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A MERRIE AND Pleasant Comedy: Never before Printed, called A Shoo-maker a Gentleman.

As it hath beene sundry Times Acted at the Red Bull and other Theaters, with a generall and good Applause.

Written by W. R. Gentleman.

LONDON: Printed by I. Okes, and are to be sold by Iohn Cowper, at his Shop at the East-end of St. Pauls Church at the Signe of the Holy Lambe. 1638.

 The Printer to the honest and High-spirited Gentlemen of the never decaying Art, called the Gentle Craft.

NOne but to you (as whom of right it doth concerne) I thought good to present this Play: which though written many yeares since, ought not therefore to be slighted: I confesse we have better for Language in these our exquisite and refined Times, yet for the mat∣ter and Subject, none of a more de∣lightfull and pleasant Style; for it is well knowne to you (Gentlemen Cordwiners) that every yeare you doe celebrate the Feast of Crispine, & Crispianus, not in a meane and ordi∣nary way, but with a great deale of Ceremony, keeping it as an Holy∣day, feasting and entertaining your friends and neighbours. And like∣wise it hath bin so well approoved by you in the acting of it upon the Stage, and that with your loud alarums, (I meane your clapping of hands) that I could not chuse but commend it to you now in Print: for it is a Play that is often Acted; and when others fade and are out of date, yet this doth endure tò the Last: I know it may come short of that accuratenes both in plot and style that this witty age doth with greater curiosity acquire, I may thus excuse; that as Plaies were then, some twenty yeares agone, it was in the fashion. Nor could it have found a fitter or more seasonable pub∣lication than at this time; when the glory of our Nation is so much admi∣red, and the valour of our English so much esteemd, that it is sought for by forraigne Natives, as you may read in this Subject we have in hand; but I leave it to your perusall and imitati∣on; and returne to you my brave spi∣rited Gentlemen Shoo-makers, upon whom, & for whose sakes I have publi∣shed it; wishing you all that have their courages and forwardnes, their noble Fates and Fortunes: So hoping you will goe through stich, I leave thee to Fare well.

