Wife . Nay, George, you must consider Mistress Luce’s feet are tender; and besides ’tis dark; and, I promise you truly, I do not see how he should get out of Waltham forest with her yet.

Cit . Nay, cony, what wilt thou lay with me, that Ralph has her not yet?

Wife . I will not lay against Ralph, honey, because I have not spoken with him.]

SCENE VIII.— A Room in Merrythought’s House .

Enter MERRYTHOUGHT.

[Wife . But look, George, peace! here comes the merry old gentleman again.]

Mer . [Sings .]

When it was grown to dark midnight,
  And all were fast asleep,
In came Margaret’s grimly ghost,
  And stood at William’s feet.

I have money, and meat, and drink beforehand, till to-morrow at noon; why should I be sad? methinks I have half-a-dozen jovial spirits within me!

[Sings .]

I am three merry men, and three merry men!

To what end should any man be sad in this world? give
me a man that when he goes to hanging cries,

Troul the black bowl to me!

and a woman that will sing a catch in her travail! I have seen a man come by my door with a serious face, in a black cloak, without a hat-band, carrying his head as if he looked for pins in the street; I have looked out of my window half a year after, and have spied that man’s head upon London Bridge. ’Tis vile: never trust a tailor that does not sing at his work; his mind is of nothing but filching.

[Wife . Mark this, George; ’tis worth noting; Godfrey my
tailor, you know, never sings, and he had fourteen yards
to make this gown: and I’ll be sworn, Mistress Penistone
the draper’s wife had one made with twelve.]

Mer . [Sings .] ’Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood,
More than wine, or sleep, or food;
Let each man keep his heart at ease,
No man dies of that disease.
He that would his body keep
From diseases, must not weep;
But whoever laughs and sings,
Never he his body brings
Into fevers, gouts, or rheums,
Or lingeringly his lungs consumes,
Or meets with achès in the bone,
Or catarrhs or griping stone;
But contented lives for aye;
The more he laughs, the more he may.

[Wife . Look, George; how sayst thou by this, George? is’t not a fine old man?—Now, God’s blessing o’ thy sweet lips!—When wilt thou be so merry, George? faith, thou art the frowningest little thing, when thou art angry, in a country.

Cit . Peace, cony; thou shalt see him taken down too, I warrant thee.

Enter VENTUREWELL. Here’s Luce’s father come now.]

Mer . [Sings .]

As you came from Walsingham,
  From that holy land,
There met you not with my true love
  By the way as you came?

Vent . Oh, Master Merrythought, my daughter’s gone!
This mirth becomes you not; my daughter’s gone!

  By PanEris using Melati.

Previous chapter/page Back Home Email this Search Discuss Bookmark Next chapter/page
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd, and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission. See our FAQ for more details.