As it hath beene sundry times Acted, by his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe, on the banke-side.

LONDON Printed by Henry Ballard for Arthur Iohnson, dwelling at the signe of the white-horse in Paules Church yard, ouer against the great North doore of Paules. 1608.

The merry Deuill of Edmonton.

The Prologue.

YOur silence and attention worthy friends, (sense,
That your free spirits may with more pleasing
Relish the life of this our actiue sceane,
To which intent, to calme this murmuring breath,
We ring this round with our inuoking spelles,
If that your listning eares be yet prepard
To entertayne the subiect of our play,
Lend vs your patience.
Tis Peter Fabell a renowned Scholler,
Whose fame hath still beene hitherto forgot
By all the writers of this latter age.
In Middle-sex his birth and his abode,
Not full seauen mile from this great famous Citty
That for his fame in sleights and magicke won,
Was calde the merry Fiend of Edmonton.
If any heere make doubt of such a name,
In Edmonton yet fresh vnto this day,
Fixt in the wall of that old antient Church
His monument remayneth to be seene;
His memory yet in the mouths of men,
That whilst he liude he could deceiue the Deuill.
Imagine now that whilst he is retirde,
From Cambridge backe vnto his natiue home,
Suppose the silent sable visagde night,
[Page] Casts her blacke curtaine ouer all the world,
And whilst he sleepes within his silent bed,
Toylde with the studies of the passed day:
The very time and houre wherein that spirite
That many yeeres attended his commaund;
And often times twixt Cambridge and that towne,
Had in a minute borne him through the ayre,
By composition twixt the fiend and him,
Draw the curtaines.
Comes now to claime the Scholler for his due.
Behold him heere laide on his restlesse couch,
His fatall chime prepared at his head,
His chamber guarded with these sable slights,
And by him stands that Necromanticke chaire,
In which he makes his direfull inuocations,
And binds the fiends that shall obey his will,
Sit with a pleased eye vntill you know
The Commicke end of our sad Tragique show.
The Chime goes, in which time Fabell is oft seene to stare about him, and hold vp his hands.
What meanes the tolling of this fatall chime,
O what a trembling horror strikes my hart!
My stiffned haire stands vpright on my head,
As doe the bristles of a porcupine.
Enter Coreb a Spirit.
Fabell awake, or I will beare thee hence headlong to hell.
Ha, ha, why dost thou wake me?
Coreb, is it thou?
Tis I.
I know thee well, I heare the watchfull dogs,
With hollow howling tell of thy approch,
The lights burne dim, affrighted with thy presence:
And this distemperd and tempestuous night
Tells me the ayre is troubled with some Deuill.
Come, art thou ready?
Whither? or to what?
Why Scholler this the houre my date expires,
I must depart and come to claime my due.
Hah, what is thy due?
Fabell, thy selfe,
O let not darkenes heare thee speake that word,
Lest that with force it hurry hence amaine,
And leaue the world to looke vpon my woe
Yet ouerwhelme me with this globe of earth,
And let a little sparrow with her bill,
Take but so much as shee can beare away,
That euery day thus losing of my load,
I may againe in time yet hope to rise.
Didst thou not write thy name in thine owne blood?
And drewst the formall deed twixt thee and mee,
And is it not recorded now in hell?
Why comst thou in this sterne and horred shape?
Not in familiar sort as thou wast wont.
Because the date of thy command is out,
And I am master of thy skill and thee.
Coreb, thou angry and impatient spirit,
I haue earnest busines for a priuate friend,
Reserue me spirit vntill some further time.
I will not for the mines of all the earth.
Then let me rise, and ere I leaue the world,
Dispatch some busines that I haue to doe,
And in meane time repose thee in that chayre.
Fabell, I will.
Sit downe.
O that this soule that cost so great a price,
As the deere pretious blood of her redeemer,
Inspirde with knowledge, should by that alone
Which makes a man so meane vnto the powers,
Euen lead him downe into the depth of hell,
When men in their owne pride striue to know more then man should know!
For this alone God cast the Angellēs downe,
The infinity of Arts is like a sea,
[Page] Into which when man will take in hand to saile
Further then reason, which should be his pilot,
Hath skill to guide him, losing once his compasse,
He falleth to such deepe and dangerous whirlepooles,
As he doth lose the very sight of heauen:
The more he striues to come to quiet harbor,
The further still he finds himselfe from land,
Man striuing still to finde the depth of euill,
Seeking to be a God, becomes a Deuill.
Come Pabell hast thou done?
Yes, yes, come hither.
Fabell, I cannot.
Cannot, what ailes your hollownes?
Good Fabell helpe me.
Alas where lies your griefe? some Aqua-vitae,
The Deuil's very sicke, I feare hee'le die,
For he lookes very ill.
Darst thou deride the minister of darkenes?
In Lucifers dread name Coreb comures thee
To set him free.
I will not for the mines of all the earth,
Vnles thou giue me libertie to see,
Seauen fiends more before thou sease on mee.
Fabell, I giue it thee.
Sweare damned fiend.
Vnbind me, and by hell I will not touch thee,
Till seauen yeares from this houre be full expirde.
Enough, come out.
A vengeance take thy art,
Liue and conuert all piety to euill,
Neuer did man thus ouer-reach the Deuill;
No time on earth like Phaetentique flames,
Can haue perpetuall being. Ile returne
To my infernall mansion, but be sure
Thy seauen yeeres done, noe tricke shall make me tarry,
But Coreb, thou to hell shalt Fabell carry.
Then thus betwixt vs two this variance ends,
[Page] Thou to thy fellow Fiends, I to my friends.
Enter Sir Arthur Clare, Dorcas his Lady, Milliscent his daughter, yong Harry Clare, the men booted, the gentlewomen in cloakes and safe-guardes, Blague the merry host of the Georg comes in with them.
WElcome good knight to the George at Walthā,
My free-hold, my tenements, goods, & chattels,

Madam heer's a roome is the very Homer and Iliads of a lodg­ing, it hath none of the foure elements in it, I built it out of the

Center, and I drinke neere the lesse sacke.
Welcome my little wast of maiden-heads, what?
I serue the good Duke of Norfolke.
God a mercie my good host Blague,
Thou hast a good seate here.
Tis correspondent or so, there's not a Tartarian
Nor a Carrier, shall breath vpon your geldings,
They haue villanous rancke feete, the rogues,
And they shall not sweat in my linnen.
Knights and Lords too haue bene drunke in my house,
I thanke the destinies.
Pre'the good sinful Inkeeper, wil that corruption thine
Ostler looke well to my geldings. Hay, a poxe a these rushes.

You Saint Dennis, your geldings shall walke without doores, and coole his feete for his masters sake by the body of S George I haue an excellent intellect to go steale some venison now when wast thou in the forrest?


Away you stale messe of white broth: Come hither sister, let me helpe you.


Mine Host is not Sir Richard Mounchensey come yet according to our appointment when we last dinde here?


The knight's not yet apparent marry heere's a fore­runner that summons a parle, and saith, heele be here top and top-gallant presently.


Tis well good mine host, goe downe and see break­fast be prouided.


Knight, thy breath hath the force of a woman, it takes [Page] me downe, I am for the baser element of the kitchin: I retire like a valiant souldiers face point blanke to the foe-man; or like a Courtier that must not shew the Prince his posteriors; vanish to know my canuasadoes and my interrogatories, for I serue the good Duke of Norfolke.