 The Actors Names. Alured, King of Brittaine. Elred and Offa this Kings two sounes, borrowing the Names of Crispine and Cris∣pianus. Sir Hugh, a Prince of Wales, and a Sutor to Winifred. Amphiabel, a Nobleman. Maximinus and Dioclesian, the Emperours of Rome. Nobleman and Warriers. Bassianus, Lutius, Rutullus, Roderick, King of Vandals. Hulke, King of Goths, Ene∣mies to the Emperour. A Nuntius from the Emperor Dioclesian. A Roman Captaine. Souldiers and other Atten∣dants. Three Countrey-men. A Shoomaker. Barnaby and Raph his Journy∣men. A Queene, Wife to King Al∣lured, and Mother to Cris∣pine and Crispianus. Winifred, a Virgin of Wales. Leodie, Daughter to the Em∣perour Maximinus. A Nurse, who attends her. Sisley, the Shoomakers Wife. A Shoo-maker, A Gentleman. Act. 1. Enter Allured wounded, Elred, Offa, and the Queene. Alarum. King. AWay, stand off, prop not a falling Castle with Your weake strength, tis sinfull Charity, and Desperate folly to meet a mischiefe, whose Entertainment is assur'd destruction: leave me I pray savegard your owne lives. Queen. Oh Royall Sir, tis you that doe dispaire, Wounds are not alwaies mortall. Ellred. Deare sir let them be drest: King. You tire me out of breath with vaine delaies, as well May you give life unto a stone, a sencelesse statue; My lifes but lent to bid you shun your deaths, and in that too Heavens mercy is miraculous, yet you will not heare me: Agen I charge you as a King; yet none regards Declining Majesty; then as a husband, and a Father here; Dost thou love me? Quee. Approve it in my death, if thou mistrust it Allured. King. Have you duty, you Phaenix of my age, for though Two persons be distinguishable, yet ought there be but one Combined heart in your fraternall union, your knees promise. Both. Our duties are much lower. King. Then here I charge yee for to leave the Field, Fly from death, hee's now in persuite of yee: Fly from the Tyrant, for this unhappy day Those bloody Persecutors Maximinus, and Dioclesian, Display their by neckt Eagle over Brittaine, While she lyes under as a bleeding prey, One Talent here is fastned. Enter Amphiabell, and Sir Hugh. Hugh. Fly Noble Princes, wee have stood out the utmost Of the day, till hope had lost his anchorage, Therefore fly, and seeke some other day for victory. Amphi. How fares the King? Al. Ene one the Virge of Blisse, O deare Amphiabell. Noble Sir Hugh, what more could I have wisht, then breath To thanke your kind assistance in this haplesse day: Oh take an equall jonyter with my Sonnes, from this cold Oracle All I bequeath is Counsell for your safety, fly the slaughter, For dying men are halfe Propheticall, if you abide A longer stay you fall: oh doe not make me guilty of your deaths That drew you hither to expire your breaths, this path I Progresse but avoyde my way, you neede not haste To an assured danger: Farewell my love, my blessing here Shall fall, performe my will, else Fate avert it all: Thou canst not boast grim death: I did not yeeld, Nor fell by Agues, but like a King ith' field. Quee. Aye me distressed Queene. Amphi. Your griefe's incurable, remember the will of your dead Lord, And be a good Executrix, fly from persuing danger: And you Royall youths must seeke some shelter to secure Your lives; away, tis all our Fates. Elr. I could better dye on him that slew my Father. Offa. Take my company in that, deare Brother. Qu. So make a Mother prove unnaturall, I will defend the foe Through this breast you passe unto him, have yee forgot your Father? El. No, wee'l reveng his death: Quee. And kill your Mother first. Hugh. What thinke yee Princes, that we left behind The smallest attome of a seeming hope, when wee Forsooke the field, youle not thinke so? Elr. Whats your Counsell? Am. Take on some course disguise, what poverty ist But will be rich, being your lives protection. Offa. Instruct and ayde us some superior power, Which dost behold our forc'd necessity Eld. Brother, it shall be thus; some poore Souldier slaine in the Battaile will we change habits with: so it may be thought That wee are slaine, and stay the bloody Inquisition. Offa. Tis well advis'd, weele not assay to mend it: This effected Mother, weele come and take our leaves. Eld. What for your selfe Madam? Qu. Here will I stay, untill my eyes like briny Pyoners With their continuall Cadence, have digg'd up A woefull Sepulcher, for these sweet Corps; And if these sterrill Founts prove weake, and dry, Here will I kneele till death has cloyd his Gorge, And left the putrifaction, the mortall dampe Shall kisse me to his company for ever. Am. Oh Madam, these are but fruitlesse apprehensions, And savoureth not of that discreet vertue hath beene ever in you: Your story hath been fild with Temperance, Care, and Patience, And all these forbid this barren Sacrifice, loose not your selfe In the great losse of your deare Husband, Hugh. Madam, if you dare trust your person to my protection, I will Conduct you safe into North Wales, Where Powes my Lord, and Father, yet maintaines A petty Royalty: Thither if please you wend, Weele either keepe or loose our selves with you. Am. Alas Sir Hugh, little can you promise of safety there, For from faire Winifred, the onely Daughter, and Heire To Dun-wallis, I have receiv'd too true intelligence; The Barbarous Romans have supplanted peace, Putting to sword, and torture all, that beare the Name of Christians: Nay, even the right Amphiabell Did hold is now so ruinate, I have not left One Subject to command. Hugh. Heard you this from vertuous Winifred? Am. Much more of woe, the vertuous Maid her selfe Hath left off State, forsaken Royalty, And keepes a Court so solitary, as it seemes Within a cry, follow, follow. More like a Cloyster, then a Royall Pallace. Harke, our enemies persue us, if we stay Wee must resolve for death. Hugh. Madam, either injoyne us for your safe Conduct along With us, or heere defend your life to the last breath? Qu. Neither I beseech you gentlemen, will yee accept a poore widdowes Thankes, for all your loves, tis a thin gratitude; But tis all I have; I beseech yee haste away, If you doe other, Ile not thanke you for't. For here ile stay, and warme this cold remainder, Vntill some fiend, sent from the infernall pit, Doth seperate by force, what Heaven hath knit. Hugh. Then to the best protection of the Heavens, Wee leave you to be comforted. Exit. Qu. That shelter cover you. Enter Eldred, and Offa. Eld. Come deare Brother, these poore habilliments may find Surer footing, than the rich Robes which Royalty is clad in: If they doe, weele blesse the happy Transformation. Mother, your blessing; nothing else wee want To further the issue of our unknowne fate, Qu. Take it, O take it in an houre of sorrow, but leave that all with me, So you have all I can bestow upon you: follow, within follow. But mentally, Ile still be blessing of you, and never cease Harke, tis time you'r gone, away; I charge yee on your duties. Offa. But wheres your owne safety? Qu. Leave me, and haste you hence I say, Ile take my blessing oft if you delay, And plant my curse instead; Eldred, and Offa, you'r my Sonnes, I charge you to obey me. Eld. Eldred and Offa are already gone, for with our habits we Have chang'd our names, when such you heare of, Oh let your prayers still blesse them, with happy memory. Qu. Ile never part with that remembrance: Obey me and bee gone. Offa. With constant hope, that though vaild honor beare an Ecliptick staine, our sunne will passe it, and shine bright againe Exit. Qu. So, now come you Tyrants, here you shall find me Praying for curses on your cruelty. A Flourish. Enter Maximinus, Dioclesian, Leodice, Albon, Bassianus, and Rutullas. Max. Now equal Caesar, brave Dioclesian, the daies at leasure To returne thee thanks for ayding Maximinus in these warres, In happy time thy succour came from France, To make us Conquerors of Brittaine, which else might Yet have beene a doubtfull day: when thou want'st ayde, Bid Maximinus come with this joynt force, Weele make the world our owne. Dio. Rome shall not loose its name, the worlds Commander, Till this knot unties; perpetuall be it, till Rome erects Our golden Statues, plac'd by Saturne, and great Iupiter, And there be deified, to blesse all those which may succeed But in these designes, let us remember high deserving Albon, whose valuor was not seconded this day By any single Arme. Max. It was the best, the shout and full applause Was onely Albons, for which unto thy Knighthood late Given in Rome, we adde the stewardship of Great Brittaine Vnder Maximinus, and Dioclesian: goe to thy Barony Of Verrolam, two legions there shall still attend one thee, To quell and persecute these Christians: Who will not stoope unto our Roman God, Shall feele the stroake of our revengfull Rod. Al. Albon shall still as substitute to Rome Observe, and keepe her high imperiall Doome. Max. Bassianus, be you Competitor with Lord Albon, And with severity, through the conquer'd Cities persue The Christians to their Martyrdomes: — Whose that? Qu. Ile answer for my selfe; Tyrant a Christian, a husbandlesse And Childlesse Christian, yet one so daring unto misery, She throwes a Chalenge, to the worst thou canst, Defiance to thee thus; Oh were it poyson to swell this Tyrants bosome till it burst, and fall thus low. Max. Ha ha ha, misery makes her desperate, thou add'st a Triumph woman to our state, to brandish forth such Fruitlesse Menaces; to Prison with her, weele thinke of Further torments: Ile prostetute thy body to some Slave, And if the issue prosper, make him a Hang-man. Qu. And such an other may thy Daughter have. Leo. Choose for your selfe Lady, I have an eye to pleasure My selfe? Max. Weele hold no dispute with women, away with her: Rochester Castle shall be your pallace? you'r like to keepe A hard House on't. Qu. Like the Court thou keepst. Max. No more words, away with her. Qu. My words Ile better spend in Prayers to Heaven, But if I chance to Curse, Ile thinke on thee: My Royall Plants, Heaven guard from their full gripe, Fall Fate on me, my time and dayes are ripe. Exit. Dio. Oh Brother Caesar, in this Brittish calme weele pas agen Over to stormy France, the Gothes, and Vandalls have outpast The bounds, and o're the Rhine past into Burgandy, our worke Must be to reverberate, and drive them to Confined Germany, while you persever, with an awfull hand, To keepe our conquer'd foes beneath your feet; give not those Frighted Welch-men time to breath: But if agen you doubt of what you can, you know your Friend cald Dioclessan? Max. Your words are mine if you have need in France, weele Feast, And bring you to the Brittish shore, then part unto our worke. Our Daughter Leodice, weele leave to keep her court at Canter∣bury, Rutullus, take it to your charge, to see erected one the Conspicuous promonts of our Land, Beacons, which may stand In ken of other, by whose suddaine fiers on the least invasion, we may be cald to Armes. Rut. It shall be done. Dio. A carefull Policy, bee my Tutor to teach me Military Discipline, Fly Brason Oratrix, all lingued fame, And tell at Rome of Maximinus name: Say Dioclesian too will bring a Crowne, To bind thy seven fold Head with high Renowne: Flourish. Say like two Ioves, when our Dread Thunders burl'd, Our sable Eagle strikes through all the world. Exeunt omn. Enter discover'd in a Shop a Shoe-maker, his Wife spinning, Barnaby, two Journimen. Shoo. Good boyes, fine knaves, yerke it home, good ware will away, When bad lyes dead on our hands, there's no thrift in that; Spin in a faire thread Sisly, let not my journimen want, The Warres has lam'd many of my old Customers, they cannot Goe a hie lone, bad world for us, but a wet winter, will weare Out Shoo-leather, and make amends, Weele cut it out if it doe Boyes? Bar. Your journimen shall mount then Master, for my foots in the Stirrop Already, ply your worke Mistresse, we alwaies bring Your labours to good ends Ile warrant yee. Sis. Why Barnaby, thouseest I am at desance with my worke Till it be done, for I am alwaies spitting on my toe. Shoo. Good wench Sisly, there shall no Cornes grow on thy toes For that, thy shooes shall be large enough, Finely shalt thou goe, and tread upon Neates Leather. Bar. Ile eate the feet if she doe Master; Wife. Eate my feet goodman knave? Shoo Misconstruction Sis, thou mistakes Barnaby, heele eate Neates feet, none of thine; but Beefe shall be thy foode boy, As good as the Major of Feversham cuts on's Trencher, And Drinke as strong as the Statute affords. Bar. Statutes are strong, Master, therefore we should have strong drinke: I had rather weare Lace by the Statute, than drinke if it be small. Shoo. Good drinke in thy throat if thou speak'st in earnest: But Ralph, what price beares Ballets? no Musicke in Feversham? Ralph. Faith sir your statute Beere has taken my pipe A hole too low, it cannot reach Ela. Shoo. Ile have that fault mended boy, but we must drink strong drinke, as we shew our Religion, privately. 'Tis dangerous to be good Christians now a daies. Bar. I am afraide there will be too many Christians sir, Because many use to goe a Pilgrimage Bare-foot; And that's an ill wind for our profit. Shoo. No more talke of ill winds Barnaby, weele sing away sorrow Strike up Ralph, Ile wash thy whistle anon boy. Ralph. Well sir, Ile scoure it first if I can then, Sings. Enter Crispianus, and Crispinus. El. Brother, heer's a life to mocke at state, and staine her surly Greatnesse: who would venture to walke upon the Icy path Of Royalty, that here might find a footing so secure: Heer's harmony indeed, a fearelesse sport, A joy our young yeares seld, has at Court. Offa. I Brother, would we were of this Fellowship. El. Dost thinke we could forget our former ease And fall to labour? Offa. Why not? that was not without troubles of the mind, And methinkes to exchange for the bodies labour, were a farre Freer good; to sing with homely cheere, Were sweeter farre then to feede fat with feare. El. Weele put it then in practice, heaven grant we may Find entertainement: good speede unto your labours Gentlemen. Sho. Gentlemen, we are good fellowes no Gent. yet if gentlenes Make Gentility we are Gentlemen: My pretty youths, Would you ought with us you speake so friendly? El. No more then we shall deserve sir. Wife. And you are worthy of that ifaith. El. Sir, wee are youths whom the rough hand of Warre hath ruin'd, And made desolate, our friends and meanes are parted from us, Our friend's in Heaven, our meanes within the gripe of enemies Both in accessuble thus much we are, Fatherlesse, friendlesse; Succourlesse and forlorne, what we may be, lyes yet within The grant of some kind Master, that may instruct us in Some honest Trade, to get our living by. Shoo. Pretty spoken youths by Saint Anthony, How dost thou like them Sisly? Wife. Yes truely husband, if they will doe as well as they say, I like 'em very well; good faces as faces goes now a dayes, Prethee sweet heart be kind to 'em, and entertaine 'em If they like our Trade. Bar. Oh good Master entertaine 'em, we want junior prentises For under worke. Ralph. Doe sir, keepe good faces in your shop? Twill draw the Custome of pretty wenches the better. Shoo. House-keeping's chargeable, men must have good meat. Wife. They will worke and earne their meat Ile warrant yee. Shoo. What are yee, Bretheren? Both. In love and nature sir, the neerest Bretheren. Wife. Tis pitty they should be parted then, if they love so well. Shoo. Your Names? Chris. Chrispianus mine. Crispi. Mine Crispinus. Shoo. Good names, good names, well boyes on this condition I will entertaine you, I neede not doubt your truths, and Honesty, you have such faire and promising out sides: But I must have you bound for seaven yeares, and then You are your owne men, and a good trade to get your livings by. Both. Withall our hearts, And happy are we in your kind acceptance. Sho. You shall be mine, then give 'em entertainment Barnaby. Bar. New Aprons and Capps here, for a Couple of Gent. So on with your Breast plate, this Cap makes thee a graduate, You are come amongst Bacularious, beare-up your heads boyes, Weele teach yee to bristle, wax better and better, last to The 12, then set foot in the stirop and have at all. Shoo. Shew them their tooles, and give them entrance Barnaby Enter Rutullus and Souldiers, bearing the Queene to Prison. Qu. Sir, I have not beene us'd to this hard travell, If you dare mittigate your Masters Cruelty, And let me rest a little, ile thanke you for it. Rut. Tis not in our Commission, but Ile dispence a little. Shoo. Who is this I pray sir? Rut. The Queene going to Prison, to Rochester Castle, Doe you not know her? Shoo. Alacke, alacke. Qu. My eyes are not deceaved, they are my Children. Cris. Tis our Mother Offa, take heed our teares do not discover. Cri. Pray heaven they do not, I fear my eyes wil be kind traitors. Qu. Dare ye be so kind, to afford a distressed woman a stoole? Wife. I dare doe that Madam, Crispinus, reach a stoole. Qu. On thy knee Child, why dost thou kneele to me? Cri. Tis my duty Madam, misery hath not chang'd your name, Tho bated of your power, you are my Queene still. Qu. Heaven blesse thee for't, I have stolne thee a blessing. Wouldst thou adde something too? Cri. I would bee as Dutifull as my Brother, Madam. Qu. Is he thy Brother, blessing on you both: This was a happinesse beyond my hope, that I should once more Blesse My Children really, keepe in thou womans frailty, Griefe Chayne my Tongue, least thou betray the utmost Of my hopes, my teares may find excuse. Rut. Why weepes those boyes? Cris. Alas Sir, 'tis oft times the barren fruits of subjects Loves, when they behold their Prince; but much more Will the Flux of sorrow sir abound, when they behold Them throwne to misery. Rut. You're very kind Wife. Kind boyes they are, indeed they shall fare neare the worse, I could e'ne weepe my selfe, to see my boyes so kind hearted. Rut. Madam, you doe but trouble 'em, and win some drops From them, that they would spare if you were absent. Qu. Tis your trouble sir, they could be content with this kind Expence, a longer sojourne, but you instruct me well: Farewell, I can but thanke yee, that's all I have To give for your kind youths — what will my tongue doe, Pray use them well, so much the more cause They were kind to mee. Rut. Madam will you goe? Qu. We talke of no stay, let not your hast make me Unthankfull pray, and barre my thankes for kindnesse, But I have done: On to my house of woe, yet since we must, Delay the more annoyes this comfort, yet heaven to my sorrowes gives, In midst of Tyranny my children lives. Exit. Wife. The world treads not upright, methinkes It had neede of a good workeman to mend it. Sho. Peace Sisly, no problems, no figures, no womans Rhetorick, The tongue may undoe the whole body, Tausume, there Is Greeke for yee wife, let us keepe good consciences with in doores How ere the wind blowes abroad, tis honester deceite To seeme bad and be good, than to seeme pure and be a knave, Goe too, good soles will carry out bad upper leathers, Tis a bad time I can tell yee, but why were my boyes So passiionate, to weepe at the Queenes distresse. Cris. Alas sir, who could chuse, passion me thought Did make me apprehend strange fautasies, I made The case mine owne, suppos'd my Mother had bin Hal'd to Prison; some would have pittyed her, though But a meane woman, much more at such a Soveraignes fall. Cri. I Brother, and suppose her Sonnes, though Royall, Had seene our mother as we saw her, in Princely compassion Perhaps they would have done the like. Cris. No doubt, nay Master without offence, it was your fault too, For in your eye I spide a pearle of pitty. Shoo. Good faith thou sayst true, I could doe no lesse, neither Doe I discommend yee for it, tis a good bosom where mercy dwells. Wise. I, their Compassion of women shall loose 'em nothing, If they be but dutifull to their Master, and just to their Dame. Shoo. Enough of Ceremony: Whats a clocke Barnaby? Bar. The chimes of my belly has gone, it should be past twelve. Shoo. Provide dinner Sir, Master, journimen, and Prentises, One Table serves for all; wee feed as all fellowes; Shut up shop, this is afternoone's holy-day in honour of My two new Prentises, and this caveat for all, keepe your Bosomes lockt, we may be good Christians, but not shew it Abroad, lesse in our Charity in times of bloud When tyrants Reigne, tis dangerous to be good. Exeunt. Enter Winifred in a blacke vaile, Amphiabell, Saint Hugh, Howell and Lords. Soft Musick. Win. Ce se, cease, it is too loude, thistel-talenoise betrayes Our privacy, which we desire more than thronging Visitants, What is it you would have of me, ile give my state to any of yee all, Take it away, and give me here onely my selfe to Governe; More is too much to impose on my poore weakenesse. Hugh That is too much Sweet Lady, doe not taske your happy vertues To so hard a proofe, there is no strict injunction seal'd, To barre the passage to a Nuptiall Bed, that is a statute by Selfe will decreed, to make Hymen a bond slave. Win. O good Sir Hugh, how long have you lay'd a fruitles siege Vnto a Port that is impregnable; I thanke yee, and must needes Acknowledge my love, if I had such a Lunacy, to be a debt To you, you have deserv'd it were it worth Receite. Lord. Then give desert his due? leave of these nice poynts of cold Virginity, and warme affection in the sweet imbraces Of a Noble Huband, fitter for your state than this Cloyster habit. Hugh. So shall you win a second poer to yours, this Noble Prince VVill with a husband be a strong defence Against your enemies. Lor. Adde to necessity, a proved Loyalty, a love that will not Claime equality, but bound unto. Win. No more, no more I pray, whyle sure my foes would not This Cruell be, to incounter me at such unequall odds, So many Souldiers 'gainst a silly woman, you cannot call This Conquest if yee win: I claime the Law of Armes, A friendly parley ere the Battaile joyne, the time Let it be now; I crave the friendly Respite of a moneth, Meane time, let me heare no more Love Alarmes, then will I either yeeld yee up the Fort, or stand in the defiance. Lord. So so sir Hugh, there is now some hope. Hugh. A promising faire hope, more than my three yeares service Had before, a moneth sweet Beauty, O let it be more to shew My love weares humble Constancy, let it be two, or three. Win. I take you at your word, it shall be three sir Hugh, in which time, I locke, by vertue of this hand and tonge, your hand from any Suite that founds but love, you shall not name the word Within my Presence, tis breach of peace if yee doe. Hugh. You have lockt the Closset and keepe the Key of it. Lord. Come then sir Hugh, since you have trust with love, Lets deale with Armes another while, that when our foes Come, they may perceive that we expect 'em. Hugh My Lifes my Countries, and Ile offert for them: Three moneths I goe a banisht man from hence, yet this Ile borrow from beautious excellence, When my white Plume shall in the field be spread, My word of courage shall be Winifred. Exeunt Hugh & Lords. Win. Alas good Prince, I can but pitty thee, And grieve because my pittie's pittilesse; Like a misers Almes, God helpe; without Charity: For I shall never quite thy labouring love. No Prince Amphiabell, you have wedded me to a Celestiall Bridegroome, you have taught my ignorance a knowing intellect: Tis well begun, and who would not persevere To Love that love that lives, and lasts for ever? Am. I come to strengthen you faire Winifred, so to continue I hope I neede not, yet not so strictly to Virginity As to the Christian Faith; for Wedlocke is an ordinance from Hea∣ven, Though Iunior to the single purity In this chast Wedlocke, doth the Conquest win, She knowes the tree forbid, it will not sinne. Win. But I have made a vow, thinke then what danger a relapse Would be, and you will grant my best Virginity; And I will further shew what Heaven hath done, To ayde my female Resolution, you then will bid Me crosse the booke of love, and Reade of nothing But that text above. Am. You promist me no lesse. Win. Ile make it good: See you this spring, here a pretty streame begins his head, So late it was a parching drought had ceas'd our verdant grasse, Here did I sit in Contemplation, lifting to Heaven my Orisons For present succour, but swifter then my thought, All Potent Heaven a Miracle had wrought: That Baren seeming Ground brought forth a Spring Of such sweet waters, as it had not beene curst i'th' old worlds Deluge, I caus'd it then thus to be digg'd and fram'd By hand of men, and comming still to see it as before, A Heavenly shape appear'd, and blest it more; Gave it that power as heaven had so assign'd, To cure diseases, helpe the lame and blind: For which poore people their poore thanks to tell, Musicke. Calls as I would not, Winifreds Well. Am. Tis wonderfull! Win. Harke, these sounds did I heare when that Celestiall Body did appeare, let us with Reverence attend aloofe, Your eye or eare shall have a further proofe. Enter, an Angell ascends out of the Well, and after descends againe. Ang. With this the signe that holy Christians weare, When in the Field their Standers they up Reare Against the foes of Heaven; with this Tipe, That when they receive the Seale Regenerate, Gives them their Christian name, with this I blesse agen This hallowed spring, who seekes Redresse with a beleeving heart, Here he shall find ease, take power to cure the Leaprous disease, give leggs unto the Cripple, blind their Sight, So that their blessings be receiv'd aright: To misbeleevers turne into a curse, Who seekes a Cure in scorne, disease him worse; This Heaven hath done for truth, it is but young, And needes a Miracle to make her strong, The time will come when men shall here not see, Then let the world expresse fidelity: Good Prayers have power to fetch an Angell downe, And give a mortall an Immortall Crowne. Musicke heere descends. Am. I neede no more confirme yee beauteous Maid, My selfe ile taske unto some dangerous end, Ile take disguise, and straight to Verolome And to the face of persecuting Albon Our friend and fellow Knight, ile tell his curse If he persist in Barbarous Cruelty, Ile throw my life in hazard, if I fall, Tell Christians keepe my true memoriall. Win. Which first leave here with me, you shall doe well, Here will I keepe my Court, here will I dwell, Here let the Roman Tyrant shed my bloud, Here they shall find me doing all the good A poore wretch can, what heaven has blest before, I as a second meanes will helpe the poore. Am. To that I leave thee most vertuous maid, Oh might it of Amphiabell bee said; His good intendment had so happy end, To make a Christian of a blouddy fiend, I come to trie thee Abon. Win. Oh may it prove. Am. Thus wee depart Lady. Win, Where meete, it is decreed above. Exit. ACTVS SECVNDVS. Enter Leodice, and Nurse. Leo. Nurse? Nu. Madam? Leo. Are the shoo-makers gone that brought my Shopes? Nu. I know not Madam; shall I see? Leo. My shooe wrings me so it goes to the heart of me. Nu. Marry the Gods forbid Lady. Leo. How? does the Gods forbid to Marry wench? Nu. I hope not Madam, I should be sorry they should. For the hopes that I have yet as old as I am, Shall I goe call your Shoo-maker? Leo. Prehee doe, but stay a little; Nu. A little stay may make me looke too late. Leo. Thou sai'st true, call 'em then, yet harke, 'twere as good not, The fault cannot be mended now: Nu. But you may let him know his fault, And heele mend it another time. Leo. I thou saist true in that, doe, harke are thou goest. Nu. Venus blesse us, what crosse measures are in your head! Leo. How's that, youle not controule your Princes will yee? Is it not stately to be Phantasticall, goe call the Shoo-maker yet you shall not neither. Nu. Ene as you please, Madam, both either, or neither. Leo, You shall doe all, goe, yet answer to me first. Was this young Shoo-maker ere here before? Nu. I thinke not Madam, tis some young Prentice Your old shoo-maker of Feversham hath got. Leo. Wast not a pretty youth? Nu. I have seene a worse face in better cloathes. Leo. He drew my shooes on finely, quietly. Nu. He would doe well if he knew the true length Of your foot Madam. Leo. Tis that he wants, he must know it Call him agen. Nu. I will: If you doubt call me backe. Exit Nurse. Leo. The length of my foot, a pretty figure If he be a good Anatomist, he may by one quantity Guesse at another, and in the end take the whole bodies length Ha, some strange fantasies are crept within me, I'me not Acquainted with, tis a pretty youth if I may credit my Judgement at the first sight, and whats that to me, and Why not to me as well as to another: I am alone, and why Should I feare to tell my selfe my thoughts, I could love him, This tasts well of my tongue; Oh, but the coursenes of his condition Offends my stomacke, when I should disgest it, some Sectarist Now to scrwe and wrest a Text from his native sence, would Helpe me well in this, what am I, a woman, whats he a men▪ Where's the inequality? my bloud Royall, his perhaps ignoble, Whence springs that fount that runs all Royalty, tis the Sea It selfe, the lesser Rivolets and running Brookes are those of Common sence, yet all doe mixe and run in one another, What are Titles, Honors bestow'd ad Regis placitum, should My Father make that shoo-maker a Lord, then were he Noble, Yet where's his bloud refine, tush tush, greatnesse is like a Glistering stone, more pretious in the esteeme than in the vertue: So, I am well cald out of my contemplation. Enter Nurse with Crispinus, and Barnaby, with Shooes on their Armes. Nu. Come sir, you must answer a default to my Lady. Leo. Who made my shooes sirra, they pinch me? Bar. Indeed sweet Lady you must pardon this young man, 'tis His fault, he has not yet the true handling of his worke, hee Cannot goe through stich yet, I hope your Ladiship knowes that I have yorkt as well for you, as any Cordwainer in Kent Or Canterbury could doe, and for a tunable heele I thinke I have plaid my part. Leo. A tunable heele, I prethee English it. Bar. A creake Madam, for a Musicall creake, nere a boy in Feversham Yet went beyond me: in time my Iunior will doe pretty well, Hee' raw yet, at the change of his voyce heele creake farre Better than he does yet. Nu. And why was the creake of shooes first devised sir? Bar. O for great cause for sooth, to hide faults, for if a gentlewoman Such as your selfe, should chance to play too loud of her wind Instrument, the creake of the shooe will cover the noyse. Leo. You're pleasant sir, and what is this a Prentice? Bar. Alas Madam, I would be loath to discredit the young man, Hee's but a col yet, a subsir as they say, I brought him along to the Court to shew him fashions, and to instruct him how to handle a Ladies Legg, to draw home his worke, and teach him his nill ultra How farre he may goe. Leo. And how farr's that, which are your bounds? Bar. Non ultra crepitum as they say, this once learned, hee Shall come alone hereafter. Leo. You have done well sir, and so no doubt will he by my Instructions; whats thy name? Cris. Crispinus Madam. Nu. Were thy Parents of this profession? Cris. I have forgot Madam Leo. Is it so long since thou lost them? Cris. But since these last warres Lady, yet as I remember they were Better then my present profession. Nu. He speakes well, sure there is some hard characters which I Understand not: I like not these shooes, you must make an easier part? Cris. I'le doe my best to mend it Madam. Leo. You promise well, let them be of your making then, that I May see how neare you'le come to your promise. Bar. Alas Madam, heele pinch your toes if I doe not instruct him, Hee's but a cobler yet. Leo. No matter, Ile hazard his good will, to morrow let me have An other paire, and bring them your selfe. Cris. I shall attend your Highnesse. Leo. Come hither view my foot well, you must be better Acquainted with it. Cris. Is it not heere they pinch you Madam? Leo. No 'tis a little higher. Bar. Away, away for shame, did I teach you that carriage? Leo. Now sir what will you doe? Bar. Teach him the true behaviour, heare, levell me a legge Here, now stretch him out-right upon your thigh, and then You may come to your worke finely, I have found the fault now You are pincht in the very cranny. Leo. You have hit it Sir. Bar. I told you so, a man of a longer standing will do Alwaies better then a puny, he shall mend it I you Ma Leo, I hope he will: well, faile omorrow, Cris. I will not Madam, my duty to your Highnesse. Bar.

