_Will._ You have no other message?--
_Basil._ No!
_Will._ Oh! Well, sir, I think the execution of my barren commission needs no farther stay. Touching that small portion of mammon wherewith thou wouldst endow my master"s pa.s.sage across the seas, in his name I will venture to refuse the gratility.
_Basil._ Wouldst jest, villain? There are stocks!
Back to the beggar that sent thee. [_Exit R._]
[_WILLIAM going, L., FLORENCE approaches him from behind._]
_Flor._ Good friend! I have heard something of your discourse. I would fain see thy master.
_Will._ Art thou not his cousin, lady?
_Flor._ I am.
_Will._ He hath often spoken of thee far hence.
_Flor._ We were children together. Is his temper sweet as it used to be? Hath he grown taller? I have much to say to him. Is he sunburnt? Doth he wear a beard? They say much ill of him.
_Will._ Lady! believe it not; [_aside_]--for I affect much his society. [_Aloud._] He is a good master and kind, though of a strange mood. For women, he cannot abear them.
_Flor._ Indeed! Good friend, nevertheless I must see your master. Bring me to him.
_Will._ I am going to the inn, where he awaits me.
Will it please you to meet me opposite the old barn in two hours?
_Flor._ I will, I will, for I need his advice much.
I am sore distressed. Here is for thee. Lose no time!
[_Gives him money._] Farewell! [_Exit R._]
_Will._ By"r lady, angels! both of them. [_Exit L._]
SCENE III.
_An extensile landscape, with a road on the L; overhung with foliage. A Country Inn, U.E.R. Table, chairs, villagers sitting, a waiter bringing in refreshments during the symphony of the following_
GLEE and CHORUS.
Cold, oh! cold the March winds be; High up in a leafless tree The little bird sits and wearily twits, The woods with perjury: But the cuckoo-knave sings hold his stave, (Ever the spring comes merrily) And "O poor fool!" sings he-- For this is the way in the world to live, To mock when a friend hath no more to give, Whether in hall or tree!
[_The villagers retire severally._]
[_Enter WILLIAM, L._]
_Will._ So this publican hath ceased to be a sinner!
To think now of old sophisticate Gurton being called Hezekiah Newborn. Gadso, he babbles of salvation like the tap his boy left running this morning to see the troop of cavaliers go by. Yet I marked the unregenerate Gurton swore round ere Newborn found his voice to upbraid sourly as becomes a saint. He hath been more civil since I heard him. O Newborn, how utterly shalt thou be d.a.m.ned!
[_Enter HOST._]
_Host._ The Lord be with thee, young man. It did seem to me that thou wert discoursing aloud in prayer. Doth thy master desire any creature-comfort?
_Will._ Master Gurton! thy belly hath kept pace with thy righteousness.
_Host._ Ha! Who told thee my carnal name? I prithee abstain. It doth remind me of the bonds of the flesh.
_Will._ Simply, thou art known to me. I am William Nutbrown.
_Host._ Nay! What, mine own friend Will, that had his b.a.s.t.a.r.d fathered on me? Why, he was a youth!
_Will._ He was! A youth of promise. Behold the fulfilment in these legs, this manly bosom!
_Host._ O wonderful! and to think I knew thee not!
But thou art horribly, and as it were most monstrously improved? Will Nutbrown! to be sure--and whence comest thou?
_Will._ From the land of beccaficos, mine old Newborn! but thou understandest not--thou hast merely observed the increase of local timber and the decay of pigeon-houses. Thy sole chronicle hath been the ripe birth of undistinguishable curly-headed village children, and the green burial of undistinguished village bald old men hath been thine only lesson. Thou hast simply acquired amazement at the actions of the man of experience. Doth a quart measure still hold a quart?
_Host._ Alas! more--I will tell thee of it. These be sore times for us. You must know there hath been a Parliament commission of inquiry into weights and measures, and last Michaelmas a year, no! let me see--well, marry! there came down--
_Will._ Well, well, thou shalt finish anon.
_Host._ It went nigh to kill me.
_Will._ Thou shalt tell me all hereafter.
_Host._ d.a.m.nation! but I am glad. The Lord forgive me! I had nearly sworn.
_Will._ Thou hadst--nearly.
_Host._ And art thou a vessel of grace, or a brand given to the burning? Of a verity--
_Will._ Come, no lies with me! I shall doubt thee if thou cantest one word except in thy calling. Yet I saw by thy first look thou wert glad to see me; so give me thy hand, and I will shake it ere some one calls for a draught of ale, and thou dost relapse into the sordid and muddy calculation that makes thy daily self, and so forget that the friend of thy youth hath revisited thee. Nay, fear not, I will not betray thee to thy present customers. But first tell me, why thou art so changed: seeing that the cavaliers should be thy best friends?
_Host._ Friend Will! Twill tell thee--the cavaliers drink l.u.s.tily, and of claret and sherris with spice, whereas, it is true, the elect chiefly do affect ale. But, O Will! your cavalier--not to speak of my keeping never a serving wench honest for a month, and I have daughters now grown--your best cavalier would ever pull out a long embroidered purse, with one gold piece in it, regarding which he would briskly swing it round, and jerking it together, replace in his doublet, saying between his hiccups, "Prithee, sweet Spigot!" or it may he, "Jolly Master Gurton! chalk it up; when the king hath his own again, I will repay thee;" or "I will go coin it from Noll"s ruby nose," and would ride away singing, and in a fortnight the poor gentleman would surely be slain. And, as for your worst kind of cavalier, when I did gently remind him, he would swear and draw his rapier and make a fearful pa.s.s near my belly--that I was glad to see him depart with a skinful of mine own wine unpaid for.
Moreover, Master Will, an he were handsome and a moon-raker, my wife, that is now at rest, would ever take his part, and cry shame on me for a cuckoldy villain to teaze a sweet, loyal gentleman so, that would pay when a could--moreover--
_Will._ Hold! Thy reasons are sufficient--Thou art, worthy Hezekiah! become a saint, to escape martyrdom. Methinks I see the gallant foin at thy belly.
[_Draws his sword and makes a feint at the Host._]
Sa! sa!
_Host._ Have a care--[_William makes feints._]
_Will._ I shall die! Gadzookers! thus, was it thus!--and thy wife--a cuckoldy villain--merely a figure of speech though, Master Gurton! Eh? Thou didst not suspect?