Askew. Therefore, coz,
It shall behove you to be circumspect.
Lacy. Fear not, good cousin.—Ralph, hie to your colours.
Ralph. I must, because there’s no remedy;
But, gentle master and my loving dame,
As you have always been a friend to me,
So in mine absence think upon my wife.
Jane. Alas, my Ralph.
Marg. She cannot speak for weeping.
Eyre. Peace, you cracked groats,[15] you mustard tokens,[16] disquiet not the brave soldier. Go thy ways, Ralph!
Jane. Ay, ay, you bid him go; what shall I do
When he is gone?
Firk. Why, be doing with me or my fellow Hodge; be not idle.
Eyre. Let me see thy hand, Jane. This fine hand, this white hand, these pretty fingers must spin, must card, must work; work, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean;[17] work for your living, with a pox to you.—Hold thee, Ralph, here’s five sixpences for thee; fight for the honour of the gentle craft, for the gentlemen shoemakers, the courageous cordwainers, the flower of St. Martin’s, the mad knaves of Bedlam, Fleet Street, Tower Street and Whitechapel; crack me the crowns of the French knaves; a pox on them, crack them; fight, by the Lord of Ludgate; fight, my fine boy!
Firk. Here, Ralph, here’s three twopences: two carry into France, the third shall wash our souls at parting, for sorrow is dry. For my sake, firk the Basa mon cues.