting Giant,
And all his Captives soon set at liberty.
Then honor prickt me from my native soil,
Into Moldavia, where I gain'd the love
Of Pompiana his beloved Daughter:
But yet prov'd constant to the black thumm'd Maid
Susan, and scorn'd Pompianaes love:
Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins,
And money for her Fathers Officers,
I then returned home, and thrust my self
In action, and by all [men] chosen was
[Lord of the] May, where I did flourish it,
With Scarfs and Rings, and Poesie in my hand:
Af[t]er this action I preferred was,
And chosen City-Captain at Mile-end,
With Hat and Feather, and with leading staff,
And train'd my men, and brought them all off clear
Save one man that beraid him with the noise.
But all these things I Ralph did undertake,
Only for my beloved Susan's sake.
Then coming home, and sitting in my shop
With Apron blew, Death came unto my stall
To cheapen Aquavitæ; but e'r I
Could take the bottle down, and fill a taste,
[Death] caught a pound of Pepper in his hand,
And sprinkled all my Face and Body o'r,
And in an instant vanished away.
Cit. 'Tis a pretty fiction i'faith.
Ralph. Then took I up my Bow and Shaft in hand,
And walkt in[to] Moor-fields, to cool my self,
But there grim cruel death met me again,
And shot this forked Arrow through my head,
And now I faint, therefore be warn'd by me,
My fellows every one, of forked heads.
Farewel all you good boys in merry London,
Ne'r shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet,
And pluck down houses of iniquity.
My pain increaseth: I shall never more
Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs,
Nor daub a Sattin Gown with rotten Eggs:
Set up a stake, Oh never more I shall,
I die, flie, flie my soul to Grocers Hall. oh, oh, oh, &c.
Wife. Well said Ralph, do your obeysance to the Gentlemen, and go your ways well said Ralph. [Exit Ralph.
Old Mer. Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly reconciled, should not part without a Song.
Merch. A good motion.
Old Mer. Strike up then.
SONG.
Better Musick ne'r was known,
Than a Quire of hearts in one.
Let each other that hath been,
Troubled with the gall or spleen:
Learn of us to keep his brow,
Smooth and plain as ours are now.
Sing though before the hour of dying
He shall rise, and then be crying,
Heyho, 'Tis nought but mirth,
That keeps the bodie from the earth.