Cit . Ralph, come away!—Make an end on him, as you have
done of the rest, boys; come.

Wife . Now, good husband, let him come out and die.

Cit . He shall, Nell.—Ralph, come away quickly, and die, boy!

Boy . ’Twill be very unfit he should die, sir, upon no occasion —and in a comedy too.

Cit . Take you no care of that, sir boy; is not his part at an
end, think you, when he’s dead?—Come away, Ralph!]

Enter RALPH, with a forked Arrow through his Head .

Ralph . When I was mortal, this my costive corps
Did lap up figs and raisins in the Strand;
Where sitting, I espied a lovely dame,
Whose master wrought with lingel and with awl,
And underground he vamped many a boot.
Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig,
To follow feats of arms in warlike wise
Through Waltham desert; where I did perform
Many achievements, and did lay on ground
Huge Barbarossa, that insulting giant,
And all his captives soon set at liberty.
Then honour pricked me from my native soil
Into Moldavia, where I gained the love
Of Pompiona, his belovèd daughter;
But yet proved constant to the black thumbed maid
Susan, and scornèd Pompiona’s love;
Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins,
And money for her father’s officers.
I then returnèd home, and thrust myself
In action, and by all men chosen was
Lord of the May, where I did flourish it,
With scarfs and rings, and posy in my hand.
After this action I preferrèd was,
And chosen city-captain at Mile End,
With hat and feather, and with leading-staff,
And trained my men, and brought them all off clear,
Save one man that berayed him with the noise.
But all these things I Ralph did undertake
Only for my belovèd Susan’s sake.
Then coming home, and sitting in my shop
With apron blue, Death came into my stall
To cheapen aquavitoe ; but ere 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’er
And in an instant vanishèd away.

[ Cit . ’Tis a pretty fiction, i’faith.]

Ralph . Then took I up my bow and shaft in hand,
And walked into Moorfields to cool myself:
But there grim cruel Death met me again,
And shot this forkèd arrow through my head;
And now I faint; therefore be warned by me,
My fellows every one, of forkèd heads!
Farewell, all you good boys in merry London!
Ne’er 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 satin gown with rotten eggs;
Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall!
I die! fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers’ Hall!
Oh, oh, oh, etc.

[ Wife . Well said, Ralph! do your obeisance to the
gentlemen, and go your ways: well said, Ralph!]

[ Ralph rises, makes obeisance, and exit .

Mer . Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly
reconciled, should not depart without a song.

Vent . A good motion.

Mer . Strike up, then!

SONG .

[ Exeunt .