How doth my Lady, are you not weary Madam?
Come hither, I must talke in priuate with you,
My daughter Milliscent must not ouer-heare.
I, whispring, pray God it tend my good,
Strange feare assailes my heart, vsurps my blood.
You know our meeting with the knight Mounehensey,
Is to assure our daughter to his heire.
Tis without question.
Two tedious winters haue past ore since first,
These couple lou'd each other, and in passion
Glewd first their naked hands with youthfull moysture,
Iust so long on my knowledge.
And what of this?
This morning should my daughter lose her name,
And to Mounchenseys house conuey our armes,
Quartered within his scutchion; th'affiance made
Twixt him and her, this morning should be sealde.
I know it should.
But there are crosses wife, heere's one in Waltham,
Another at the Abby; and the third
At Cheston, and tis ominous to passe
Any of these without a pater-noster:
Crosses of loue still thwart this marriage,
Whilst that we two like spirits walke in night,
About those stony and hard hearted plots.
O God, what meanes my father?
For looke you wife, the riotous old knight,
Hath o'rerun his annual reuenue,
In keeping iolly Christmas all the yeere,
The nostrilles of his chimny are still stuft,
With smoake more chargeable then Cane-tobacco,
His hawkes deuoure his fattest dogs whilst simple,
[Page] His leanest curres eato him hounds carrion
Besides, I heard of late his yonger brother,
Or Turky merchant hath sure suck'de the knight,
By meanes of some great losses on the sea,
That you conceiue mee, before God all naught,
His seate is weake, thus each thing rightly scand,
You'le see a flight wife, shortly of his land.
Treason to my hearts truest soueraigne,
How soone is loue smothered in foggy gaine?
But how shall we preuent this dangerous match?
I haue a plot, a tricke, and this it is,
Vnder this colour Ile breake off the match;
Ile tell the knight that now my minde is changd
For marrying of my daughter, for I intend
To send her vnto Cheston Nunry.
O me accurst!
There to become a most religious Nunne.
Ile first be buried quicke.
To spend her beauty in most priuate prayers.
Ile sooner be a sinner in forsaking
Mother and father.
How dost like my plot?
Exceeding well, but is it your intent
She shall continue there?
Continue there? Ha, ha, that were a iest,
You know a virgin may continue there,
A twelue moneth and a day onely on triall,
There shall my daughter soiourne some three moneths,
And in meane time Ile compasse a faire match
Twixt youthfull Ierningham, the lusty heire
Of Sir Raph Ierningham dwelling in the forrest,
I thinke they'le both come hither with Mounchensey.
Your care argues the loue you beare our childe,
I will subcribe to any thing youle haue me.
You will subscribe to it, good, good, tis well,
Loue hath two chaires of state, heauen and hell:
My deere Mounchensey, thou my death shalt rue,
[Page] Ere to thy heart Milliscent proue vntrue.
Enter Blague.

Ostlers, you knaues and commanders, take the horses of the knights and competitors: your honourable hulkes haue put into harborough, theile take in fresh water here, and I haue prouided cleane chamber-pots.

Via, they come.
Enter Sir Richard Mounchensey, Sir Raph Ierningham, yong Franke Ierningham, Raymond Mounchensey, Peter Fabell, and Bilbo.

The destinies be most neate Chamberlaines to these swaggering puritanes, knights of the subsidy.

Sir Moun.
God a mercy good mine host.
Sir Ier.
Thankes good host Blague.

Roome for my case of pistolles that haue Greeke and Latine bullets in them, let me cling to your flanks my nimble Giberalters, and blow wind in your calues to make them swell bigger: Ha, Ile caper in mine owne fee-simple, away with pun­tillioes, and Orthography: I serue the good Duke of Norfolke. Bilbo. Tuere tu patulae recu [...]ns sub tegmine fagi.


Truely mine host, Bilbo, though he be somewhat out of fashion, will be your one y blade still I haue a villanous sharp stomacke to slice a breakfast.


Thou shalt haue it without any more discontinuance, releases, or atturnement; what? we know our termes of hunting; and the sea-card.

And doe you serue the good duke of Norfolke still?

Still, and still, and still, my souldier of S Quintus, come, follow me, I haue Charles waine below in a but of sacke, t'will glister like your Crab [...]fi [...]h.


You haue fine Scholler-like tearmes, your Coopers Dixionary is your onely booke to study in a celler, a man shall finde very strange words in it: come my host, lets serue the good duke of Norfolke.


And still, and still, and still my boy Ile serue the good duke of Norfolke.

Good Sir Arthur Clare.
What Gentleman is that? I know him not.
Tis M. Fabell Sir a Cambridge scholler,
My sonnes deere friend.
Sir, I intreat you know me.
Command me sir, I am affected to you
For your Mounchenseys sake.
Alas for him,
I not respect whether he sinke or swim,
A word in priuate Sir Raph Ierningham.
Me thinks your father looketh strangely on me,
Say loue, why are you sad?
I am not sweete,
Passion is strong, when woe with woe doth meete.
Shall's in to breakfast, after wee'l conclude
The cause of this our comming, in and feed,
And let that vsher a more serious deed.
Whilst you desire his griefe, my heart shall bleed.
Yong Ier.
Raymond Mounchensey come be frolick friend,
This is the day thou hast expected long.
Pray God deere Harry Clare it proue so happy.
There's nought can alter it, be merry lad.
There's nought shall alter it, be liuely Raymond,
Stand any opposition gainst thy hope,
Art shall confront it with her largest scope.
Peter Fabell, solus.
Good old Mounchensey, is thy hap so ill,
That for thy bounty and thy royall parts,
Thy kind alliance should be held in scorne,
And after all these promises by Clare,
Refuse to giue his daughter to thy sonne,
Onely because thy Reuenues cannot reach,
To make her dowage of so rich a ioynture,
As can the heire of wealthy Ierningham?
And therefore is the false foxe now in hand,
To strike a match betwixt her and th'other,
And the old gray-beards now are close together,
[Page] Plotting it in the garden. Is't euen so?
Raymond Mounchensey, boy, haue thou and I
Thus long at Cambridge read the liberall Arts,
The Metaphysickes, Magicke, and those parts,
Of the most secret deepe philosophy?
Haue I so many mclancholy nights
Watch'd on the top of Peter-house highest tower?
And come we backe vnto our natiue home,
For want of skill to lose the wench thou lou'st?
Weele first hang Enuill in such rings of miste
As neuer rose from any dampish fenne,
Ile make the brinde sea to rise at Ware,
And drowne the marshes vnto Stratford bridge,
Ile driue the Deere from Waltham in their walkes,
And scatter them like sheepe in euery field:
We may perhaps be crost, but if we be,
He shall crosse the deuill that but crosses me.
Enter Raymond and yong Ierning.
But here comes Raymond disconsolate & sad,
And heeres the gallant that must haue the wench.
I pri'thee Raymond leaue these solemne dumps,
Reuiue thy spirits, thou that before hast beene,
More watchfull then the day-proclayming cocke,
As sportiue as a Kid, as francke and merry
As mirth her selfe.
If ought in me may thy content procure,
It is thine owne thou mayst thy selfe assure.
Ha Ierningham, if any but thy selfe
Had spoke that word, it would haue come as cold
As the bleake Northerne winds, vpon the face
Of winter.
From thee they haue some power vpon my blood,
Yet being from thee, had but that hollow sound,
Come from the lips of any liuing man,
It might haue won the credite of mine eare,
From thee it cannot.
If I vnderstand thee, I am a villain,
What, dost thou speake in parables to thy friends?
Come boy and make me this same groning loue,
Troubled with stitches, and the cough a'th lungs,
That wept his eyes out when he was a childe,
And euer since hath shot at hudman-blind,
Make her leape, caper, ierke and laugh and sing,
And play me horse-trickes,
Make Cupid wanton as his mothers doue,
But, in this sort boy I would haue thee loue.
Why how now mad-cap? what my lusty Franke,
So neere a wife, and will not tell your friend?
But you will to this geere in hugger-mugger,
Art thou turnde miser Rascall in thy loues?
Who I? z'blood, what should all you see in me,
That I should looke like a married man? ha,
Am I balde? are my legs too little for my hose?
If I feele any thing in my forehead, I am
A villain, doe I weare a night-cap? doe I bend
in the hams? What dost thou see in me that I
should be towards marriage, ha?
What thou married? let me looke vpon thee,
Rogue, who has giuen out this of thee? how
camst thou into this ill name? what company
Hast thou bin in Rascall?
You are the man sir, must haue Millescent,
The match is making in the garden now,
Her ioynture is agreed on, and th'old men
Your fathers meane to lanch their busy bags,
But in meane time to thrust Mountchensey off,
For colour of this new intended match.
Faire Millescent to Cheston must be sent,
To take the approbation for a Nun.
Nere looke vpon me lad, the match is done.
Raymond Mountchensey, now I touch thy griefe,
With the true feeling of a zealous friend.
And as for faire and beauteous Millescent,
With my vaine breath I will not seeke to ssubber,
Her angell like perfections, but thou know'st,
[Page] That Essex hath the Saint that I adore,
Where ere did we meete thee and wanton springs,
That like a wag thou hast not laught at me,
And with regardles iesting mockt my loue?
Now many a sad and weary summer night,
My sighs haue drunke the dew from off the earth,
I haue taught the watchfull Niting-gale to wake,
And from the meadowes spring the earely larke,
An houre before she would haue rose to sing,
I haue loaded the poore minutes with my moanes,
That I haue made the heauy slow pasde houres,
To hang like heauie clogs vpon the day.
But deere Mounchensey, had not my affection
Seasde on the beauty of another dame,
Before I would giue o're the chase and wronge the loue,
Of one so worthy and so true a friend,
I will abiure both beauty and her sight,
And will in loue become a counterfeit.
Deere Ierningham, thou hast begot my life,
And from the mouth of he I where now I sate,
I feele my spirit rebound against the stars:
Thou hast conquerd me deere friend in my free soule,
Their time or death can by their power controule.
Franke Ierningham, thou art a gallant boy,
And were he not my pupill I would say,
He were as fine a metled gentleman,
Of as free spirit and of as fine a temper,
As is in England, and he is a Man,
That very richly may deserue thy loue.
But noble Clare, this while of our discourse,
What may Mounchensey, honour to thy selfe,
Exact vpon the measure of thy grace?
Raymond Mounchensey? I would haue thee know,
He does not breath this ayre,
Whose loue I cherish, and whose soule I loue,
More then Mounchenseyes:
Nor euer in my life did see the man,
Whom for his wit and many vertuous parts,
[Page] I thinke more worthy of my sisters loue.
But since the matter growes vnto this passe,
I must not seeme to crosse my Fathers will.
But when thou list to visit her by night,
My horses sadled, and the stable doore
Stands ready for thee, vse them at thy pleasure,
In honest mariage wed her frankly boy,
And if thou getst her lad, God giue thee ioy.
Then care away, let fates my fall pretend,
Backt with the fauours of so true a friend.
Let vs alone to bussell for the set,
For age and craft, with wit and Art haue met.
Ile make my spirits to dance such nightly Iigs
Along the way twixt this and Totnam crosse,
The Carriers Iades shall cast their heauie packs,
And the strong hedges scarse shall keepe them in:
The Milke-maides Cuts shall turne the wenches off,
And lay the Dossers tumbling in the dust:
The franke and merry London prentises,
That come for creame and lusty country cheere,
Shall lose their way, and scrambling in the ditches
All night, shall whoop and hollow, cry and call,
Yet none to other finde the way at all.
Pursue the proiect scholler, what we can do,
To helpe indeauour ioyne our liues thereto.
Enter Banks, Sir Iohn, and Smug.