If he doe Madam, you know your old man, for yake and Seame, and handling ware in his kind, you cannot put your egge in a better workemans hands though I say it sweet Lady. Due gat a whee. Exit Crisp. and Bar.

 Leo. There is an Idoll or bed in his eye, that I could ever worship And if I should, sure he would blesse me, love and folly, Inseperate and joynt companions, you are too violent upon Me now; to beate affection with such downe right strokes On a Mechanicke drudge, a base, how base? how base? is there no President That great Ladies have yoakt their underlings in fellowship? I take some counsell, on't Nurse. Nu. Shall I call the shoo-maker agen Lady? Leo. Out witch, dost know my thoughts: the shoo-maker, and why The shoo-maker? I thought of him, why call him? Nu. Nay I know not Madam. Leo. Thor't in love with him, I beleeve thou art, if I were certaine That thou wert so base, I'de banish thee my presence; nay, My Father should banish thee the bounds of Britany, out old doting foole. Nu. Madam why chide you me? I will not love your shoo-maker. Leo. My shoo-maker minion. Nu. Does he not make your shooes? therefore your shoo-maker: But thinke not Lady I can be so base being so neare your presence, To love such a groome, if but for your credit sake. Leo. Yet as great as you have doted on as base as he. Nu. Yet that's no president for me, I have knowne Ladies remove Their stable groomes into their bed-chambers, and lower offices then That too: o'twas a pollicy, and hereafter may be in fashion for Great Ladies to match with their inferiours, because the woman Adding no dignity to the man, nor loosing her owne, still keepes Supremacy, he waites as dutifull on her trencher as when He was her servant. Leo. Hast thou History for this? Nu. Twenty of mine owne knowledge, that I have seene in my dayes. my closet, then thou shalt tell me some, if thou P agen, if I find president Ile Follow it, (Ile else begin my selfe,) if there be none Let after Ladies coate me downe for one. Exeunt. Enter Amphiabell as an Hermit, and Albon. Al. Thou constant friend what title shall I give, due to thy merit; 'Tis more then a friendly part to fetch from hell, friends turne At misery, they abide long that part at prison doores, the Best lasts but till death, but thou hast stood the renovation of A second life; what may be given him for an epethite That of a tyrant makes a profelite? Am. You cannot adde unto the happiness Amphiabell hath found In honor'd Albon, joynt with my owne Salvation, I desire your Partnership Christianity, which as a second meanes I have confirm'd. Al. I am your poore Disciple, my tutor Mr. but friend I call you by No other name, altho I derogate from your Princely Office Cause I will follow you, if not proceede, ever through the Jawes of persecution; I will not trust your person to the danger: Let this helpe your haste, although Prince of Wales, yet in the Course you take you may chance need This drudging god of fooles to helpe you speed. Am. He take your love for what I shall not need I shall bestow where There is need enough, with this memoriall I leave you Sir. but this Embleme of a Christian, not as a thing materiall waile you, but for the strengthning of your memory, you shall At sight of this still keepe in mind, all those instructions I have Read to you; and verueous Lord, what in your power and greatnesse You may afford unto distressed Christians: be free in Charity. Al. Let me approve without a boast, the action of my love; this in the Open face of tyranny, Ile daring weare: and in approbation of Such an Alter, Sacrifice my bloud: but sweet friend heare of me, Behold it not: I wo'd not have you lost. Amphi. You shall prevaile. Al. Put me in your praiers, that mercies white hand may crosse The debt booke wherein I stand above my height in goare, this Hand hath done an act of bloody persecution. Am. Trouble not your bosome, your end shall crowne The bad that's past, with a more full renowne. Exit Amphi. Florish. Enter with Drum and Colours, Maximinus, Basseanus, Rutullus, with an Army. Max. Where is Lord Albon? Al. Heere Maxeminus. Max. What, thy Sword sleeping in thy scabberd Knight? thou ar Too gentle in thy Stewardship, these Hidra headed Christians More increase thy persecution; speake Prince of Knights, for Such an honour we bestow'd on thee: why art not wading in a Sreame of blood? true Romans use to swim in such a floud. Al. But I am an English man. Max. Yet substitute to Rome. Al. Not. Max. Is this Albon? Al. Not persecuting, but Christian Albon. Bass. See great Emperour, in your face he weares, the daring Badge of Christianity. Al. Yes Emperour, reade in this booke, if by this abstract Thou canst understand, the Volume is within. Max. 'Tis as we suspect, that painefull Schoole-master Am. is heer, Make swift and carefull search through Virulome, Lop him and the head is perisht. Al. You'le search too late. Max. Where is he traytor? Al. Gone, I have convaide him hence. Max. Why didst thou not fly for thine owne safety? Al. No, I have deserv'd to feele a Tyrants sword, because my sword Was glaz'd in tyrany; I am in debt for bloud, make thou it even, Tyrants and fiends are officers to heaven. Max.

Hale him to the Temple, or force him kneele unto our Roman god, or kill the henticke.

 Al. Kill me first, or I shall spurne thine Idoll. Max. If he recant not, torture, no mercy show. A recreant friend worse than an open foe. Al. I am blest in curses, now Albon shall be tride, Man is gold oare, when he is purifi'd Exit Alb. Max. A second limbe is from our body cut, in Albons relapse; it is That pedant Prince, that seminary Knight Amphiabell, that Poysons thus the current of our State: Bassianus, with two Romane Legions persue that Cambriam sectarist Amphi: his flight Will be to Wales, lay desolate the confines of that superstitious Virgin, that with her sorcerous devotion works miracles, By which she drawes Christians, faster then we can kill 'em: Let her feele our vengance. Bass. As Max. wils, where Ceser bids strike Bassianus kils. Max. What meanes this? Enter Rutullus, and Nuntius. Rut. A messenger from Dioclesian. Nun. Faire and Royall greetings, with them intreating great Max. Some present succour in this Gallia Wars, Allerick King of Goaths hath entred France, with ods of strength against Dioclesian; A breathing truce is yet concluded on, untill the Callends of The following moneth, in which there is a day prefixt for battell, For this he craves thy ayde from Brittany, that Romans still May write victori. Max. We, or our best of helpe he might command, by vertue of that Love he lent to us: Rutullus, collect 10000. ablest Brittaines By our expresse command, let them be mixt with two Roman Bands, With both passe the Sea, and in our name greet Diole: Say we Doe wish our personall Arme with him, did not increasing troubles Stay us here: so should it be; the rest weele write to him, Rutullus haste, this must not be delay'd: Bassianus to thy charge, My selfe to mine, our works are one to scourge the Christians, Bloud is the theame we treate in Roman hand, Weele write the comment large o're all the Land. Exeunt. Enter Leodice, and Nurse. Leo. Nay prethee tell it on Nurse. Nu. Good faith I am weary Madam, I never knew my tongue Would tire before: you have not let me close mine eyes to night. Leo. Did not I watch with thee? Nu. But I am old, when I was yong, love would have kept me waking. Leo. So could a young Batchelor yet, widdow, I prethe finish but Thy last discourse 'mongst all thy Cotations of men made; Great that were ignoble borne, this I most desire; was Dioclesian joynt ceaser with my Father, that oft hath made Rome gorgeous with his triumphs, but of so meane discent As thou reports? Nu.

A Scriveners sonne, no better verily, there's many Bonds yet in Rome uncanceld, where hee's subscri'd a publicke notary.

