The Merry Devill of Edmonton Part 3

Ostlers, you knaves and commanders, take the horses of the knights and compet.i.tors: your honourable hulks have put into harborough, they'll take in fresh water here, and I have provided clean chamber-pots. Via, they come!

[Enter Sir Richard Mounchesney, Sir Raph Jerningham, young Frank Jerningham, Raymond Mounchesney, Peter Fabell, and Bilbo.]

HOST.

The destinies be most neat Chamberlains to these swaggering puritans, knights of the subsidy.

SIR MOUNCHESNEY.

G.o.d a mercy, good mine host.

SIR JERNINGHAM.

Thanks, good host Blague.

HOST.

Room for my case of pistolles, that have Greek and Latin bullets in them; let me cling to your flanks, my nimble Giberalters, and blow wind in your calves to make them swell bigger. Ha, I'll caper in mine own fee-simple; away with puntillioes and Orthography! I serve the good Duke of Norfolk. Bilbo, t.i.tere tu, patulae recubans sub tegmine f.a.gi.

BILBO.

Truly, mine host, Bilbo, though he be somewhat out of fas.h.i.+on, will be your only blade still. I have a villanous sharp stomach to slice a breakfast.

HOST.

Thou shalt have it without any more discontinuance, releases, or atturnement. What! we know our terms of hunting and the sea-card.

BILBO.

And do you serve the good duke of Norfolk still?

HOST.

Still, and still, and still, my souldier of S. Quintins: come, follow me; I have Charles waine below in a but of sack, t'will glister like your Crab-fish.

BILBO.

You have fine Scholler-like terms; your Coopers Dixionary is your only book to study in a celler, a man shall find very strange words in it. Come, my host, let's serve the good duke of Norfolk.

HOST.

And still, and still, and still, my boy, I'll serve the good duke of Norfolk.

[Exeunt Host and Bilbo.]

[Enter Sir Arthur Clare, Harry Clare, and Milliscent.]

JERNINGHAM.

Good Sir Arthur Clare!

CLARE.

What Gentleman is that? I know him not.

MOUNCHESNEY.

Tis Master Fabell, Sir, a Cambridge scholler, My son's dear friend.

CLARE.

Sir, I intreat you know me.

FABELL.

Command me, sir; I am affected to you For your Mounchensey's sake.

CLARE.

Alas, for him, I not respect whether he sink or swim: A word in private, Sir Raph Jerningham.

RAYMOND.

Me thinks your father looketh strangely on me: Say, love, why are you sad?

MILLISCENT.

I am not, sweet; Pa.s.sion is strong, when woe with woe doth meet.

CLARE.

Shall's in to breakfast? after we'll conclude The cause of this our coming: in and feed, And let that usher a more serious deed.

MILLISCENT.

Whilst you desire his grief, my heart shall bleed.

YOUNG JERNINGHAM.

Raymond Mounchesney, come, be frolick, friend, This is the day thou hast expected long.

RAYMOND.

Pray G.o.d, dear Jerningham, it prove so happy.

JERNINGHAM.

There's nought can alter it. Be merry, lad!

FABELL.

There's nought shall alter it. Be lively, Raymond!

Stand any opposition gainst thy hope, Art shall confront it with her largest scope.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. The same.

[Peter Fabell, solus.]

FABELL.

Good old Mounchensey, is thy hap so ill, That for thy bounty and thy royall parts Thy kind alliance should be held in scorn, And after all these promises by Clare Refuse to give his daughter to thy son, Only because thy Revenues cannot reach To make her dowage of so rich a jointure As can the heir of wealthy Jerningham?

And therefore is the false fox now in hand To strike a match betwixt her and th' other; And the old gray-beards now are close together, Plotting it in the garden. Is't even so?

Raymond Mounchensey, boy, have thou and I Thus long at Cambridge read the liberall Arts, The Metaphysickes, Magicke, and those parts Of the most secret deep philosophy?

Have I so many melancholy nights Watch'd on the top of Peter-house highest Tower?

And come we back unto our native home, For want of skill to lose the wench thou lov'st?

We'll first hang Envill in such rings of mist As never rose from any dampish fen: I'll make the brind sea to rise at Ware, And drown the marshes unto Stratford bridge; I'll drive the Deer from Waltham in their walks, And scatter them like sheep in every field.

We may perhaps be crost, but, if we be, He shall cross the devil, that but crosses me.

[Enter Raymond and young Jerningham and young Clare.]