Take me with you good Sir Iohn; a plague on thee Smug, and thou touchest liquor thou art founderd straight: what are your braines alwayes water-milles? must they euer runne round?


Banks, your ale is a Philistine fox, z'hart theres fire i'th taile: out; you are a rogue to charge vs with Mugs i'th rere­ward: a plague of this winde, O it tickles our Catastrophe.

Sir Io.

Neighbour Banks of Waltham, and Goodman Smug the honest Smith of Edmonton, as I dwell betwixt you bothat Enfield, I know the taste of both your ale houses, they are good both, smart both: Hem, Grasse and hay, we are all mortall, let's [Page] liue till we die, and be merry and theres an end.


Well said sir Iohn, you are of the same humor still, and doth the water runne the same way still boy?


Uulcan was a rogue to him; Sir Iohn locke, lock, lock fast sir Iohn: so sir Iohn, Ile one of these yeares when it shall please the Goddesses and the destinies, be drunke in your com­pany; thats all now, and God fend vs health; shall I sweare I loue you?

Sir Io.
No oathes, no oaths, good neighbour Smug,
Weel wet our lips together in hugge;
Car rouse in priuate, and eleuate the hart,
And the liuer and the lights, and the lights,
Marke you me within vs, for hem,
Grasse and hay, we are all mortall, lets liue till we die, and be
Merry, and thers an end.

But to our former motion about stealing some veni­son, whither goe we?

Sir Io.

Into the forrest neighbour Banks, into Brians walke the madde keeper.

Z blood, Ile tickle your keeper.

Y faith thou art alwayes drunke when we haue neede of thee.


Neede of mee? z'hart, you shall haue neede of mee alwayes while theres yron in an Anuill.


M. Parson, may the Smith goe thinke you, being in this taking?

Go, Ile goe inspight of all the belles in VValtham.
Sir Io.

The question is good neighboure Banks, let mee see, the Moone shines to night, ther's not a narrow bridge betwixt this and the forrest, his braine will be setled ere night, he may go, he may go neighbour Banks: Now we want none but the com­pany of mine host Blague at the George at Waltham, if he were here, our Consort were full; looke where comes my good host, the Duke of Norfolks man, and how and how? a hem, grasse and hay, wee are not yet mortall' lets liue till we die and be merry, and ther's an end.

Enter Host.

Ha my Castilian dialogues, and art thou in breath stil boy? Miller doth the match hold? Smith, I see by thy eyes thou [Page] hast bin reading little Geneua print: but wend we merrily to the forrest to steale some of the kings Deere. Ile meet you at the time appointed: away, I haue Knights and Colonells at my house, & must tend the Hungarions. If we be scard in the forrest, weele meete in the Church-porch at Enfield; ist Correspondent?

Tis well; but how if any of vs should be taken?
He shall haue ransome by the Lord.

Tush the knaue keepers are my bosonians, & my pen­sioners, nine a clocke, be valiant my little Gogmagogs; Ile fence with all the Iustices in Hartford shire; Ile haue a Bucke til I die, Ile slay a Doe while I liue, hold your bow straight & steady. I serue the good duke of Norfolke.

O rare! who, ho, ho boy.
Sir Io.

Peace neighbor Smug, you see this is a Boore, a Boore of the country, an illiterate Boore, and yet the Cittizen of good fellowes, come lets prouide a hen: Grasse and hay, wee are not yet all mortall, weel liue till we die, and be merry, and theres an end: come Smug.