 Leo. And yet is that no blemish to his sonne? Nu. Not at all Madam, nay I could come neerer were I sure it Would not offend your Grace. Leo. My Grace be pledge, out, prethee speake freely? Nu. As I have heard great Maximinus Father, your Fathers Father Madam, was but even a Smith, that with his labour Hammer'd out his living. Leo. 'Tis true, I have heard my Father boast it, yet had I forgot it. Oh Majesty! thou may mest the memory, it looseth all Records That are beneath us, now no more: prethee see if my Shoo-maker be come yet, Ile walke abroad perhaps to take the aire. Nu. 'Tis now my every mornings worke to watch the comming of Your shoo-maker: pray Venus my Lady tread not her shooes awry, She changes her shooes so often. Exit Nurse. Leo. I have not slept to night, I shall be tame if I be if I be kept th My former words, I say thou art a Sutor to my woman? Cris. Madam, in this reviv'd memory I protest. Leo. Thou shalt not sweare and lye, Ile make it plaine To thy confession; art not her shoo-maker? Cris. Yes Madam. Leo. Then her Sutor; I am a Roman sir, and speake that tongue; Is not a Sutor a Shoo-maker? Cris. My trade, in that sence I confesse it Lady, And so farre I am a Sutor to your Highnesse. Leo. I would thou wert, in the plaine English sence, Thou shouldst have then few nayes. Cris. I trouble you Madam. Leo. Not: since I am so farre in discourse with you, Ile bring it To some end: suppose shoo-maker my woman did love you, and Would have me to speake for her, what answer should I have? Cris. Madam, this intercourse, you have vouchsafed so kindly with Your Servant, somewhat inboldens me. Leo. Be bold, and say what answer shall I have? Cris. Shee's old. Leo. Old! this is a new answer; will not her dignity, wealth, And Estate, make her yong agen? Cri. I could not chuse by supposition so, if I durst speake freely. Leo. You would have one yong then I perceive? Cris. Since I am free to speake, I would Lady; yong for my eye, and Rich to mend my state: but alas Madam, I am a prentise and must Not wed. Leo. For doubling of your prentiship? Cris. Nay, I might treble that doubling, for to a wife I bind me to a perpetuall prentiship. Leo, So 'twere one you lov'd, 'twere pleasing servitude? Cris. I thinke it were Madam. Leo. Dare you venture on a wife of my chusing? Cris. If both parties were agreed Lady. Leo. That's no venture, Ile promise she shall be yong, good Parentage, honest, let her beauty commend it selfe. Cris. It pleases Majesty some times to make sport with humble Vasselage, so doe you with me Lady. Leo. You are too hard of beleefe, I meane plainely, I have Some skill in Magicke, what would you give To see her amply personated in a glasse, that must be your wife? Cris. I would venture a chiding to stay so long: what my this mean? Leo. I could by Metroposcopie read thy fate here in thy fore-head; By Chyromancie find it in thy Palme, but these are petty Arts, no Ile shew thee by speculatory magick, her face In this glasse; kneele sir, for't must be done with reverence I tell you: now tell me what thou seest? Cris. I see a shadow Madam. Leo. 'Tis but a shadow, hold up thy right hand and looke agen, What seest thou now? any substance yet? Cris. I know not Madam, I am inchaunted with your Magick Leo. How lik'st her now, has she a good face? Cris. Tis very well made Madam. Leo. Who does she resemble? Cris. Your selfe, I thinke Lady. Leo. I, shees very like me. Cris. I would she were not. Leo. Why wouldst not have her like me? Cris. Because no like's the same. Leo. 'Tis too long to dally, away with shadowes, and imbra The substance, introth I love thee; nay, doe not feare—Ile Share all dangers with thee. Cris. Danger Madam, were she brow'd like Nemisis, Tuskt with Scorpions stings, as keene for spoyle as an Incensed fury, I would stand in this quarrell 'gainst her Open throat: but doe you not dally with a poore wretch? Leo. Wrong not my love with doubt, looke Ile pay thee backe Thy duty given to me, th'art my better by vertue of my Honourable love, I make thee here my head: Thou shalt No more descend unto my foot, here thy worke shall be, Whilst in thine eyes two wanton Cupids skip, Thou shalt lay Velvet touches on my lip. Cris. Faith Madam, your lips deserve better than your foot, That's two pild velvet, this must needs be three: Nay since you have rais'd me above the instep Ile reach at the highest now. Leo. Yet all's not done, two paire of Rosie cheeks shall tye them on: Shall I not neede to feare thee? Cris, Not, Ile quell your feares, for now Ile put my life Into your hands, to manifest the vertue of my love, for Heaven hath beene a motive to your love: For know sweet, 'Tis no base contract, but of the Royalst Blood in Britany: Love would not so have forc'd you to an errour, Crispinus Is but borrowed, a poore shroud to keepe my life in, Offa is my Owne, the youngest Sonne to the late vanquisht Alured, Eldred my Brother, both supposed slaine, yet live within a Parralell disguise; I am no richerthan I was before, But in that clouded Title. Leo. If I could love thee better than I did I should, but introth I cannot, but for the safest gardian of thy life, 'tis in my Heart, and that shall be pluckt out ere it be found to harme thee. Cris. What's then to be done? Leo. Our instant Marriage, that's the surest way, hazard a Chiding for thy negligence, and linger here about the Court to night, to morrow morning in some humble Habit weele steale the gardian; it shall be my taske provide the Church-man. Cris. There shall not want a Bride-groome. Leo. May I ever lye alone if there want a Bride, and that's a that I should be loath to indure, mean time be this the contract, the word of troth. Cris. The morning and a Priest shall make one of both. Leo. There goes my heart. Cris. Ile keepe it till to morrow. Leo. Shut night, sweet Phebe on thy swiftest Arrow. Exit Leo. Cris. What pretty flies in loves sweet web doe lurke, I must be Married, then unto my worke. Exit Cris. ACTVS TERTIVS. Enter Sir Hugh. Hugh. My three moneths banishment I have observ'd, And now the dated limit gives me leave to re-aproach my Interdicted Saint; once more sweet love I doe invoke thy Power, to blesse my poore unspotted Sacrifice, the offering Of a loving loyall heart: This is the customary retirement Where daily she frequents, this speakes her name, and speakes Her vertues in a bubling murmur, which many ages after her Ascent up to that glorious Asterisine above, shall keepe And tell to long Posterities, within this liquid Oracle shall be Read, heaven wrought a miracle for Winifred, heere Ile Li dow Awaite, and while my tongue takes rest, solace my thought. Enter Winifred, with a book and a servant. Win. Returne and give notice to Amphiabell, that I am walk't Abroad, as he intreated. Ser. I will Madam. Win, His company is sweet fellowship; wanton folly, thou hast No harbour in Amphiabell, but high and holy meditations, Rare vertues in a Prince, the example's good, and I will follow It; yea if thou goest into the Militant Field of Martyrdome. Ha, who's that? this is not the company that my desires doe with▪ Hugh. Nay stay sweet Virgin, rather let me leave the place, Whose presence offends the place; yet, if you vouchsafe, Offend I may by your construction, but not by willing heart. Win. I feare your method sir, would I might erre in false Supposition, speake and Ile tell you. Hugh. My three moneths exile is expired. Win. And you have well observ'd it? Hugh. Then give me leave to re-atempt my suite, which I have Kept a painefull sojourner in my unquiet bosome. Win. 'Twas your owne tyranny to adde to my injunction, I crav'd But one moneth, and you would proffer three. Hugh. 'Twas folly in my duty. Win. Which still you doe persit in, for since you left me I am contract and wedded. Hugh. Am I out rivald? Win. War not with heaven sir, to that is ty'd my Nuptiall Gordion, within you house ofstarres the Bride-groome sits, And there the Spousall chamber is prepard, you are the Golden Himoneall flames, whose spherick Musicke, Chast Hallelujahs sing, to celebration of my Virgin rights: Oh labour not then to divorce me thence, since all the fruit Will be but vaine expence: my love is fixt, and we have But one love; you seeke for that below that's gone above. Hugh. You are too obstinate. Win. O chide your selfe sir, 'tis your owne sin, you are too obstinate To persevere against a decree of Fate: be this the finall answer to Your suite; if ever mortall man have attribute of Winifreds Husband, 'T shall be Sir Hugh, if it be debt to any'tis your due. Hugh. A desperate debt, hopelesse of recovery. Win. And as the test to your faire seeming love, whether it Noble Were or counterfeit, by its best vertue here I charge you Sir, To move no further questions at this time, for if you speake I will not answer you; you may in silence stay: Thus doe I turne setting the world a part, Here fixe mine eyes, and with mine eyes my heart. Hugh. Thou gilded poyson, my tongue is silent, but my unquiet Thoughts will still take leave, to thinke of thy perverse Unkind disdaine; Ile thinke thee peevish, and blame all Thy Sects for thy selfe sin, for thou wert all to me; Vanish all State, and Wales bow to the yoke of Tyrants Servitude, noe defensive stroake shall this Arme lift To save me from thy thrale: rest there regard lesse honour, And take a fall before thy pride; hence forth some Humble meane, that will afford but merit to my paine, Shall be my lives trafficke, Ile never mind This, or too fickle, or too cruell kind, But thus conclude, for thee I prove accurst, Extreame in both, thou art both best and worst. Exit Hugh. Enter Amphiabell. Win. Whose there Amphiabell? Am. Yes vertuous Lady. Win. Thou abidest still. Am. To death: Christians tire not till they be out of breath, Life labours here, at death the wage doth come, Which Tyrants pay in Crownes of Martyrdome. Enter Bassianus, Lutio, and Romans. Bass. We forage unresisted: soft who are these? Lut. Ceaze first, and then examine. Am. Two, that will neither fly, nor resist your force. Bass. Then you will surely dye Amphiabell. Am. Yes. Bass. And the holy Virgin. Win. So, unhappy Tyrant. Bass. The Triumphs of our Wars; here persuite shall stay, In your surprise we have atchiev'd the day. Win. Ring out your triumphs loude, 'tis a large boast, You have gain'd much, and we have nothing lost. Bass. Thou art a traytor Capitall to Rome, from whence thy Knightly honors were deriv'd, 'twas thy seditious Heresie that wrought the wracke of honor'd Albon, even This Lady hast thous seduc'd, a mercifull sommons now cals His last to thee, turne unto Rome, and worship give unto Our Golden gods. Am. No, I will not; when I crave mercy, give it. Win. Thou debuty tyrant, this place is hallowed; doe not awake the thunder, if it strike, the boult will fall downe Perpendicular, and strike thee under mercy. Bass. Ha, ha, ha; what pretty dreames these Christians Apprehend: They say your well is very Soveraigne to cure the Itch, I have got a scab, to day Ile try the vertue of your Virgin water, 'tis good for sore eyes too, ist not? mine Are some thing Rhumaticke. Win. Doe, play with Lightning till it blasts thee. Lut. Oh! here's hell, witchcraft, my eyes are lost, this sorcerous Poole hath tane away my sight: witch He find thee out, And breake thy Magicke, by drawing of thy blood. Bass. Has wounded me. Win. Lay hold upon him, hee'le doe more mischeife else. Lut. Guide me to the divill. Win. Thou art going right blind-fold, hold fast his hands, I will be Charitable unto my persecutors: now see the change, Vertue, abus'd turnes unto damage more, By helpe of heaven thus I thine eyes restore. Lut. Ha, is't day agen? Win. Wilt thou understand from whence thy succour comes? Lut. From Apollo, and Iupiter, the gods of Rome, Who would not see a witch abuse their creature, away with Her to th' fire till she be burnt and dead, mine eyes Will stand in feare within my head. Bass. Let them be garded unto Verolome, where first they shall Behold the dreadfull sufferings of revolted Albon, As you looke on, and see his tortures please, follow destruction. Win. Come constant friend, now comes the wished day, The path to blisse is through a thorny way. Exeunt. Enter with a Trumpet, Rutullus, Shoo-maker, and his Wife. Shoo. One out of my house my Lord? I am the Princes Shoo-maker, Will not that excuse me? Rut. My Commission's strict, let me see your house-hold. Shoo. I know not which to part with beleeve me sir, But you shall see them all, Ralph, Barnaby, Crispinus, Crispianus, appeare my boyes? Enter Ralph and Crispianus. Shoo. Looke, here's most of my store. Rut.

The worst of these will serve; but here's not all.

 Shoo.

Barnaby, where's Barnaby?

 Wife.

That knave will still be backward: why Barnaby.

 Enter Barnaby, with a Kercher on. Bar.

Oh, oh, oh.

 Shoo.

Why how now Barnaby, what falne sicke o'th' sudden Ba? Oh Master, I have such a singing in my head, my toes are Crampt too.

 Shoo.

What from head to foot already, where lyes thy paine? Here, here about my heart Mr. I have an Issue here too,

 Bar.

Oh Master, if you did but feele what a breath comes out, You would stop your nose in't.

 Wife.

Come, come, you are a lazy knave, you must be prt for a Sould

 Bar.

Oh dame, Ile confesse and be hang'd rather then Ile bee prest.

 Cris.

The Drums and Trumpets will revive thee man.

 Bar.

Alas, if I heare any noise I'me a dead man.

 Shoo.

Ralph, what sayst thou, wilt thou serve the King?

 Ral.

I cannot serve a better Mr. if the King does entertaine me, Ile doe him the best service that I can.

 Cris. I beseech you sir let me excuse the rest: I have a mind To meet a foe i'th field, meethinks I could performe Some worthy act, that at my backe returne, You should be proud to say my Servant did it. Shoo. Yee, saist thou so boy? I like thy forwardnesse, But I'de be loath to leese thee yet. Wife,

Alas man the boyes yong, his tender limbes are scarce Well joynted yet, let Ralph, or Barnaby, undertake that taske, 'Tis sitter for either.

 Bar.

Oh a little aqua-composita: good dame, I have a quaking Ague come upon me.

 Wife. A feaver lurden have you not? you lazy knave you, Wilt thou let a boy out dare thee? Cris.

Good dame perswade him not against his heart, such brave designes As Souldiers undergoe, should not be forc'd, but free and voluntary. A Coward in a Campe more spoyles an Army by faint example of his frozen blood, than a full Squadron of the daring'st foes Surprizing t advantage.

 Rut. A forward spirit, Such a faire promise cannot want performance: Thou shalt be my choise; accept thy presse-money, and for the hopes That I expect from thee, thy Ranke shall not be common. Wife.

Alack, alack, the Boy is forward, but farre unable; Sir pray spare him and take either of these.

 Bar.

Oh, I have a stitch in my Elbow here; a little Parmacadis.

 Wife.

A false stitch I warrant thee, the Warres will pick it out.

 Shoo. Peace Sisl; Boy, since thou art so forward, I will not stay The freedome of thy spirit; so I might hinder thee from better hopes Than my poore substance could endow thee with: goe, And good fortune keepe thee company; if thou return'st, thou shalt Be welcome still. I must be willing though against my will, To leave thee Boy. Wife.

And welcome shalt thou be to thy Dame boy; if there come but a leg on thee back, the worst member thou hast, shall be welcome to me; lame or blind, if thou comm'st back, thou shalt want no Hospi∣tall-pention as long as I live.

 Shoo.

Gramercy for that Sis; Ile fell all the shooes in my Shop Before my lame Souldier shall be kept in an Hospitall.

 Crispia. Your loves are Parent-like, not as to a servant, but a child: The Heavens in safety keepe you; my prayers in duty shall be Here at home, when my bodie's distant. I beseech you Sir, Commend me to my Brother Raph, Barnaby farewell. Bar.

Farewell good Crispian. I shall never see thee more.

 Crispia.

Tush, feare not; nay, if e're I doe returne, Ile bring home Stories that we'le turne to Meeter, & sing away our work with 'em.

 Bar.

Farewell Crispianus.

 Crispia.

Master and Dame, once more I bid farewell, 'Tis brave to dye where Trumpets ring the Knell.

 Rut.

Come Crispianus.

 Wife.

Well, goe thy wayes, and take the kindest youth with thee, that e're set foot in the stirrup.

 Shoo.

How now Barnaby, art any thing better yet?

 Bar.

I am somewhat better than I was Master; I doe begin to feele my selfe better and better.

 Wife.

Oh you are a cunning counterfeit knave sirrah.

 Bar.

O Mistresse, there is alwayes policy in Warres as well as blowes: if it be good sleeping in a whole skinne, it must needs be bad sleeping in a broken one; and he that cannot sleepe well, it is a signe he cannot drinke well; and he that does not drinke well, never digests his meate well; and he that digests not his meate well, 'tis a signe he h'as not a good stomack; and hee that h'as not a good sto∣macke, is not fit for the Warres. I did thinke it better to stay at home truely Master.

 Shoo.

The end is, thou hadst rather worke than fight Boy: I had rather thou shou'dst too: but I wonder I heare not of Crispinus yet.

 Wife.

Truely man I am affraid hee's prest at Canterbury.

 Enter Crispinus. Crisp. All the way 'twixt this and Canterbury will not afford me An excuse sufficient for tarrying so long out of my Masters house: The truth I dare not tell, 'twere better lye than confesse my Lying with the Emperors Daughter, though the case be honest, Being my Wife: Well, somewhat it must be, I know not what yet; If I endure a rough chiding for my paines, it is but sawce to sweete Meates. Shoo.

Looke, looke Wife, hee's come: why how now Crispinus, How comes it you have stayd so long?

 Wife.

O you are a fine loytering youth, what, lye out of your Ma∣sters house!

 Crisp.

Your pardon once good Dame, I was in no bad company.

 Wife.

Who knows that sir? you frighted both your Master & me We thought you had beene prest for a Souldier, as your Brother is.

 Crisp.

So now my Dame h'as helpt me to an excuse: Why truely Dame that was my feare; I was saine to shroud my self in the Court all night for feare of the presse.

 Shoo.

Nay then 'twas wel done Boy, I wou'd not have lost thee too.

 Wife.

