Marg. And so, as I said—but, Ralph, why dost thou weep? Thou knowest that naked we came out of our mother’s womb, and naked we must return; and, therefore, thank God for all things.
Hodge. No, faith, Jane is a stranger here; but, Ralph, pull up a good heart, I know thou hast one. Thy wife, man, is in London; one told me, he saw her a while ago very brave and neat; we’ll ferret her out, an’ London hold her.
Marg. Alas, poor soul, he’s overcome with sorrow; he does but as I do, weep for the loss of any good thing. But, Ralph, get thee in, call for some meat and drink, thou shalt find me worshipful towards thee.
Ralph. I thank you, dame; since I want limbs and lands,
I’ll trust to God, my good friends, and my hands. [Exit.
Enter Hans and Firk running.
Firk. Run, good Hans! O Hodge, O mistress! Hodge, heave up thine ears; mistress, smug up[72] your looks; on with your best apparel; my master is chosen, my master is called, nay, condemned by the cry of the country to be sheriff of the city for this famous year now to come. And time now being, a great many men in black gowns were asked for their voices and their hands and my master had all their fists about his ears presently, and they cried ‘Ay, ay, ay, ay,’—and so I came away—
Wherefore without all other grieve
I do salute you, Mistress Shrieve.[73]
Hans. Yaw, my mester is de groot man, de shrieve.
Hodge. Did not I tell you, mistress? Now I may boldly say: Good-morrow to your worship.
Marg. Good-morrow, good Roger. I thank you, my good people all.—Firk, hold up thy hand: here’s a threepenny piece for thy tidings.