God night VValtham, who, ho, ho boy.
Enter the Knights and Gentlemen from breakfast againe.
Old Moun.
Nor I for thee Clare, not of this,
VVhat? hast thou fed me all this while wish shalles?
And com'st to tell me now thou lik'st it not?
I doe not hold thy offer competent.
Nor doe I like th' assurance of thy loue,
The title is so brangled with thy debts.
Old Mo.
Too good for thee, and knight thou knowst it well,
I fawnd not on thee for thy goods, not I,
Twas thine owne motion, that thy wife doth know.
Husband it was so, he lies not in that.
Hold thy chat queane.
Old Moun.
To which I hearkned willingly, and the rather,
Because I was perswaded it proceeded
From loue thou bor'st to me and to my boy,
And gau'st him free accesse vnto thy house,
VVhere he hath not behaude him to thy childe,
But as befits a gentleman so doe:
Nor is my poore distressed state so low,
[Page] That Ile shut vp my doores I warrant thee,
Let it suffice Mountchensey, I mislike it,
Nor thinke thy sonne a match fit for my childe,
To tell thee Clare his blood is good and cleere,
As the best drop that panteth in thy veines:
But for this maide thy faire and vertuous childe,
She is no more disparagd by thy basenes,
Then the most orient and the pretious iewell,
Which still retaines his lustre and his beauty,
Although a slaue were owner of the same.
She is the last is left me to bestow,
And her I meane to dedicate to God.
You doe sir.
Sir, sir, I doe, she is mine owne.
And pity she is so,
Damnation dog, thee and thy wretched pelfe aside.
Not thou Mountchensey shalt bestow my childe.
Neither shouldst thou bestow her where thou
What wilt thou doe?
No matter, let that bee,
I will doe that, perhaps shall anger thee;
Thou hast wrongd my loue, and by Gods blessed Angell,
Thou shalt well know it.
Tut, braue not me.
Braue thee base Churle, were't not for man-hood sake,
I say no more, but that there be some by,
Whose blood is hotter then ours is,
Which being stird, might make vs both repent
This foolish meeting: but Raph Clare
Although thy father haue abused my friendship,
Yet I loue thee, I doe my noble boy,
I doe yfaith.
I, doe, do, fill all the world with talke of vs, man, man.
I neuer lookt for better at your hands.
I hope your great experience and your yeeres,
Would haue prou'de patience rather to your soule,
Then with this frantique and vntamed passion,
[Page] To whet their skeens and but that,
I hope their friendships are too well confirmd,
And their minds temperd with more kindly heat,
Then for their froward parents soares,
That they should breake forth into publique brawles,
How ere the rough hand of th'untoward world,
Hath moulded your proceedings in this matter,
Yet I am sure the first intent was loue:
Then since the first spring was so sweet and warme,
Let it die gently, ne're kill it with a scorne.
O thou base world, how leprous is that soule
That is once lim'd in that polluted mudde,
Oh sir Arthur you haue startled his free actiue spirits,
With a too sharpe spur for his minde to beare:
Haue patience sir, the remedy to woe,
Is to leaue what of force we must forgoe.
And I must take a twelue moneths approbation,
That in meane time this sole and priuate life,
At the yeares end may fashion me a wife:
But sweet Mounchensey ere this yeare be done,
Thou'st be a frier if that I be a Nun;
And father ere yong Ierninghams Ile bee,
I will turne mad to spight both him and thee.
Wife come to horse, and huswise make you ready,
For if I liue, I sweare by this good light,
Ile see you lodgde in Chesson house to night.
Raymond away, thou seest how matters fall,
Churle, hell consume thee and thy pelfe and all.
Now M. Clare, you see how matters fadge,
Your Milliscent must needes be made a Nun:
VVell sir, we are the men must plie this match,
Hold you your peace and be a looker on,
And send her vnto Chesson where he will,
Ile send mee fellowes of a handful hic,
Into the Cloysters where the Nuns frequent,
Shall make them skip like Does about the Dale,
And make the Lady prioresse of the house to play
[Page] at leape-froge naked in their smockes,
Vntill the merry wenches at their masse,
Cry teehee weehee,
And tickling theese mad lasses in their flanckes,
Shall sprawle and squeke, and pinch their fellow Nunnes.
Be liuely boyes, before the wench we lose,
Ile make the Abbas weare the Cannons hoose.
Enter Harry Clare, Francke Ierningham, Peter Fabell, and Milliscent.
Ha. Cla.
Spight now hath done her worst, sister be patient,
Forewarnd poore Raymonds company to heauen,
When the composure of weake frailtie meete,
Vpon this mart of durt; O then weake loue,
Must in hir owne vnhappines be silent,
And winck on all deformities.
Tis well;
Whers Raymond brother? whers my deere Mounchensey?
Would wee might weepe together and then part,
Our sighing parle would much ease my heart.
Sweete beautie fould your sorrowes in the thought,
Of future reconcilement; let your teares
Shew you a woman; but be no farther spent
then from the eyes; for (sweete) experience sayes,
That loue is firme thats flattered with delayes.
Alas sir, thinke you I shall ere be his?
As sure as panting smiles on future blisse.
Yond comes my friend, see he hath doted
So long vpon your beautie, that your want
Will with a pale retirement wast his blood,
For in true loue, Musicke doth sweetly dwell,
Seuerd theese lesse worlds beare within them hell.
Enter Mounchensey.

Harry and Francke you are enioynd to waine your friendship from mee, we must part the breath of all aduised cor­ruption, pardon mee.

[Page] Faith I must say so, you may thinke I loue you,
I breath not, rougher spight do feuer vs,
Weele meete by steale sweet friend by stealth you twaine.
Kisses are sweetest got with strugling paine.
Our friendship dies not Raymond.
Pardon mee:
I am busied, I haue lost my faculties,
And buried them in Milliscents cleere eyes.
Alas sweete Loue what shall become of me?
I must to Chesson to the Nunry,
I shall nere see thee more.
How sweete!
Ile be thy votary, weele often meete,
This kisse diuides vs, and breathes soft adiew,
This be a double charme to keepe both true. (ting
Haue done your fathers may chance spie your par-
Refuse not you by any meanes good sweetnes,
To goe vnto the Nunnery, farre from hence,
Must wee beget your loues sweete happines,
You shall not stay there long, your harder bed,
Shall be more soft when Nun and maide are dead.
Enter Bilbo.
Now sirra what's the matter?

Mary you must to horse presently, that villanous old gowty churle, Sir Richard Clare longs till he bee at the Nunry.

Ha. Cla.
How sir?

O I cry you mercy, he is your father sir indeed; but I am sure that theres lesse affinitie betwixt your two natures, then there is betweene a broker and a cutpurse.

Bring my gelding sirra.

Wel nothing greeues me, but for the poore wench, she must now cry vale to Lobster pies, hartichokes, and all such meates of mortalitie; poore gentlewoman, the signe must not be in virgo any longer with her, and that me grieues full well.

Poore Milliscent
Must pray and repent:
[Page] O fatalle wonder!
Sheele now be no fatter,
Loue must not come at her,
Yet she shall be keept vnder.
Farwell deere Raymond.
Ha. Cla.
Friend adew.
Deere sweete.
No ioy enioyes my hearte till wee next meete.
Well Raymond now the tide of discontent,
Beats in thy face, but er't belong the wind,
Shall turne the flood, wee must to Waltham abby,
And as faire Milliscent in Cheston liues,
A most vnwilling Nun, so thou shalt there
Become a beardles Nouice, to what end
Let time and future accidents declare:
Tast thou my slights, thy loue ile onely sha [...]e.
Turne frier? come my good Counseller lets goe,
Yet that disguise will hardly shrowd my woe.
Enter the Prioresse of Cheston, with a Nun or two, Sir Arthur Clare, Sir Raph Ierningham, Henry and Francke, the Lady, and Bilbo, with Millisent.
La. Cla.
The loue vnto this holy sisterhood,
And our confirmd opinion of your zeale
Hath truely wonne vs to bestow our Childe,
Rather on this then any neighbouring Cell.
Ihesus daughter Maries childe,
Holy matron woman milde,
For thee a masse shall still be sayd,
Euery sister drop a bead.
And those againe succeeding them
For you shall riug a Requiem.

The wench is gone Harry, she is no more a woman of this world, marke her well, shee lookes like a Nun already, what thinkst on her?

By my faith her face comes handsomly to't
[Page] But peace lets heare the rest.
Sir. Ar.
Madam for a tweluemonths approbation,
Wee meane to make this triall of our childe.
Your care and our deere blessing in meane time,
Wee pray may prosper this intended worke.
May your happy soule be blithe,
That so truely pay your tithe.
He who many children gaue,
Tis fit that he one child should haue.
Then faire virgin heare my spell,
For I must your duty tell.
Good men and true, stand together and heare your charge.
First a mornings take your booke
The glasse wherein yourselfe must looke,
Your young thoughts so proud and iolly
Must be turnd to motions holy:
For your buske, attires and toyes,
Haue your thoughts on heauenly ioyes:
And for all your follies past,
You must do penance, pray and fast.

Let her take heed of fasting, and if euer she hurt her selfe with praying, Ile nere trust beast.

This goes hard berladye.
You shall ring the sauing bell,
Keepe your howers and tell your knell,
Rise at midnight to your mattens.
Read your Psalter, sing your latins,
And when your blood shall kindle pleasure,
Scourge your selfe in plenteous measure.
Worse and worse by Saint Mary.

Sirra Hal, how does she hold hir countenance? wel, goe thy wayes, if euer thou proue a Nun, Ile build an Abby.


She may be a Nun, but if euer shee prooue an An­choresse, Ile dig her graue with my nailes.