I, I, the flower's pluckt, but the weed remaines; thy brother that's gone, would not have serv'd me so.

 Shoo.

Peace good Eve, no more words, the excuse is honest.

 Wife.

I, I, you'le marre 'em all: but he had better beene a sleep.

 Bar. Well Cozen Hugh, I will doe my best to instruct thee: But you must take heed there be no Turky-cocks in your worke. Hugh.

When I understand the English Sir, Ile observe you.

 Bar.

Your Turky-cock is as much as to say, Coble, coble, coble; You must take heed of cobling.

 Shoo. Come on good fellow, Ile teech thee a good Trade: A Gentleman, if he want better meanes, may live well by it; And this Ile promise thee after some tearme of yeeres to make thee free: Or if thou dye, and that's a Christians best Ile see thy bones laid quietly to rest. Exeunt. Enter Dioclesian, the Eagle borne before him at one doore, at the o∣ther, Huldrick and Rodrick, Kings of the Goths and Vandalls, with their Army. Diocle. Advance the Roman Eagle, and command Our armed Legions to troope close, and stand. Rod.

The Romans are in fight, Drummes beate a parley.

 Diocle. Death blurre their parley, wee'le not answer The thunder of their Drummes: our Eagle shall not nesell by base Ravens, but to peck out their eyes; our Swords shall answer The Thunder of their Drummes, the Roman Caesar holds scorne To parley with such servile Nations, as you the barbarous Vandalls And Goths, poore frozen Snakes, that from the Northerne cold Creepe to the warmth of the Sunnes Westerne fires, Troubling our fertile Lands, and like starv'd sheepe, You spoyle the Countries with a line you keepe in Regions beggerly. Hul.

Dioclesian, heare me.

 Diocle.

What croakes the Raven?

 Hul. Proud Roman this: if here thou longer stay, Hee'le peck thine Eagles eyes out, make thee a prey To his sterne Gripe, whose dismall beake now sings the sudden ruine Diocle.

Of two barbarous Kings.

 Rod. Insulting Tyrant, stop thy scandalous breath, Thy blood shall finde us Kings and Souldiers both: We are a swelling Sea, and our owne Barkes, Not large enough to bound us, are broke forth Like a resistlesse Torrent to o'rewhelme and drowne In blood all Nations that withstand us. Thou seest already Germany is ours; so shall faire France be, At least those parts that lye upon the Rhine, and fertile Burgundy Which if thou grant before the Battailes joyne, We will retire, and leage with thee and Rome. Diocle.

Ha, ha, ha; must Lyons be inforc'd to league with Wolves.

 Hul. If thou deny it, By the glorious Sunne, and all the Deities our men adore, Wee'le forage up to Rome and Italy, and fit In tryumph in your Capitol: the Vandals and the Goaths shall carve Their fames as deepe as now the Romans doe their Names: Raise up as many Trophies, and as high, In brazen pillars of their victory. Diocle. Poore Flies, behold the Eagle, and give o're; Strive not to cope with strength beyond your power, For us she spreads her wings as farre and bright, As in a Day the Sunne rides with his light, And that's the universall Globe of Earth: Europes proud throat we tread on: Affrick and Afia our Eagles talents gripe, The Lords of Rome fadome both Land and Deepe. Rod. New Lords new Lawes renew, As you of others, wee'le be Lords of you. Diocle. Wee'le heare no more; call up the Brittaine Souldiers Our Brother Maximinus sent unto our aide, let 'em begin the battell, Fight like Romans: Remember this, your enemies are base; Let your Swords worke like Sithes confound these swarmes, And sweepe these Locusts hence with conquering Armes. Exent. Alarum. Enter Roderick and Huldrick with Souldiers at one doore, at the other, Crispianus and Brittaines, fight and drive off the Van∣dals. Enter Roderick and Huldrick. Rod.

These Romans fight like devils.

 Hul. Spirits infernall could not charge so hotly; Disgrac't i'th' onset: Counsell Roderick, what's to be done? Our men slye, not able to endure 'em. Rod. Knit all our Nerves in one; Renowned Huldricke hye to thy Troopes, And with thy valint Goth assaile the Romans In their hinmost Flankes, and breake into their maine Battalia; Whilst here I stay, and hold the Brittaines play. Hul. I like it well; divided Armes thrive best, This day weele climbe the losty Eagles nest. Exit. Enter Dioclesian. Dioc.

Turne thee base Vandal.

 Rod.

Roman 'tis thee I seeke.

 Dioc. And thou hast found mee; He teach thee speake the Roman Language. Rod. And thou shalt learne from me the Art of Warre, And Discipline of Armes the Vandals teach. Dioc. A Fencer tis agreed. The Schoole tricke thou shalt learne at first blow. Alarnm. Rodericke hath Dioclesian downe: Crispianus fights with Rodericke and rescues him; and beates off Rodericke. Dioc.

What art thou that hast saved me?

 Cris.

A Souldier: What art thou so faved?

 Dioc.

An Emperour.

 Cris. Thou art saved then by a Warlike Brittaine souldier: And had as many lives as drops of blood, de spend them all to doe great Caesar good. Dioc. I thanke thee: follow thy fortunes, and goe on; The gods of Rome fit on thy weapon still: The battaile ended, see me in my Tent. Cris.

I will. Exit.

 Dioc. Immortall gods! How crept a Kingly spirit into a breast so low! How now, how goes the day? Enter a Roman. Rom. Bloody and dismell; Huldrick K. of Goths entred our Ranks, And like a Whirlewinde, sweepes, and beates downe our maine, Battalia, ferzing by force the Roman Eagle. Dioc.

How Traitor?

 Rom. Beleeve it fir 'tis lost, and now in triumphe O're his Plume she claps her wings on high, With ecchoing shout of present victory. Dioc.

The Roman gods forbid: Let a Trumpet call up the Britains to recover it. Exit.

 Enter Huldricke King of Gothes. Hul.

Yeeld thee proud Roman, the sable Ravens plume ath strooke thy Eagle blinde, and blasted Rome.

 Dioc. Hand of thou barbarous slave; I still can boast my state's Imperiall. Hul. Tut, that Title's lost, thou art now Within my power: flye to King Rodericke, And glad his eares with newes of what you see, And with our Drummes proclaime the victory. Enter Crispianus with Eagle and Souldiers. Cris.

Base Goth looke up, and see here hovers Eagle Winged victory, recoverd from thy troopes.

 Hul. S'death lost agen. Dioc. Fight Warlike Brittaines, free your Emperour. Cris. We shall, or dye: This holds the Goths death; this thy liberty. Alarum: Crispianus fights with his sword in one hand, and the Eagle in the other: he kills Huldricke, and frees Dioclesian. Dioc. Twice is my life indebted to thy valour: Admired Souldier, if I winne the day, Never had Brittaine Souldier such a pay As thou shalt have. Cris. Talke not of debts, or pay, let's hence and fight; As long as I have breath Ile hold your right. Souldiers troope close, our taske is not yet done; Ile keepe your Eagle till the battaile's wonne. Dioc. Keepe it with fame. Crisp. Even to my latest breath. Exit. Dioc. The glory's thine, thou hast sav'd me twice from death. Alarum: a shout within: Enter Rodericke and Vandals. Rod. This Brittaines are all Divells, And amongst them there's one master Divell, That beares the face of a base Common souldier; Yet on his hornes he tosseth up our Vandals. Now, what Newes? Enter a Captaine. Cap. Rodericke flye, and save thy life; Huldrick the King of Goths is slaine. Rod. I out goe him in life, he me in fame: In spight weele after him with glorious wings, A bloody field is a brave Tombe for Kings. Cap. Hazard not all at one cast, since you see The Dice runnes high against yee; but give way, Set not the board when you see fortune play: Winning the maine no safety 'tis to fight. Rod. How then? Cap. Over the Rhine my Lord make speedy flight; The wheele of Chance may turne, and the dice runne For us to get, what now our foes have wonne. A shout within: Enter Crispianus and the rest, driving off the Vandals: he takes Rodericke prisoner; a retreat sounded: Enter Dioclesian with victory. Crisp. Now to the Royall hand of Caesar I resigne The high Imperiall Ensigne of great Rome; And with it, this wilde usked Boare, the stubborne Vandall, Snar'd in the toyles, and conquerd by this sword; I could have serv'd his head up at your board: But since for glory, more than blood we strive, I'de rather have a Lyon ane alive. Dioc. Noble thou art, as valiant, And this day thy onely sword the greater halfe Hath wonne, and we must pay thy merits. Whats thy name? Crisp Crispianus sir. Dioc. Of what birth or fortunes. Crisp. You may reade them here, writ on my bosome sir: A common Souldier, yet were my Parents Good and generous, they dead, and I downe sinking in my state, As others doe, I swore to crosse the Fate that crossed me: and when all hopes else did fade, I got my living by an honest trade: A Shooe-maker my Lord, where merrily, With frolicke mates, I spent my dayes, till when, Being prest to warres amongst my Countrey-men, Hither I came, and here my prize is playd, For Brittaines honour, and my Masters trade: This Vandall is my Prisoner: frowne not sir, Great lookes can nere put downe a Shooe-maker. Rod. Your fortune rises sir, and I must bow: I was nere i'th Shooemakers stockes till now. Dioc. Renowned Crispianus, royall thankes shall to our brother Maximinus flye, for sending such a Souldier. Kneele downe, and rise a Brittaine Knight; Hence forth beare Armes and Shield; Thou hast won thy honour truely in the field. Besides our gift, the ransome of this King I freely give; and that thy same may sing a lofty note, Backe to thy Countrey lead these Brittaine Souldiers, Over whom I make thee head; and to the Emperour Maximinus thou shalt beare such Letters from our selfe, As he shall reare and swell thine honours, And when we in France have laid These Whirle-windes that now shake the State, Weele crosse the seas to Brittaine after thee. Crisp. The gods with Garlands crowne thy victory. Rod. What ransome you set downe Ile truely pay, And drow my forces backe to Germany, There to confine our selves; the Vandals knee Now humbly bowes to th' Roman Emperie. Dioc. And that obedience Roderick weele imbrace. Lead Crispianus to receive the Ransome: Vandall and Goths; nay, Rome her selfe shall sweare, She never met so brave a Shooe-maker. A Flourish. Exeunt. ACTUS QUARTUS. Enter Crispinus and Leodice with childe. Cris. Be comforted my deare Leodice. Leod. How can I want sweete comfort, having thee? alack, that Pleasure stolne, being backe returnd, should taste so sower: It seemes a shallow Ford, when first 'tis tride; But when the depth we found, It is a gulfe of raging whirle-pooles found. Cris. I know it Princely Love, and feare the event; Love in the paths of danger ever went: The morning flames of our desires burne bright, And shall doe still in scorne of fortunes spight, If you but feede the fire. Leod. O me! 'tis this I feare, The burthen in my wombe our deaths doe beare. Cris. Why shouldst thou feare the knot our hearts hath tide? Had heavens strength to it; and heaven will sure provide For thos whose names and faiths are written there. Leod. What vaile can now be drawne to hide our cares, Or keepe this secret from our Fathers eares. Of our stolne marriage? Cris. Stay, lets devise. Leod. It must be a thicke cloud darkens the Sunne: This day my Father sits to cast deaths doome Upon the Christians: and that doome I know The fruit this Land brings next, must be my woe. Cris. I prethee peace, the clocke of misery goes alwaies Too true: yet let me f it now. Leod. Dearest I will. Cris. Doe this then; if the Emperour call for thee, Besicke and keepe thy chamber, Untill I get some place for thy delivery. Leod. Sweare to me one thing first. Cris. What ever thou desirest. Leod. Then as thou art Princely bred, I charge thee sweare, That as above the world I hold thee deare, Thou wilt not leave me, whatsoever Thunder My Father throwes at thee: Kings frownes can be but death: From thee Ile never part unto my latest breath. Cris. By all the truths that man ere swore by, No force of strength shall part us. Leod. Peace, no more, Ile aske thee pardon for this base Mistrust: kisse thy gentle cheeke, loving and mild: I know thou canst not leave thy wife and child. O me, I shall forget my present safety: Deare heart stand by. Nurse, Who's within there? Nurse. Enter Nurse. Nurs. Anon sweet mouse. Leod. Sweet honey Nurse, If the Emperour my father askes for me, Say I am not well, and keepe my chamber. You Shooe-maker a word, Nurs.

Yet more worke for your Shooe-maker, well, well, You play the wagge, and I the lye must tell.

I feare me there's a shooe wrings her i'th instep, of my yong Shooe-makers making: such fellowes as hee cannot chuse but bee slippery companions; for first they know the length of a Ladies foote, and then they have such trickes to smooth her shooe, and tickle her sole; as I protest, if I were a Shooe-maker my selfe, it would make my teeth water: what a sweete thing it is, to have a round sweete, plumpe, de∣licate Calve of a Ladies legge lye roling on his thigh, whilst he lies smoothing her fine silke stocking, slippes his hand to her garters, and sometimes higher birlady; I have been serv'd so my selfe: there's ma∣ny a Gallant, I can tell you, would give all the shooes in's shoppe to have a shooe-makers office in a morning: Well, well, I say nothing, but I suspect something: Pitty of me, shee's as broad behinde as I am, and round enough before: I doubt me he has made her a paire of short-heel'd shooes with a turne-over: Come sweet Mouse, have you given instructions to your Shooe-maker? Why what a fellow art thou, canst not finde a Last to fit her yet?

 Leod. Yes Nurse, he has fitted me now. Nurse. That's well: You must be carefull sirrah, you must take true measure, And fit her to ahaire, I charge you. Cris. I warrant you Mistris. Nurse.

Mistris! gods me; I am a Madam sir knave, though I am a Nurse, I can tell you: Goe too, learne your duty, and you shall worke to me too: when you have done with my Lady, you shall take up my legge too: Come sweet honey. Exit.

 Leod. Ade my comfort. Cris. Even so my heart goes from me: O what waves swim Lovers in of feares, of hopes, of cares, Of discontents, terrours, and dispaires. A thousand feares doe now my poore heart shake, What medcine's best? Counsell, and that Ile take. Enter Barnaby, Raph, and Hugh. Bar. Come, come, an you be men, make haste: You 'tis a hanging matter; the Emperour and all the Prisoners Are gone by already. Rph.

Stay, stay, here's our fellow Crispin, let's take him with us. Wilt thou goe along Crispin?