To her againe mother.
Hold thine owne wench.
You must read the mornings masse,
You must creepe vnto the Crosse.
Put cold ashes on your head,
Haue a haire cloth for your bed.
She had rather haue a man in her bed.
Bind your beads and tell your needes,
Your holy Auies and your Creedes,
Holy maide this must be done,
Yf you meane to liue a Nun.
The holy maide will be no Nun.
Sir Ar.
Madam we haue some busines of import,
And must be gone.
Wilt please you take my wife into your closet,
Who further will acquaint you with my mind,
And so good madam for this time adiew.
Exeunt women.
Sir Ra.
Well now Francke Clare, how saiest thou? to be breefe,
What wilt thou say for all this, if we two,
Thy father and my selfe, can bring about,
That we conuert this Nun to be a wife,
And thou the husband to this pretty Nun,
How then my lad? ha Francke, it may be done.
I now it workes.
O god sir, you amaze mee at your words,
Thinke with your selfe sir what a thing it were,
To cause a recluse to remoue her vow,
A maymed contrite, and repentant soule,
Euer mortified with fasting and with prayer,
Whose thoughts euen as hir eyes are fixd on heauen,
To drawe a virgin thus deuour'd with zeale,
Backe to the world! O impious deede
Nor by the Canon Law can it be done,
Without a dispensation from the Church:
Besides she is so prone vnto this life,
As sheele euen shreeke to heare a husband namde.
I a poore innocent shee, well, heres no knauery, hee flowts the old fooles to their teeth.
Sir Raph.
Boy I am glad to heare
Thou mak'st such scruple of that conscience,
And in a man so young as is your selfe,
I promise you tis very seldome seene.
But Franke this is a tricke, a meere deuise,
A sleight plotted betwixt her father and my selfe,
To thrust Mounchenseys nose besides the cushion,
That being thus debard of all accesse,
Time yet may worke him from her thoughts,
And giue thee ample scope to thy desires.
A plague on you both for a couple of Iewes.
How now Franke, what say you to that?
Let me alone, I warrant thee:
Sir aslurde that this motion doth proceede,
From your most kinde and fatherly affection,
I do dispose my liking to your pleasure,
But for it is a matter of such moment
As holy marriage, I must craue thus much,
To haue some conference with my ghostly father,
Frier Hildersham here by, at Waltham Abby,
To be absolude of things that it is fit
None only but my confessor should know.
Sir. Ar.

With all my heart, he is a reuerend man, and to mor­row morning wee will meet all at the Abby, whereby th'opni­on of that reuerend man

Wee will proceede, I like it passing well:
Till then we part, boy I thinke of it, farewell:
A parents care no mortall tongue can tell.
Enter Sir Arthur Clare, and Raymond Mounchensey like a Frier.
Sir Ar.
Holy yong Nouice I haue told you now,
My full intent, and doe refer the rest
To your professed secrecy and care:
And see,
Our serious speech hath stolne vpon the way,
That we are come vnto the Abby gate,
[Page] Because I know Mountchensey is a foxe,
That craftily doth ouerlooke my doings,
Ile not be seene, not I; Tush I haue done;
I had a daughter, but shee's now a Nun:
Farewell deere sonne, farewell.
Fare you well, I you haue done,
Your daughter sir, shall not be long a Nun!
O my rare Tutor, neuer mortall braine,
Plotted out such a masse of policie;
And my deere bosome is so great with laughter,
Begot by his simplicity and error
My soule is fallen in labour with her ioy
O my true friends Franke Ierningham and Clare,
Did you now know but how this iest takes fire,
That good sir Arthur thinking me a nouice,
Hath euen powrd himselfe into my bosome;
O you would vent your spleenes with tickling mirth.
But Raymond peace, and haue an eye about,
For feare perhaps some of the Nuns looke out.
Peace and charity within,
Neuer touch't with deadly sin:
I cast my holy water poore,
On this wall and on this doore,
That from euill shall defend,
And keepe you from the vgly fiend:
Euill spirit by night nor day,
Shall approach or come this way;
Elfe nor Fary by this grace,
Day nor night shall haunt this place.
Who's that which knocks? ha, who's there?
Holy maidens knocke.
Answere within.
Gentle Nun here is a Frier.
A Frier without, now Christ vs saue,
Enter Nun.
Holy man, what wouldst thou haue?
Holy mayde I hither come,
From Frier and father Hildersome.
By the fauour and the grace
Of the Prioresse of this place:
[Page] Amongst you all to visit one,
That's come for approbation,
Before she was as now you are,
The daughter of Sir Arthur Clare:
But since she now became a Nun,
Call'd Milliscent of Edmunton.
Holy man, repose you there,
This newes Ile to our Abbas beare:
To tell what a man is sent,
And your message and intent.
Doe my good plumpe wench, if all fall right,
Ile make your sister-hood one lesse by night:
Now happy fortune speede this merry drift,
I like a wench comes roundly to her shrift.
Enter Lady, Milliscent.
Haue Friers recourse then to the house of Nuns?
Madam it is the order of this place,
When any virgin comes for approbation,
Lest that for feare or such sinister practise,
Shee should be forcde to vndergoe this vaile,
Which should proceed from conscience and deuotion:
A visitor is sent from Waltham house,
To take the true confession of the maide.
Is that the order? I commend it well,
You to your shrift, Ile backe vnto the cell.
Life of my soule, bright Angel.
What meanes the Frier?
O Milliscent, tis I.
My heart misgiues me, I should know that voyce,
You, who are you? The holy virgin blesse me,
Tell me your name, you shall ere you confesse me.
Mountchensey thy true friend.
My Raymond, my deere heart,
Sweete life giue leaue to my distracted soule,
[Page] To wake a little from this swoone of ioy,
By what meanes camst thou to assume this shape?
By meanes of Peter Fabell my kind Tutor,
Who in the habite of Frier Hildersham,
Franke Ierninghams old friend and confessor,
Plotted by Franke, by Fabell and my selfe,
And so deliuered to Sir Arthur Clare,
Who brought me heere vnto the Abby gate,
To be his Nun-made daughters visitor.
You are all sweete traytors to my poore old father,
O my deere life, I was a dream't to night,
That as I was a praying in mine Psalter,
There came a spirit vnto me as I kneeld,
And by his strong perswasions tempted me
To leaue this Nunry; and me thought,
He came in the most glorious Angell shape,
That mortall eye did euer looke vpon:
Ha, thou art sure that spirit, for theres no forme,
Is in mine eye so glorious as thine owne.
O thou Idolatresse that dost this worship,
To him whose likenes is but praise of thee,
Thou bright vnsetting star which through this vaile,
For very enuy mak'st the Sun looke pale.
Well visitor, lest that perhaps my mother
Should thinke the Frier too st [...]ickt in his decrees,
I this confesse to my sweet ghostly father,
If chast pure loue be sin I must confesse,
I haue offended three yeares now with thee.
But doe you yet repent you of the same?
Yfaith I cannot.
Nor will I absolue thee,
Of that sweete sin, though it be venial,
Yet haue the pennance of a thousand kisses,
And I enioyne you to this pilgrimage,
That in the euening you bestow your selfe
Heere in the walke neere to the willow ground,
Where Ile be ready both with men and horse,
[Page] To waite your comming and conuey you hence,
Vnto a lodge I haue in Enfield chase:
No more replie if that you yeeld consent,
I see more eyes vpon our stay are bent.
Sweete life farewell; tis done, let that suffice,
What my tongue failes I send thee by mine eyes.
Enter Fabell, Clare, and Ierningham.
Now Visitor how does this new made Nun?
Come, come how does she noble Capouchin?

She may be poore in spirit, but for the flesh tis fatte and plumpe boyes:

Ah rogues, there is a company of girles would turne you all Friers.

But how Mountchensey? how lad for the wench?
Sound lads yfaith; I thanke my holy habit,

I haue confest her and the Lady prioresse hath giuen me ghost­ly counsell with hir blessing.

And how say yee boyes,
If I be chose the weekely visitor?

Z'blood sheel haue nere a Nun vnbagd to sing masse then.


The Abbat of Waltham will haue as many Children, to put to nurse, as he has calues in the Marsh.


Well to be breefe, the Nun will soone at night turne lippit; if I can but deuise to quit her cleanly of the Nunry, she is mine owne.


But Sirra Raymond, what newes of Peter Fabel at the house?


Tush hees the onely man; a Necromancer, and a Coniurer that workes for yong Mountchensey altogether; and if it be not for Fryer Benedicke, that he can crosse him by his learned skill, the VVenchi gone.