 Cris. Whither should I goe? prethee tell me, What make you all at Canterbury? Bar. Not to buy the Cat a Bell Crispin, but to make loyter-pins. For this day Boy, we have made holy at Feversham, Shut up shop, throwne by our shooe-thred, and wash't our faces: And now my Master and Dame, and all of us are come To see the Emperour, and the Christians that must dye to day. They say there's a fine young Queene amongst them: Prethee goe along with us. Cris. In sadnesse I cannot. Bar. In madnesse now I care not: For our shooes are made of running lether, And therefore wee'le gallop no man knows whether. Farewell Crispine: shalt see my Dame come chasting this away anon, 'Cause we ran away from her: Come fellow Hugh, Thou art so sad now, I prethee be merry. Exit Barnaby and Raph. Hugh. Ile follow straight, although to meete my ruine; The Princesse Winifred is doom'd to die, And I in death will beare her company. Exit. Cris. Misery of times when Kings doe kill, Not arm'd by Law to doe it, but by will. From these deepe woes that my poore Countrey beares Heaven save the Queene my Mother, Fates are just, And till the thred be spun, none turne to dust. Enter the Shoomakers Wife sweating. Wife. Fie, fie, fie; Heaven for thy pittie how am I us'd to day! Here be youths indeed to runne away, and leave me in this order. Doe I keepe one, two, three, foure, and five journey-men, Besides Prentises, uprising and downe-lying, And doe they all bob me of this fashion? How now, art thou there Crispine? that's well: Did you see your fellows? Cris. Yes my good Dame; they are all before you. Wife. Then Ile have you before me too, but not so farre as they are: Fie, fie, see how I sweat with following them: Come sir, though they gave me the slip, you'le not serve me so I hope. Goe before, and man me. Cris. O my good Dame! Wife. How now Crispine, what's the matter Boy? Why are so many Chancery Bills drawne in your face? Now, where sits the winde that you blow so? What ayl'st thou? Cris. I have ever found you a kind loving Dame, nay, a good Mother Both to my selfe, and my poore Brother Crispianus. Wife. Blesse him good Heaven, upon what ground soe're he tread: He was an honest fellow, and a good servant, And so he shall finde, if e're he come From the warres agen. Cris. Oh my god dame, I to your eares must now unlocke A secret, which, if ere you blab abroad — Wif. Never by my Holy dame; Yet I have much adoe to keepe my ownesecrets, But Ile keepe thine Ile warrant thee. Crisp. Nay looke dame, my life and death lies on it. Wif. Let what will lie on't, shall nere be talkt of by me. Crisp. Ile thanke yee then; This it is, but you will say nothing? Wif. Dost thinke I am a woman or a beast? Cris. Nor be angry with me? Wif. Here's a doe indeede, Thou hast not got a wench with child hast? Cris. You have found my griefe, Good dame, indeed I have. Wif. Out upon thee Villaine. Cris. Nay good Dame. Wif. Hence you Whore-master knave, Gods my passion, got a wench with childe, Thou naughty packe thou hast undone thy selfe for ever: Precious coales, you are a fine youth indeed, Can you cut out no shooes but of Ducks leather, With a wanion? has your Master so little doings, Your tooles must be working abroad in a forrainers shop? Cris. Sweete Dame, you swore You would say nothing. Wif. Nothing, hang thee villaine, Ile cry it at the Market Crosse: I'faith, is your Aul so free for smocke-leather? Crisp. Good Dame. Wif. By these tenne fingers Ile double thy yeares for't: Oh that I knew the Queane, I'de slit her nose, And teare her eyes out of her head y'faith. Enter Shooe-maker. Shoo. How now, what's the matter that it thunders so? Wif.

Oh, you are as good a Master too o'th to the side: you looke to your Prentises well; one of your men has beene at greene-goose faire; but he shall pay for the sauce Ile warrant him.

 Shoo. What Faire? what Sauce, goody gander-goose? Wif.

Nay, 'tis no matter, as he likes this, let him dance the sha∣king of the sheetes another time.

 Shoo. What sheetes dame Guiniver? what dance I pray yee? Wif. Marry uptailes all: doe you smell me now? Shoo. I smell an Asse head of your owne: what's all this troe? Cris. Pardon me Sir. Unlesse you stand my friend, Alas I am but dead. Wif.

Dead, hang yee Rascall, hang yee; you were quicke enough when you laid your Whore on her backe, to take measure of her new shooes: Would you thinke it Husband, this young knave has got a wench with child.

 Shoo.

Hoyda, and is this the shaking of the shoetes you talke of, goodwife Snipper Snapper: s'foote I like him the better fort: he is of your husbands trade, you old whore, and he has mettall in him: dost scould for that, hold your tongue with a poxe.

 Wif. I, I, one Whore-master will take part with another still. Shoo. Peace Walflit, leave gaping.

A wench with child? s'fut in my my capring dayes I have done as much my selfe Sis.

 Wif. I, beshrow your heart for your labour. Shoo. Peace Sisley, I shall sow up your lips else; Let me talke with my Prentise: Hast got a maid with child saist? Wife. A maid, marry hang her whore. Shoo.

Yet agen, keepe your Clacke, Ile slit your tongue else. Speake my young Cock-Sparrow, what merry wagtaile hast thou beene blling with?

 Cris. O Sir, if any but my dame and you should know it, I were lost for ever. Sho.

Mum, mum for my part Boy; and you Margery Magpye, Keepe your tongue from chattering, or by the mary maskins Ile tickle your gaskins: Come, say, what Didapper was't?

 Cris. The Emperours Daughter Sir. Shoo. Who, the Princesse? Wife. Out upon thee Traytor. Shoo.

Sfoot will Bow-bell never leave ringing? will the perpetu∣all motion of your old chaps never leave sounding? I shall beate your clapper out anon for't: Ah sirrah, goe too boy, no Court-mustard serve your turne but the Emperours Daughter? This is fine yfaith.

 Wife. Hee'le smoake for't I warrant him. Shoo.

Why Wiperginie, prating still I say? th'ast drawne on her shooe handsomely by the Masse: Prethee tell me, how couldst thou being but a poore Shooemaker, climbe up to a Court-bed-sted?

 Wife. Hee'le climbe to the Gallows for't. Shoo. Why Knipperdolin, is the Devill in thee? Cris. I have climb'd farther Sir; shee's now my Wife, And I have married her. Wife. Hoyda. Shoo. Hush madge Howlet, leave hollowing. Cris. That very day my Brother was prest forth— Wife. You prest her at night, did you? Shoo. Gunting still you Sow-guelder? Wife.

Thou art a Coxcombe and a Claperdudgion: ost thou see now, I was never so call'd in my life as thou call'st me. Thou maist be asham'd on't: this 'tis to let thy Prentises have their swing, and lye out at nights thus.

 Shoo. Sweet Pigsnie, let me intreat thy patience: Alas poore youth, we must needs helpe him. Wy I commend him that he shoots at the fairest marke: What an excellent show an Emperours Daughter will make in a Shooemakers shop! Wife. Shee'le spin a faire thred I warrant you: How will he maintaine her troe yee? Cris. Shee knew my fortunes e're she married me, And now your selves shall know them: I and my Brother that thus have served you like Prentises, Are Princes both, and Sonnes to Alured, late King of Brittaine. Sho. How! my right Worshipfull Prentise! Stands bare Wife. Ha, is he a Kings sonne Husband? Shoo. Make courtsie to your man you whore. Cris. The Emperour Maximinus slew my Father, And put the Queene my Mother into Prison: What meane you gentle Master, pray be covered. Shoo. No by my faith Sir, You are a better man than the Master of my Company. Cris. And seeing all my hopes lye dead save in her selfe, I lov'd, reveal'd my selfe, and married her; Yet I intreate you both—Nay gentle Master, I am your Prentice still, pray stand not bare. Shoo.

Well, well, for this once I will boy; now you old Gigum∣bob, you ne're had two such men to man you.

 Wife.

Nay truely Husband, I ever thought they were some wor∣shipfull mans sonnes, they were such mannerly boyes still.

 Cris. All I intreate of you, is some advice To get my faire Leodice from Court, and then some secret place Where she might be in safety till her sweet delivery, And then Ile dare misfortune. Wife.

Blessing of thy heart, I like thee well th'ast such a care of thy Wife: therefore if thou couldst but steale her from the Court, and bring her hither, she should lye in, and be brought to bed at my house▪ and no body know it I warrant you.

 Shoo. I marry Tib-tattle basket, how should we doe that wench? Cris. That's all my care indeed, to steale her thence. Wife.

Come, come, leave it to me Boy, I see, a womans wit must helpe at a pinch still Boy: Marke this device, and if you like it, doe it, and thus it is: Soone at night thou shalt hire some friend to fire Tree upon the Coast at Dover, as neare the Beacons as can be possible, by which meanes the men that watch the other Beacons, seeing that in flames, and supposing some Enemy landed, will presently fire all the rest, and so on a sudden set both Court, City, and Countrey, an all in an uproare, in which time if you and shee cannot bestirre your stumps, and run both away, would you were whipt yfaith.

 Shoo. An excellent pate to trouble the whole Commonalty; The plot is good yfaith Boy. Cris. I like it well, and will acquaint the Princesse with it. Enter Barnaby and Raph crying. Bar. Raph. O Master and Dame, Dame and Master; O lamental le day! now or never. Sho. How now Knaves, tole one Bell at once, and leave jangling. Bar.

O pittifull Master, intolerable Dame, I am the fore-bell, and 'as ung all in many a time and often with you Dame: but now I must ing out mine owne eyes in teares, in dolour, and most dole∣full kells: My fellow Hugh is taken, And condemn'd like a Christian.

 Wife. O horrible! Shoo. Peace Bag-pipe: my man Hugh condemn'd, How comes that? Bar.

O Master, your man Hugh is not the man you took him for; not plaine Hugh, but Sir Hugh, a Knight of fame.

 Shoo. How? a Knight of the Worshipfull Company of the Cord∣wainers? Bar. Nay, by St. Davie, hee's more, hee's a Welch Prince, And sonne to the King of Powes in South Wales, Though he but a Shooemaker here. Shoo. Passion of me, what a brood of Princes have I brought up! And why is my right honourable Servant to be put to death? Bar.

As we were going to see the Christians, he spied his old Love Queene Winifred amongst them, and at the very sight hee look't as greene as a leeke, an so rusht in amongst them; tooke the Lady by the Lilly-white hand, rail'd on the Roman gods, defied the Empe∣rour, and swore he would dye if she did.

 Shoo. Is there no helpe to save him? Raph. None in the World, except he leave to be a Christian. Bar.

'Tis true Sir, all the Sergeants and Officers that came to arest him, pittying his case, perswaded him to be no good Christian, as they were: then there was a Broker said hee would lay his soule to pawne, he could not prosper if he were a Christian; nay, the Iaylor cries out on him, and sayes, if he continue a Christian, hee'le use him like a Dog.

 Shoo. Alacke the day; I'me sorry for my honourable boote hailer: Goe and comfort him; Ile see him anon tell him. Bar. Nay, stay sweete Master, 'Twas never seene that a Shooe-maker and his men Were base Bassilomions, but true bonus socius, Up se freeze, though we cannot get him from prison, Ile sell my coate from my backe, ere a Shoomaker Shall want: Let us shew our selves Cavaleeres Or Coblers: come every man his twelvepence A peece to drinke with him in prison. Shoo. A good motion: boone boyes, fine knaves; I like you well when you hang together: Hold my brave Journey-men, There's a double share for me. Crisp. And mine with all my heart y'faith. Wif. And cause he's a Knight, thou shalt have my shilling too. Bar. I thanke you Dame: Nay, weele never leave a brother of our Company, as long as flesh and bones Will hang together. Shoo. Away boyes, goe you before; Joane jumble breech your Dame and I will follow, Cherish him up, tell him he shall not want; He lives not in the world could ever say, A Shooe-maker from his friend did flinch away. Exeunt. Flourish: Enter Maximinus, Bassianus, Lutius, Officers; Albon and Amphiabel in their shirts, as from Torments. Max. Resolve me yet, you stubborne Christians, Cannot the severall tortures which we doe inflict, Yet melt the Iron of your hardned hearts, To make you bow unto our Roman gods? Speake, will you obey our hest? Amph. None but the hests of heaven. Alb. A thousand deaths have not the bitter stings As are the paines we have felt in torturing; Yet Tyrant wee'le endure tenne thousand more, And laugh in deaths face, e're we our faiths give o're. Max. Renowned Albon, on thy head Ile set A Crowne of gold. Alb. To make me heaven forget: Never. Amph. Never. Max. Let me yet winne thee foolish man: Remember what honours we, and Dioclesian Heapt upon thee: giving thee the stile Brittaines Stewardship, The Prince of Knights, Lord of Varlome. Alb. And in thy Rackes, thy Irons, Gibbets, and thy Wheele, Doe I more honour, and more comfort feele, Than all those painted smoakes by thee bestowed Of me: my Countrey may thus much boast: Albon Stood firme and fixt, in spight of tyrants wrath, Brittaines first Martyr for the Christian faith. Max. But not the last: For to thy scorne Ile adde millions of Christian flames, to death and tortures. Lut. Dispatch these first. Max. I will dragge them hence in Chaines to Hlnurst Hill, three miles rom Verolome, Where Albons Lord, there after blowes, And spightfull buffettings, for honour of his Knight-hood, once held the chiefe, He shall have a Knight to be his Heads-man. Alb. That stroake shall well be given, That makes roome for a soule to flye to heaven. Max. This fiend Amphiabel, From whose damn'd Teate he suckt this poyson, Shall there be bound by a fixed stake, To which nail'd fast, the Navell of his belly Being opened, then with your sword prick him, And force him runne about like a wheele, Till he has spunne his Guts out: and that dispatcht, Saw off his traiterous head. Amph. Caesar in greater triumph nere was led. Max. Away with them; Albon's the first shall dye: Alb. Thou honour'st me amidst thy tyranny: come on dear friend, Amph, Eternity protect us to our end: Fight nobly then. Albon. To my latest breath: I goe to a wedding (friend) and not to death. Max. Goe dragge 'em hence; this day weele Quaffe the blood of Christians: call forth more: So perish all will not our gods adore. Enter Hugh, Winifred, and Shooe-makers. Bar.

Nay fellow Hugh, or noble Sir Hugh, remember 'tis not every mans case to dye a Christian; prethee leave it then, and save thy life; the Roman gods are as good gods as e're troe on a shooe of leather: and therefore sweete Hugh wee may get their custome, and bring 'em to our shoppe, and so we shll be Shooe-makers to the gods.

 Hugh. You trouble me, I pray leave. Bar. Leave thee, not as long as thou liv'st I'faith. Max. What are all these? Bar.

Men that respect a Christian no more than you doe, Sir you neede not feare, there's not a good Christian among us.

 Max. Honest fellowes: Backe, and give the Prisoners roome. Win. Come my constant friend: Noble Sir Hugh at last farewell joyne hand We never shall touch one another more, When these we sever; thou long hast Lov'd me; truer ne're was found, That both in life and death keepes faith so sound: All that my love can give thee for thy paines Ile marry thee, but death must bid the banes: Never to wedding was such honour given, Our weding dinner must be kept in heaven. Hugh. At which Angels shall waite: Saints be our guests, our soules the wedding couple, And the feast joy and eternity; our bridall roome The Hall of heaven, where hand in hand weele come, Martyrs to dance a measure, which beginnes Unto the musick of the Cherubins. Max. Meane time, even here you both shall dance with death; Yet if our Gods you'le serve, prolong your breath. Hugh. 'Tis life we seeke to loose; Tyrant strike home, They are but walls of clay which thou beast downe. Max. Call a Hangman, flea that Villaine straight, and teare that womans Flesh with burning Pincers. Win. We both are ready Sir, Yet heare me Maximinus: by all the Rites Of honour I conjure thee, in Law of woman-hood, Let not my body be a Villaines prey; But since I am a Queene and spotlesse Virgin, Let me chuse my death. Max. Because thou once wert daughter to a King Injoy thy wish, so death may forth with strike, Meete him in any shape thou best shall like. Win. Be sure it shall: Be thou the chiefe mourner at my funerall. My earthly love farewell; thy cheeke Ile kisse, Wee'le meete anon within the land of blisse: Follow my footesteps thou shalt soone be there: Courage good heart, to dye I cannot feare. Ile be the first, and teach thee how to dye, Leading the way to sweete felicity. Come Tyrants lanch my arme, to death Ile bleed, Sweete blood was shed for me, and mine Ile sheede. Max. Dispatch and lanch her arme, but save the blood The which this day to holy Iupiter Ile sacrifice. Win. My dearest friend farewell, In one house shortly wee'le for ever dwell. Hugh. The storme of death now comes, Beare up brave saile. Win. I feele no storme; but oven the merriest gaile That ever life was driven with: Oh how sweet a Dreame me thinkes I now am in; Angels doe runne to meete and welcome Me unto the Land of blisse, Singing I have spunne a golden thred Hugh. That thread of gold weave still. Win. I doe; farewell: make haste to meete— Dies. Hugh. In faith I will, in a whole Campe of Martyrs; blest Fate Shee's gone for ever to an Angels state. Max. Dispatch him; and dragge her body hence. Hugh. 'Tis sister to the Saints; oh give it reverence. Why doe I linger here, my love being gone? Bar. A right Shooe-maker, he loves a woman. Hugh. Mercifull Tyrant set me on deaths wings, That I may beare a part where my love sings Eternall Hymnes of joy; blest love I come, as soone As I can set forth out of this house of earth and clay: When shall this stroake be given, That I may mount and meete my love in heaven? Max. Flea him alive: Yet stay, because you are so love-sicke, wee'le give You a drinke to cure it: Powre into a Cup His sweete-hearts blood, and give it us. Hugh. 'Tis precious Wine, holy, and good. Max. And you shall quaffe your fill: So, put in Poyson, spice it well; There drinke thy last, and sinke with her to hell. Hugh. Oh let me kisse this heavenly cup of all my happinesse: Deare Love to thy blest soules eternall goodnesse, I drinke this health, fild to th' brimme: Two hearts did never so in one streame swimme, As thine and mine shall now; and though thy blood Be poysond, this our loves keepes firme and good. My Countrey men and fellow Shoo-makers, As of my best of friends I take my leave: We many times together have drunke healths, But none like this: yet Ile beginne to you all; But here you shall not pledge me. Bar. Yes, and 'twere Aquavitae we would pledge thee. Hugh. The love which I so found in you, Even in my latest houre, Ile not forget, But to you all beginne my lasting love, Never did faire society of men more please me: you are a trade Of fellowships best mixture, nobly made. Bar. We are Shooe-makers, and so. Hugh. My being amongst you, thus shall you preferre, To say a Prince was once a Shooe-maker. For which you now shall raise your skill aloft, And be cal'd gentlemen of the Gentle craft. Bar. Oh noble Sir, Hugh. Hugh. Could I give Indian Mines, they all were yours; But I have nought to give, nor ought to take, But this my farewell; therefore for my sake, When Death has seiz'd my flesh, Take you my bones, which I bequeath Amongst you to be buried. Bar.

Take no care for thy winding sheete, sweete Hugh, for ne∣ver was gentleman of the Gentle craft so buryed as thou shouldst bee, if thou hadst drunke thy last.

 Hugh. Now trouble me no more: Upon this stage of death I set my foote to all farewell, Angels shall clap their wings to ring my knell, And bid me welcome to the land of rest, Where my immortall love lives ever blest: A health deare soule Ile drinke to thee: so, so, Hw soone he fades, that now so fresh did grow! Flye up my soule to heaven, my sins sinke to the earth; Thus doe I sle my holy Christian faith. Ralph. O noble Sir Hugh, oh lamentable Hearing. Max. Conveigh that other body hence, and give it uriall as befits her state: for this, bestow It on these shooemakers, as he bequeath'd it. Bar. No Shooemakers now Sir, but the gentle Craft Shall see it buried in state and pompe. Max. Vse your owne pleasures; where's Bassianus? How chanc'd our Daughter, bright Leodice, Came not to see these slaughtred Christians? Bas.

Shee keeps her Chamber Sir.

 Max. Is she not well? let her be kept with care, And to the gods of Rome these Trophies reare. Flourish, exit Maxim. Bar.

Well my Masters, I could fide in my heart to raile upon this Emperour Mr. Minus, but that I doubt hee'le make us all die like Christians, and that he shall never doe as long as we live I warrant him.

 Raph.

Wee'le watch him for that yfaith.

 Bar.

So let him passe then, and let us lay our sinodicall heads to∣gether, to know what shall become of Sir Hugh.

 Raph.

Let's all joyne together, and bury him.

 Bar.

How like a Christian thou talk'st: what before hee be cold? then we should use him as many rich heires desire to use their fathers: No, because he was a Prince, and did such honour to our Trade, we'le bury him like a Prince and a Shooemaker.

 All.

Agreed, agreed.

 Bar.

You know he gave us the name of the Gentle Craft, and if we should give him an ill word now, 'twere a shame yfaith.

 Raph.

That's true; how shall we doe then to honour him?

 Bar.

Marry thus fellow-gentlemen, of my fellow Hughs making, to requite his kindnesse, because he dyed a Christian, he shall no mor be call'd Sir Hugh, but St. Hugh, and the Saint for ever of all the Shooemakers in England.

 All. O brave, brave Baraby: St. George for England, And St. Hugh for the Shooemakers. Bar.

An you be Gentlemen, heare me: you know besides, h'as gi∣ven his bones amongst us. Now you must not thinke as if a Butcher had given us a dozen of maribones to be pick't.

 All.

Well, well, how then?

 Bar.

Marry thus; in memory of his gift, all our working-tool, from this time for ever, shall be call'd St. Hughs bones.

 All.

Brave, brave, that shall stand for ever yfaith.

 Raph.

I, but which of our tooles shall we call so?

 Bar.

Marry even all fellow Raph, all the tooles we worke with: as for example, the Drawer, Dresser, Wedges, Heele-block, hand and thumb-lethers, Shooe-thrids, Pincers, pricking-aule, and a rub∣bing-stone, Aule, Steele, and Tacks, shoo-haires, and Stirrups, whet∣stone, and stopping-sticke, Apron, and Paring-knife, all these are Sir Hughs bones. Now sir, whatsoever he be, that is a Gentleman of the Gentle Craft, and has not all these at his fingers ends, to reckon them up in Rime, shall presently up with him, and strapado his bum.

 All.

An everlasting Law renowned Barnaby.

 Bar.

Nay, heare me sing like a Swan, or a Sowter: Furthermore, if any Journey-man shall travell without these tooles, now call'd St. Hughs bones, at his back, and cannot slash, cut, and crack coxcombes, with brave Sword and Buckler, long sword, and quarter-staffe, sound a Trumpet, or play o'th Flute, 'or beare his part in a three mans Song, he shall forfeit a Gallon of wine, and be coun∣ted a Colt as long as his shooes are made of running lether: Speake, is't agreed on?

 All.

Agreed, agreed, agreed.

 Bar.

Wee'le take up the body then.

 Raph.

Ile have a leg of him.

 1.

And I another.

 2.

And I another.

 3.

And Ilo helpe thee Raph.

 Bar.

With reverence and with silence then: For as we have made these Lawes in remembrance of him, so it shall not be a misse to make it the sweeter, to reckon up our tooles, and put them in meeter, and instead of a Deirge, I thinke it fit time and reason to reckon Sir Hughs bones in Rime:

The Drawer first, and then the Dresser, Wedges and Heele-blocks, greater and lesser; Yet tis not worth two Ganders feathers, Vnlesse you have the hand and thumb-lethers: Then comes your short-heeles, Needle, and Thimble, With Pincers and pricking Aule, so neate and nimble: Rubbing-stone next, with Aule, Steele, and Tacks, Which often will hold when the shooe-leather cracks: Then Stirrup, stopping-stick, with good Sow-haires, Whet-stone, and cutting-knife which sharply pares; And lastly, to clap Saint Hughs bones in An Apron that's made of a jolly sheepes skin, And thus to all Shooemakers we bid adieu, With tryumph to bury the famous St. Hugh. Exeunt. ACTVS QVINTVS. A cry within, arme, arme, arme; then enter a sort of Country people at severall doores. All. Arme, arme, arme; what shall we doe neighbours? 1. The Beacons are on fire, and my heart freezes in my belly. 2. They are fir'd round about us, and all the Country in an uproare; My very nose drops with feare. 3. If our Enemies finde us in these cold sweats, We are all sure to goe to th pot for't. 4. Therefore let's goe to th' pot first; For when the Drinke's in, the Wit's out: And when the wit is out, we shall fight like mad men. 1. Content, and as we goe, let's raise the Countrey. All. Arme, arme, arme. Enter Bassianus and Latius. Bas. What Alarum's this? Why cry yee so like mad men? 1. Because we have no weapons in our hands Sir. Lut. Why are the Beacons fir'd? 2. We are all affraid to thinke on't; They say the Enemy is landed Sir. Bas. Stand you here like sheepe, When danger beats so rudely at your doores? 4. There let 'em beate, he shall not be let in for me. The Enemies are landed men, and therefore wee'le goe by water: Come neighbours. Within. Arme, arme, arme. Lut. The cry is still rais'd, let's put the Court in Armes, And certifie the Emperour. Bas. With all the speed that may be, Arme, arme, arme Exeunt Bassian. & Lut. 2. Let us be wise neighbours, And whilst they cry Armes, Exeunt Neighbours, the cry continued. Let us cry leggs, and trust unto our heeles. Enter Crispine and Leodice. Cris. The stratagem takes rarely, come faire Leodice, This tumult in the Court gives meanes to flie. Leod. Thus folded in thine Armes I wish to dye. Cris. Talke not of Death, live, and be blest for ever, No frowne of Fate two faithfull hearts can fever. Exeunt. Within. Arme, arme, arme. Enter Emperour and Lords with weapons drawne. Max. My Horse and Armour villaines: High Jupiter protect us; what neglect is this, The Beacons fir'd, and a whole Land asleepe, When Foes come arm'd in Thunder? Guard the Court, see to our Daughters safety, I feare these sudden tumults have disturb'd her. Enter Shoomakers with staves. All. Arme, arme, arme. Bar. An you be men, shew your selves so. Max. Why d'ee cry thus? say, whither run yee? Bar. Out of our wits I thinke Sir; The Beacons all along the Sea-coast burne most horribly. Max. And what's the cause on't? Bar. Because they are a fire Sir: Ten thousand Kentish men Which woefull taile's to tell, are knockt downe like sheepe Sir: The Enemy is landed at Sandwitch, set a shore at Dover, And arrived at Rumny Marsh: harke, I heare the Drummes already. A low march. Max. I am amaz'd, what Drumme is this? Stand on your guard. Bar. I would your Guard were here for us to stand upon, That we might reach the further: Come, feare nothing Sir; Let your Lords and you stand by, and see How we Shoomakers will thrash 'em. Enter Crispianus with Drumme and Souldiers richly attir'd. Cris. Health to the Emperour from the Roman State. Bas. These are our Brittaine friends, new come from France. Max. Whom at your landing saw you up in Armes, That fright the Countrey thus? Cris. None my good Lord, not any; From France and Dioclesian thus I bring These Brittaine Souldiers back tryumphant home: The black storme there is laid, and sure these feares That bring these home-bred terrours, all are fas: And as I guesse, the firing of the Beacons, Was at the fight of Dioclesians Fleete, That with himselfe now rides in Dover-rode, And is by this on shore: and how in France the die of War hath run His ajsty in these Imperiall Letters certifies. Max. Thankes for thy newes, Wee'le read them straight. Bar.

By St. Hugh bones we were all affraid of our owne shadows, we shall have no cussing now I see. Enter Lutius.