Fabell will fetch her out by very magicke.
Stands the winde there boy, keepe them in that key.
The wench is ours before tomorrow day,

[Page] VVell Raph and Franke, as ye are gentlemen, sticke to vs close this once; you know your fathers haue men and horse lie rea­dy still at Chesson, to watch the coast be cleere, to scowt about, & haue an eye vnto Mountchensey walks: therfore you two may houer thereabouts, and no man will suspect you for the matters be ready but to take her at our hands, leaue vs to scamble for hir getting out.


Z'bloud if al Herford-shire were at our heeles, weele carry her away in spight of them.

But whither Raymond?

To Brians vpper lodge in Enfield Chase, he is mine honest Friend and a tall keeper, ile send my man vnto him pre­sently t'acquant him with your comminge and intent.

Be breefe and secret.
Soone at night remember
You bring your horses to the willow ground.
Tis done, no more.
We will not faile the hower,
My life and fortune, now lies in your power.
About our busines, Raymond lets away,
Thinke of your hower, it drawes well of the day.
Enter Blague, Banks, Smug, and Sir Iohn.

Come yee Hungarian pilchers, we are once more come vnder the zona torrida of the forrest, lets be resolute, lets flie to and againe; and if the deuill come, weele put him to his Interro­gatories, and not budge a foote, what; s'foote ile put fire into you, yee shall all three serue the good Duke of Norfolke.


Mine host, my bully, my pretious consull, my noble Holefernes, I haue ben drunke i'thy house, twenty times and ten, all's one for that, I was last night in the third heauens, my braine was poore, i't had yest in't; but now I am a man of acti­on, is't not so lad?


Why now thou hast two of the liberall sciences about thee, wit and reason, thou maist serue the Duke of Europe.


I will serue the Duke of Christendom, and doe him more credit in his celler then all the plate in his buttery, is't not so lad?

Sir Ioh.

Mine host and Smug, stand there Banks, you and your horse keepe together; but lie close, shew no trickes for feare of the keeper. If we be scard weel meete in the Church-porch at Enfeild.

Content sir Iohn.

Smug, dost not thou remember the tree thou felst out of last night?


Tush, and't had bin as high as the Abby, I should nere haue hurt my selfe I haue fallen into the riuer comming home from Waltham, and scapt drowning.

Sir Io.

Come seuer, care no sprits, weele haue a Bucke pre­sently, we haue watched later then this for a Doe, mine Host.

Thou speakst as true as veluet.
Sir Io.
Why then come, Grasse and hay, &c.
Enter Clare, Ierningham, and Milliscent.
Franke Ierningham?
Speake softly rogue, how now?

S'foot we shall lose our way, it's so darke, wherabouts are we?

Why man, at Potters gate,

The way lies right, harke the clocke strikes at Enfeild; whats the houre?

Ten the bell sayes.

A lies in's throate, it was but eight when we set out of Chesson, Sir Iohn and his Sexton are at ale to night, the clocke runs at random.


Nay, as sure as thou liu'st the villanous vicar is abroad in the chase this darke night: the stone Priest steales more veni­son then halfe the country.

Milliscent, how dost thou?
Sir, very well,
I would to God we were at Brians lodge.
We shall anon, z'ounds harke,
What meanes this noyse?
Stay, I heare horsemen.
I heare footmen too.
Nay then I haue it, we haue bin discouerd,
And we are followed by our fathers men.
Brother and friend, alas what shall we doe?
Sister speake softly or we are descride,
They are hard vpon vs what so ere they be,
Shadow your selfe behind this brake of ferne,
Weele get into the wood and let them passe.
Enter Sir Iohn, Blague, Smug, and Banks, one after another.
Sir Io.

Grasse and hay, wee are all mortall, the keepers a­broad, and ther's an end.

Sir Iohn.
Sir Io.
Neighbour Bankes what newes?

z'wounds Sir Iohn the keepers are abroad; I was hard by'am.

Sir Io.
Grasse and hay, wher's mine host Blague?

Here Metrapolitane, the philistines are vpon vs, be silent, let vs serue the good Duke of Norfolke; but where is Smug.


Here, a poxe on yee all dogs; I haue kild the greatest Bucke in Brians walke, shift for your selues, all the keepers are vp, lets meete in Enfield church porch, away we are all taken els.

Enter Brian with his man, and his hound.
Raph hearst thou any stirring.

I heard one speake here hard by in the bottome; peace Maister, speake low, zownes if I did not heare a bow goe off, and the Bucke bray, I neuer heard deere in my life.

When went your fellows out into their walks?
An hower a goe.

S'life is there stealers abroad, and they cannot heare of them! where the deuill are my men to night! sirra goe vp the wind towards Buckleyes lodge.

Ile cast about the bottome with my hound, and I will meete thee vnder Conyocke.

I will Sir.

How now? by the masse my hound stayes vpon some­thing, harke, harke, Bowman, harke, harke there.

Brother Franke Ierningham, brother Clare.

Peace, thats a womans voyce, stand, who's there, stand or Ile shoote.

O Lord, hold your hands, I meane no harme sir.
Speake, who are you?
I am a maid sir, who? M. Brian?

The very same, sure I should know her voyce, Mistris Milliscent.

I, it is I sir.

God for his passion, what make you here alone, I lookd for you at my lodge an hower agoe, what meanes your compa­ny to leaue you thus? who brought you hither?


My brother Sir, and M. Ierningham, who hearing folks about vs in the Chase, feard it had bin sir Arthur and my father, who had pursude vs, thus dispearsed our selues till they were past vs.

But where be they?
They be not farre off, here about the groue.
Enter Clare and Ierningham.
Be not afraid man, I heard B [...]es tongue, thats certain.
Call softly for your sister [...]
I brother, heere.
M. Clare.
I told you it was Brian.

Whoes that? M. Ierningham, you are a couple of hot­shots, does a man commit his wench to you, to put her to grasse at this time of night?

We heard a noyse about her in the chase,

And fearing that our fathers had pursude vs, seuerd ourselues.

Brian how hapd'st thou on her?
Seeking for stealers are abroad to night,
My hound staied on her, and so found her out.
They were these stealers that affrighted vs,
I was hard vpon them, when they horst their Deere,
And I perceiue they tooke me for a keeper.
Which way tooke they?
Towards Enfeild.

A plague vpon't, thats that damned Priest, & Blague of the George, he that serues the good Duke of Norfolke.

A noyse within, Follow, follow, follow.
Peace, thats my fathers voyce.

Zownds you suspected them, and now they are heere indeed.

Alas, what shall we doe?
If you goe to the lodge you are surely taken,
Strike downe the wood to Enfeild presently,
And if Mounchensey come, Ile send him t'yee:
Let mee alone to bussle with your father,
I warrant you that I will keepe them play,
Till you haue quit the chase: away, away.
Whoes there?
Enter the Knights.
Sir Rap.
In the kings name pursue the Rauisher.
Stand or Ile shoote.
Sir Ar.
Whoes there?
I am the keeper that doe charge you stand,
You haue stollen my D [...]
Sir Ar.
We stolne thy Deere? we do pursue a thiefe.
You are arrant theeues, and ye haue stolne my Deere.
Sir Rap.

We are Knights, sir Arthur Clare and sir Raph Ier­ningham.


The more your shame that Knights should bee such thieues.

Sir Ar.
Who? or what art thou?
My name is Brian, keeper of this walke.
Sir Rap.
O Brian a villain,
Thou hast receiued my daughter to thy lodge.

You haue stolne the best Deere in my walke to night, my Deere.

Sir Ar.
My daughter,
[Page] Stop not my way.

What make you in my walke? you haue stolne the best Bucke in my walke to night.

Sir Ar.
My daughter.
My Deere.
Sir Rap.
Where is Mountchensey?
Wheres my Bucke.
Sir Ar.
I will complaine me of thee to the King.

Ile complaine vnto the King you spoile his game: Tis strange that men of your account and calling, will offer it, I tell you true, Sir Arthur and sir Raph, that none but you haue onely spoild my game.

Sir Ar.
I charge you stop vs not.

I charge you both ye get out of my ground. Is this a time for such as you, men of place and of your grauity, to be abroad a theeuing! tis a shame, and a fore God if I had shot at you, I had serude you well enough.