 Max. What newes brings Lutius? Lut. Comfort my Lord, the errour's found; The sudden fire that kindled all this feare, Is now quencht out; the cloud that threatned stormes, Is turn'd to drops of heate: some knavish fellow Hard by the Sea-coast set a Tree on fire, Which seene, men thought that Dover Beacon flam'd, And so fir'd all the rest, and rais'd the Alarum. Max. I am glad it is no worse; run Bassianus, And sing this comfort to our Daughters eares, Bas. I shall my Lord. Exit Bas. Max. These Letters of your noble Victories Are as your selfe most welcome, on whose head Our brother Dioclesian layes the glory of the Conquest o're the Vandals and the Goths: He writes, he gave unto thy manly Thigh The sword of Kight-hood, wishing us to adde more Honours on thee, which at his arivall, His, and our hand shall doe with royall bounty. Cris. I am your lowly Vassall, royall Soveraigne, Bar. Dost heare fellow Ralph, Me thinkes I should know this Captaine; He lookes as like Crispianus as can be? Enter Bassianus. Max. Now Bassianus, speake, how fares our daughter? Bas. Alas my Lord, the Court is all in mourning, The Princesse with this suddaine feare Is fled the Court, not to be found by any. Max. Not to be found, why where's her Nurse? Enter Nurse. Bas. See here she comes. Max. Speake doating Beldam; where's my daughter. Nur. Fie, fie, fie, I have not so much wit left As to tell yee where I am my selfe, O my side, Pray let me breath a little; When this hurly burly beganne i'th' Court, Shee ranne, and I ranne; she haild, and I puld; She cry'd, and I roar'd; but her feare being Stronger than my old bones, away whipt shee Out at the Court-gates, and I fell in a found, Starke dead y'faith; had not a Gentleman Usher Come by and clapt me soundly, I'de beene Past telling Tales by this time. Oh my Backe. Max. Oh dismall chance Search every roome; This dismall clamour May so feare her blood, that death may Seize her haste: if in the Court you misse her; See't proclaim'd, that whosoever brings me Her alive, goes laden with rewards; If nobly borne, we give her him to wife: Make haste, slippe not an houre, While I set on to meete the Emperour. Exit. Bar. I say 'tis he; Ile speake to him what ere come on't. Crispianus? Crisp. My honest fellow Barnaby! Bar. O Rumpes and Kidnyes, did not I tell you so? Ralph. Honest Crispianus, welcome from France. Crisp. I thanke you: how does my Master? Bar. In health, and brave as Holly: So art thou me thinks. Crisp. The fortune of the warres: is my Dame well too? Bar. The old wench still: she keeps the marke in her mouth Crisp. And how does my brother Crispine? Bar. Oh he is the fore-man of the shop since you went Nay, we have newes to tell thee anon when we are Drinking; we have given o're the Shooe-makers Cloakes now, and are become Gentlemen Of the Gentle Craft, and all our working Tooles are cald Saint Hugh's bones. Crisp. That's excellent. Enter Shooe-maker. Shooe. How now my tall trencher men, What make you amongst Courtiers? What my Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum, The Basseius manus, my noble Crispianus: And how does the brave Monsiers in France, My brave Shevaleere? As I am a Gentleman Of the Gentle Craft, thou art welcome. Crisp. I thanke your love and kindnesse Sir. Shooe. Away my strong Beere drinkers; There's a Noble in English, goe drinke a health To Saint Hugh's Bones; I must have Some speech in private, and enter parly With my Man of Warre. Bar. As long as this Drumme will strike, Wee'le fight it out with pike and pot: Wee'le drinke a health to you both Master. Exit. Shoo. Away my fine leather sellers, Shrinke awhile i'th wetting; whilst thus I salute my right worshipfull Cordwainer: For I heare say the Knightly Dub a Dub Has been laid on thy shoulders. Crisp. It pleas'd the Emperour so to honour me. Shoo. He honours me and all my company by it By Saint Hughs Bones thou shalt take the Wall of thy Master now yfaith boy. Crisp. The Wall, not so Sir. Shoo. And the Kennell too by the Spreech-awles Nay Sir, I know more than you thinke I doe: Your Brother has song the three mans song, And told all yfaith: you were Once my Princely Prentise. Crisp. Sir If my brother has disclos'd To you our Births, I doe conjure you, As my dearest friend, for to conceale it. Shoo. Mum, mum boyes, As close as my Currier and I in a Taverne On a munday morning: tut, my Princely Prentse, thy brother knowes that I am leather That will hold all waters when he trusts Me with a secret: Harke in thine eare boy, Has got a Wench with child byth' masse. Crisp. How, a wench with child? Shoo. Yes, and a great one too: No lesse than the Emperours daughter, And shee's as bigge as shee can tumble: Has entred the best Chamber ith' Court, Has tickled her shooesole for a girle or a boy By this time; and harke once more, She lyes in at my house too, but mum; no more words boy. Crisp. Pray heaven you catch no hurt by it, For the Emperour sends forth wondrous search to find her. Shoo. No matter, She shall be welcome home when e're she comes, I hope shee's deliver'd too by this time, For I heard such a Catterwalling, And my wife stirres up and downe that she stinkes: Nay more, the Beacons were fired on purpose To steale her from Court, and onely By the knavery and policy of Gillian Ginger-taile my wife. Crisp. The accident is strange; See, here comes my Dame and Brother. Enter Crispinus, and Shooe-makers wife with a child. Shooe. Gods me shee's delivered: Ha boy, art come? come hither Crispine, Know yee this Shevaleere? Crisp. My dearest Brother. Crispian. I am glad to see you: I heare strange newes brother. Crisp. If from my Master Sir the newes did come, Tis true, and Ile with life maintaine. Shoo. Looke here old Sis, Your other Prentise is come. Crispian. My gentle Dame. Wife. Sweete Crispianus, welcome home from the warres; Nay sir, your brother has beene in Armes too: Doe you you see what exployts has done? Shoo. Is't a boy wife? Wife. A boy I'me sure, Has a Purse and two pence in't: Nay come Sir, you shall kisse your kinseman: Here's his Fathers owne nose yfaith. Crispian. A Princely babe, The eye of Heaven looke on thee, And maist thou spread like to the Bay Tree, which the whole yeare springs, And through this land plant a whole race of Kings. Crisp. Nor shall he scorne, Till that race be runne, To call himselfe a Prince, Yet a Shooe-makers sonne. Shoo. Of the Brittaines blood, Royall yfaith boyes: Let no man therefore henceforth take it scorne, To say a shooe-makers Sonne was a Prince borne. Crispian. Good Fate succeede it: Brother my Master hath told all your strange proceedings: Have you heard of the Proclamations? Crisp. Yes, and meane ere long To use it for my profit. Crispian. Till when, mufe this Sonne In some darke Cloud, whilst I at Court Waite on the Emperour, that's gone to Meete great Dioclesian; Fortune May turne her Wheele, and wee May stand as erst wee did, And with our owne beames shine. Crisp. Play you your game at Court, the next trick's mine. Shoo. And by Saint Hugh, Though I neither shuffle nor cut, Ile hold Cards too. Wife. And Ile not fit out, though I turne up Noddy. Crispia. Worke wisely then, and part. Shoo. Doe so till time ripen, which being knowne, A Shooe-makers subtile wit shall then be shewne. Exeunt. Trumpets sound: Enter Dioclesian, Maximinus, Bassianus, Latius, with Drumme and Colours. Max. Great Dioclesian, our renowned Brother, In France your happy and tryumphant deeds We here in Brittaine thus congratulate: The Vandall and the Goth we heare, have paid The price at full for daring insolence. Diocl. Even with their bloods they have: Their daring and their downfalls fill one grave, And yet our Conquest had not spred such wings But for those Brittaine forces you sent o're: They from the French Field pluckt the noblest Flower, And of them all, a Souldier too, whose Fame I cannot sing too much, carryed the name Of Honour from us all: his good sword flew like Lightning, And where it went, o'rethrew: the King of Goths Call'd me his prisoner, but then this brave Opponent Fetcht me off in ransome with his blood, and that being done, He like a Lyon on the Vandall runne: Tooke him, and clos'd the battell in his fall, The worke was bloody, rough, and Tragicall; And therefore for my love pray crowne his head That twice sav'd mine: It is a man, whose Fate Vpheld the glory of the Roman State. Max. The man you sent, and praise so Royall Sir, Shall ever live within our Princely favour; One call the Captaine hither. Bas. Here he comes. Enter Crispianus. Max. Brave Souldier, your high spoken merit Breath'd from an Emperours love, claimes due regard From his and our hands: cast therefore but your eye On all the Kingdome, what you can espye to please you, Aske, and take it. Diocl. Which wee'le confirme brave Crispianus, Make thy princely boone worthy thy fame, And such as may beseeme great Maximinus and Dioclesian, The Masters of the triple world, to give, And by our gods thou shalt the same receive. Cris. I humbly thanke my Lords; Ile aske no Gold, nor Lands, nor Ofices; but thus high, To beg a prisoners life and liberty. Max. A prisoner noble Sir, what is he? Crisp. 'Tis a sad Queene, my Mother Royall Sir, Imprison'd by your Grace at Rochester. Max. King Allureds Queene thy Mother? Cris. Yes my good Lord, my Kingly Father slaine, I and my brother did disguis'd remaine, Till I was prest for France. Diocl. This wonder doth amaze me: Is Crispianus then a Kings sonne found? 'Twas voye'd abroad, thou and thy brother dyed in the battell. Cris. Fame speakes not alwayes troth: I ve, But of my brother what's become, as yet I have not heard. Max. Thou here shalt live right deare in our regard; Lutius by this our Signet free the Queene from Prison, And give her knowledge of her Princely sonne: O were our Daughter found, so much I love thee, Thou should'st enjoy my bright Leodice. Diocl. We thanke our Brothers love to grace our friend, For to his worth we can no gift extend. Max. What shouts are these? Looke out. A shout within: Enter Nurse. Nurs. Out of my way Sir: oh my heart! Max. Why what's the matter? Nurs. The matter say yee? pray let me gape alittle; was out of my wits before with feare, and now for joy. Oh my heart, I thinke in my conscience I have not so much winde left in my belly as will blow out a Candle: The Princesse, the Princesse Sir. Max. Ha? my Daughter? Say, where is she? Nurs. O my sweet Lambkin's found, And come to Court too. Max. Where? who found her? Nurs. A pretty handsome stripling by my Holydame; Her owne Shoomaker belike, poore duckling: Shee was wandring, and he met with her; And belike shee had worne out her shooes, and he fitted her finely: So drew on her shooes first, and drew her to Court after; And he and all the Company of the Gentle Craft Sir, Brings her home most sumptuously. Max. With usicks sweetest straines conduct 'em in, Our sorrows wither, as our joyes begin. Musick: Enter Shoomaker, and other in their Liveries, then Leodice and Wife with the Child: Crispine bare-headed before, Barnaby and the rest after: Leodice kneeles, and Maximinus embraceth her. Max. Life cannot be more welcome; which is he Doubles my joyes in my Leodice? Nurs. This is the youth that doubles 'em: O my sweet Honey-uckle, have I found thee agen? Max. Ile treble his rewards for finding her: And to be sure my Daughter, not to loose thee more, Great Emperour see To doe all honour unto this Prince, and thee, I give my onely daughter for his wife. Leod. His wife my Lord? Max. By my Daughter: Though a stranger to thee, hee's a Prince borne, Sonne to a King, and well deserves thy love. Leod. Here's one deserves it more, he sav'd my life When I was almost dead with griefe; These can witnesse it. Bar. 'Tis very true Sir; when shee was the lost sheepe, He was the Shepheard that found her; When shee was a cold, he cover'd her; Nay more, when shee was hungry, he fill'd her belly: Wif. Here's one, if it could speake, would be a witnesse to that. Leod. And by the Proclamation, your selfe are bound To let this young man marry me: Ile sweare Ile wed with none, except this Shoomaker. Max. Sure her sudden fright hath made her mad: Was she not frantick when thou foundst her first? Nay, shee's mad still; how dare you stand this scorne? This is a Prince, that but a begger borne. Leod. A Beggar? looke on this Babe: 'Tis his owne; 'tis Princely borne, And a Shoomakers sonne. Max. Fond Girle. Leod. Good Father heare, You know not what brave men these shoomakers are. Bar. 'Tis knowne we can get Children Sir. Max. How am I vext with fooles and mad men! Leod. I doe beseech you Sir, my Royall Father, Take this lovely Child to kisse, and blesse it. Max. Defend me Iupiter, shee's mad, Starke mad. Diocl. Why does the faire Leodice So vexe her Kingly Father With so base a brat? Cris. Zoonds base? Shoe. Peace knave, peace: What wilt thou doe? Leod. Base Brat? Alas, had the poore foole a tongue or power to speake, Hee'd sweare you did him wrong: By all our gods it is as nobly borne As the proudest here. Max. Strange frenzy, Why does my Daughter so dishonour me? Leod. I take but this poore Childs part, and so should you: For looke you Father, this base Brats Mother Lay in my Mothers belly; were shee alive, Shee would acknowledge it, and comfort give, And it shall call you Grandsir if it live. Max. Here's strange and darke Enigmaes, Speake plaine, whose Child is't? Leod. This shoomakers. Max. And yours? 'Slife he has layne with her, Shee's his Whoore; attach the Villaine, Tortures shall force his basenesse to confesse it. Cris. Most Royall Soveraigne, Suffer not wrath to kindle in your bosome, His basenesse and mine runne even in one streame: It is my brother, Princes by birth, the King of Brittaines sonnes; Our names Eldred and Offa; for these names Of Crispine and Crispianus we but borrowed To keepe our lives in safety. Max. Can this be true? Leod. Father it is, and this long since I knew, Lov'd, and then married, a twelve Moneth since: This token, could it speake, would tell you all. Max. Whom Heaven would save from danger, ne're can fall. My blessing compasse both: Nurse, what say you to this? Nurs. Nay, I was asleepe when 'twas done yfaith. Diocl. Shee winkt a purpose. Enter Queene. Lut. The Queene my Lord. Max. Most welcome, and most wisht for, Royall Princesse, your fetters off, Imprisonment wee here take off, Goe, imbrace your sonnes. Quee. O my deare sonnes! Max. With them receive your Daughter To your love: Wonders hath falne Since you have a Prisoner beene; You, and your Sonnes, and we are growne a kinne. Quee. Fame spread abroad the wonder, And the fame of our dread Lords the Emperours, which in stead of death Hath given an happy passage to our lives. But Royall Sir, should I forget this shooe-maker, We breake a bond, wherein we all stand bound: My sonnes of you hath loving Parents found. Shoo. Faith Madam, I did the best I could for 'em: I have seene one married to the Emperours daughter. Bar. Wou'd you had marryed me no worse. Max. You all have done your best To make our comforts full: for which wee'le pay Rewards to all, and crowne this happy day. Bar. Wee have a boone my Lord the Emperour. Max. What is't? Bar. That seeing these two Princes, Fellow servants with us, being of the Gentle Craft, May have one Holy-day to our selves. Max. What Month would you have it kept in? Bar. The five and twentieth of October, That none of our Trade may goe to bed sober. Max. Take it: These lines of Fate thus in one circle met, If Dioclesian please shall here close up. Dioc. In what circumference? Max. Thus; 'tis more honour to make Kings, Than be such: then let these twaine, Being English borne, be Brittaine Kings againe. This in the North shall rule. Dioc. This in the South: Brave Crispianus, to requite thy deed, Great Dioclesians hand shall Crowne thy head. A Crowne presented, Max. To Crispine this: And this rich gift beside; The faire Leodice to be his Bride. Crisp. I have an humble suit unto your Highnesse. Max. What is't my Sonne? Crisp. 'Tis this; A Church then, and a beauteous Monastery On Holmhurst-Hill, where Albon lost his head, Offa shall build; which Ile St. Albons name, In honour of our first English Martyrs fame. Max. Build what Religious Monuments you please, Be true to Rome, none shall disturbe your peace. Set forward Princes, Fortunes Wheele turnes round; We Kingdomes lose, you the same houre sit Crownd. And thus about the World she spreads her wings, To ruine, of raise up the Thrones of Kings. FINIS.