Enter Banks the miller wet on his legs.

S'foote heeres a darke night indeed, I thinke I haue bin in fifteene ditches betweene this and the forrest: soft, heers Enfeilde Church: I am so wet with climing ouer into an or­chard for to steale some filberts: well, heere Ile sit in the Church porch and wait for the rest of my consort.

Enter the Sexton.

Heeres a sky as blacke as Luciser, God blesse vs, heere was goodman Theophilus buried, hee was the best Nutcraker that euer dwelt in Enfeild: well, tis 9. a clock, tis time to ring cur­few. Lord blesse vs, what a white thing is that in the Church porch; O Lorde my legges are too weake for my body, my haire is too stiffe for my night-cap, my heart failes; this is the ghost of Theophilus, O Lord it followes me, I cannot say my prayers and one would giue me a thousand pound: good spirit, I haue bowld and drunke and followed the hounds with you a thousand times, though I haue not the spirit now to deale with you; O Lord.

[Page] Enter Priest.
Grasse and hey, we are all mortall, who's there?

We are grasse and hay indeede; I know you to bee Master Parson by your phrase.

I Sir.
For mortalities sake, What's the matter?

O Lord I am a man of another element; Maister Theophilus Ghost is in the Church porch, there was a hundred Cats all fire dancing here euen now; and they are clombe vp to the top of the steeple, ile not into the bellfree for a world.


O good Salomon; I haue bin about a deede of darknes to night: O Lord I saw fifteen spirits in the forrest, like white bulles, if I lye I am an arrant theefe: mortalitie haunts vs; grasse and hay the deuills at our heeles, and lets hence to the parso­nages.

The Miller comes out very softly.

What noise was that? tis the watch, sure that villa­nous vnlucky rogue Smug is taine vpon my life, and then all our villeny comes out, I heard one cry sure.

Enter Host Blague.

If I go steale any more veneson, I am a Paradox, s'foot I can scarce beare the sinne of my flesh in the day, tis so heauy, if I turne not honest, and serue the good Duke of Norfolke, as true mareterraneum skinker should doe, let me neuer looke higher then the element of a Constable.


By the Lord there are some watchmen; I heare them name Maister Constable, I would to God my Mill were an Eunuch and wanted her stones, so I were hence.

Who's there?

Tis the Constable by this light, Ile steale hence, and if I can meete mine host Blague, ile tell him how Smug is taine, and will him to looke to him selfe.


What the deuill is that white thing? this same is a Church-yard, and I haue heard that ghosts, and villenous gob­lins haue beene seene here.

Enter Sexton and Priest.

Grasse and hay, O that I could coniure, wee saw a spirite here in the Church-yeard; and in the fallow field ther's the deuill, with a mans body vpon his backe in a white sheet.

It may be a womans body Sir Iohn.
If shee be a woman, the sheets damne her,
Lord blesse vs, what a night of mortalitie is this.
Mine host.

Did you not see a spirit all in white, crosse you at the stile?


O no mine host, but there sate one in the porch, I haue not breath ynough left to blesse me from the Deuill.

Whoes that?
The Sexton almost frighted out of his wits,
Did you see Banks, or Smug.

No they are gone to Waltham, sure I would faine hence, come, lets to my house, Ile nere serue the duke of Norfolk in this fashion againe whilst I breath. If the deuill be amongst vs, tis time to hoist saile, and cry roomer: Keepe together Sex­ton, thou art secret, what? lets be comfortable one to another.

We are all mortall mine host.

True, and Ile serue God in the night hereafter, afore the Duke of Norfolke.

Enter Sir Raph Clare, and Sir Arthur Ierningham, trus­sing their points as new vp.
Sir Rap.
Good morrow gentle knight,
A happy day after your short nights rest,
Sir Ar.
Ha, ha, sir Raph stirring so soone indeed,
Birlady sir rest would haue done right well,
[Page] Our riding late last night, has made mee drowsie,
Goe to goe to those dayes are gone with vs.
Sir Ra.
Sir Arthur, Sir Arthur, care go with those dayes,
Let'am euen goe together, let'am goe.
Tis time yfaith that wee were in our graues
When Children leaue obedience to their parents,
When there's no feare of God, no care, no dutie.
Well, well, nay nay, it shall not doe, it shall not,
No Mountchensey, thoust heare on't, thou shalt,
Thou shalt yfaith, Ile hang thy Son if there be law in England:
A mans Child rauisht from a Nunry!
This is rare; well well, ther's one gone for Frier Hildersam.
Sir Ar.
Nay gentle Knight do not vexe thus,
It will but hurt your health.

You cannot greeue more then I doe, but to what end; but harke you Sir Raph, I was about to say somthing; it makes no matter,

But hearke you in your eare; the Frier's a knaue, but God for­giue me, a man cannot tel neither, s'foot I am so out of patience,

I know not what to say.
Sir Ra.
Ther's one went for the Frier an hower agoe;

Comes he not yet! s'foot if I do find knauery vnders cowle; i! tickle him: ile firke him; here here hee's here, hee's here.

Good morrow Frier, good morrow gentle Frier.
Enter Hildersham.
Sir Ar.
Good morrow father Hildersham good morrow.
Good morrow reuerend Knights vnto you both.
Sir Ar.
Father, how now? you heare how matters go,
I am vndone, my Childe is cast away,
You did your best; at least I thinke the best,
But we are all crost, flately all is dasht.
Alas good knights, how might the matter be?
Let mee vnderstand your greefe for Charity.
Sir Ar.
Who does not vnderstand my griefes? alas alas!
And yet yee do not, will the Church permit,
A Nun in approbation of her habit,
[Page] To be rauished.

A holy woman, benedicite; now God forfend that any should presume to touch the sister of a holy house.

Sir Ar.
Thesus deliuer mee.
Sir Ra.
Why Millisent the daughter of this Knight,
Is out of Chesson taken the last night.
Was that faire maiden late become a Nun!
Sir Ra.

Was she quotha? knauery, knauery, knauery; I smell it, I smell it yfaith; is the wind in that dore? is it euen so! doost thou aske me that now!

It is the First time that I ere heard of it.
Sir Ar.
That's very strange.
Sir Ra.

Why tell me Frier; tell mee, thou art counted a holy man, doe not play the hypocrite with me, nor beare with mee, I cannot dissemble; did I ought but by thy own consent? by thy allowance? nay further by thy warrant?

Why Reuerend knight?
Sir Ra.
Vnreuerend Frier.

Nay then giue me leaue sir to depart in quiet, I had hopd you had sent for mee to some other end.

Sir Ar.
Nay stay good Frier, if any thing hath hapd,
About this matter in thy Ioue to vs;
That thy strickt order cannot iustifie,
Admit it be so, we will couer it,
Take no care man;
Disclay me not yet thy counsell and aduise,
The wisest man that is may be orereacht.
Sir Arthur, by my order and my faith,
I know not what you meane.
Sir Ar.
By your order, and your faith? this is most strange of all:
Why tell mee Frier; are not you Confessor to my Son Francke?
Yes that I am:
Sir Ra.
And did not this good knight here and my selfe,
Confesse, with you being his ghostly Father,
To deale with him about th'unbanded marriage,
Betwixt him and that faire young Millisent?
I neuer heard of any match intended.
Sir Ar.
Did not we breake our minds that very time,
That our deuice of making her a Nun,
was but a colour and a very plotte,
To put by young Mountchensey; ist not true?

The more I striue to know what you should meane, the lesse I vnderstand you.

Sir Rap.

Did not you tell vs still how Peter Fabell at length would crosse vs if we tooke not heed?

I haue heard of one that is a great magician,
But hees about the Vniuersity.
Sir Rap.
Did not you send your nouice Benedic,
To perswade the girle to leaue Mountchenseys loue,
To crosse that Peter Fabell in his art,
And to that purpose made him visitor?
I neuer sent my nouice from the house,
Nor haue we made our visitation yet.
Sir Ar.

Neuer sent him? nay, did he not goe? and did not I direct him to the house, and conferre with him by the way? and did he not tell me what charge he had receiued from you? word by word, as I requested at your hands?


That you shall know, hee came along with me, and stayes without come hither Benedic.

Enter Benedic.

Yong Benedic, were you ere sent by me to Chesson Nunnery for a visitor?

Neuer sir, truely.
Sir Ar.
Stranger then all the rest.
Sir Rap.
Did not I direct you to the house?
Confer with you from Waltham Abby
Vnto Chesson wall?
I neuer saw you sir before this hower.
Sir Raph.
The deuill thou didst not, hoc Chamberlen.
Anon, anon.
Sir Ra.
Call mine host Blague hither.

I will send one ouer to see if he be vp, I thinke he bee scarce stirring yet.

Sir Rap.

Why knaue, didst thou not tell me an hower ago [Page] mine host was vp?

I sir, my Master's vp.
Sir Ra.
You knaue, is a vp, and is a not vp?
Dost thou mocke mee?

I sir, my M. is vp, but I thinke M. Blague indeed be not stirring?

Sir Rap.

Why, who's thy Master? is not the Master of the house thy Master?

Yes sir, but M. Blague dwells ouer the way.
Sir Ar.

Is not this the George? before God theres some vil­lany in this.

S foote our signes remooud, this is strange.
Enter Blague trussing his points.
Chamberlen, speake vp to the new lodgings,
Bid Nell looke well to the bakt meats,
How now my old Ienerts banke, my horse,

My castle, lie in Waltham all night, and not vnder the Canopie of your host Blagues house.

Sir Ar.

Mine host, mine host, we lay all night at the George in Waltham, but whether the George be your fee-simple or no, tis a doubtfull question, looke vpon your signe.


Body of Saint George, this is mine ouerthwart neigh­bour hath done this to seduce my blind customers, Ile tickle his Catastrophe for this; If I doe not indite him at next assisses for Burglary, let me die of the yellowes, for I see tis no boote in these dayes to serue the good Duke of Norfolke, the villanous world is turnd manger, one Iade deceiues another, and your Ostler playes his part commonly for the fourth share, haue wee Comedies in hand, you whoreson villanous male London letcher.

Sir Ar.

Mine host, we haue had the moylingst night of it that euer we had in our liues.

Ist certaine?
Sir Rap.
We haue bin in the Forrest all night almost.

S'foot how did I misse you? hart I was a stealing a [Page] Bucke there.

Sir Ar.
A plague on you, we were stayed for you.

Were you my noble Romanes? why you shall share, the venison is a footing, Sine Cerere & Baccho friget Venus: That is, theres a good breakfast prouided for a marriage, thats in my house this morning.

Sir Ar.
A marriage mine host?

A coniunction copulatiue, a gallant match betweene your daughter, and M. Raymond Mountchensey, yong Iuuensus.

Sir Ar.
Tis firme, tis done,
Weele shew you a president i'th ciuill law fort.
Sir Rap.
How I married!

Leaue trickes, and admiration, theres a cleanely paire of sheetes in the bed in Orchard chamber, and they shall lie there, what? Ile doe it, Ile serue the good Duke of Norfolke.

Sir Ar.
Thou shalt repent this Blague.
Sir Rap.

If any law in England will make thee smart for this, expect it with all seuerity.


I renounce your defiance, if you parle so roughly, Ile barracado my gates against you: stand faire bully; Priest come off from the rereward; what can you say now? twas done in my house, I haue shelter i'th Court for't, Dee see your bay win­dow? I serue the good duke of Norfolk, & tis his lodging, storm I care not seruing the good Duke of Norfolk: thou art an actor in this, and thou shalt carry fire in thy face eternally.

Enter Smug, Mountchensey, Harry Clare and Milliscent.

Fire, s blood theres no fire in England like your Tri­nidado sacke; is any man heere humorous? we stole the venison, and weele iustifie it: say you now.

In good sooth Smug theres more sacke on the fire Smug.

I do not take any exceptions against your sacke, but if youle lend mee a picke staffe, ile cudgle them all hence by this hand.

I say thou shalt into the Celler.
s'foot mine Host, shalls not grapple?

Pray pray you; I could fight now for all the world like a Coc­katrices ege; shals not serue the Duke of Norfolke?

In skipper in.
Sir Arth.
Sirra, hath young Mountchensey married your sister?
Ha. Cla.

Tis Certaine Sir; her's the priest that coupled them; the parties ioyned, and the honest witnesse that cride, Amen.


Sir Arthur Clare, my new created Father, I beseech you heare mee.

Sir Ar.

Sir Sir, you are a foolish boy, you haue done that you cannot answere; I dare be bould to ceaze her from you, for shee's a profest Nun.

With pardon sir, [...]at name is quite vndone,
This true-loue knot cancelles both maid and Nun.
When first you told me I should act that part,
How cold and bloody it crept ore my hart!
To Chesson with a smiling brow I went,
But yet, deere sir, it was to this intent,
That my sweete Raymond might find better meanes,
To steale me thence: in breefe disguisd he came,
Like Nouice to old father Hildersham.
His tutor here did act that cunning part,
And in our loue hath ioynd much wit to art.
Is't euen so!
With pardon therfore wee intreat your smiles,
Loue thwarted turnes itselfe to thousand wiles.
Young Maister Ierningham, were you an actor, in your owne loues abuse?
My thoughts, good sir,
Did labour seriously vnto this end,
To wrong my selfe ere ide abuse my friend.

He speakes like a Batchelor of musicke all in Num­bers; knights if I had knowne you would haue let this couy of Partridges sit thus long vpon their knees vnder my signe post, [Page] I would haue spred my dore with old Couerlids.

Sir Ar.
Well sir, for this your signe was remoued, was it?
Faith wee followed the directions of the deuill,

Master Peter Fabell and Smug, Lord blesse vs, could neuer stand vpright since.

Sir Ar.
You sir, twas you was his minister that married them.
Sir Io.

Sir to proue my selfe an honest man, being that I was last night in the forrest stealing Venison; now sir to haue you stand my friend, if that matter should bee calld in question, I married you daughter to this worthy gentleman.

Sir Ar.

I may chaunce to requite you, and make your necke crack for't.

Sir Io.
If you doe, I am as resolute as my
Neighbour vicar of Waltham Abby: a hem,
Grasse and hay, wee are all mortall,
Lets liue till we be hangd mine host,
And be merry and theres an end.
Now knights I enter, now my part begins.
To end this difference, know, at first I knew
What you intended, ere your loue tooke flight,
From old Mountchensey: you sir Arthur Clare,
Were minded to haue married this sweete beauty,
To yong Franke Ierningham; to crosse which match,
I vsde some pretty sleights, but I protest
Such as but sate vpon the skirts of Art,
No coniurations, nor such weighty spells,
As tie the soule to their performancy:
Theese for his loue who once was my deere puple,
Haue I effected: now mee thinks tis strange,
That you being old in wisedome should thus knit,
Your forehead on this match; since reason failes,
No law can curbe the louers rash attempt,
Yeares in resisting this are sadly spent:
Smile then vpon your daughter and kind sonne,
And let our toyle to future ages proue,
The deuill of Edmonton did good in Loue.
Sir Ar.
Well tis in vaine to crosse the prouidence:
[Page] Deere Sonne, I take thee vp into my hart,
Rise daughter, this is a kind fathers part.
Why Sir George send for Spindles noise, presently,
Ha, er t be night, ile serue the good Duke of Norfolke.

Grasse and hay, mine host, lets liue till we die, and be mery and ther s an end.

Sir Ar.
What, is breakfast ready mine Host?
Tis my little Hebrew.
Sir Ar.
Sirra ride strait to Chesson Nunry.
Fetch thence my Lady, the house I know,
By this time misses their yong votary:
Come knights lets in.

I will to horse presentlye sir; a plague a my Lady, I shall misse a good breakfast. Smug how chaunce you cut so plaguely behind Smug?

Stand away; ile founder you else.
Farewell Smug, thou art in another element.
I will be by and by, I will be Sir George againe,
Sir Ar.
Take heed the fellow do not hurt himselfe.
Sir Rap.
Did we not last night find two S. Georges here.
Yes Knights, this martialist was one of them.
Then thus conclude your night of meriment.
Exeunt Omnes.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.