My pretty Nan is gone away 60 To seek her love upon the green.
[I cannot see her "mong so many:]
She shall have me, if she have any.
NAN.[674]
Welcome, sweet-heart, and welcome here, Welcome, my [true] love, now to me.
This is my love [and my darling dear], And that my husband [soon] must be.
And, boy, when thou com"st home thou"lt see Thou art as welcome home as he.
GENTLEMAN.
Why, how now, sweet Nan! I hope you jest. 70
NAN.[675]
No, by my troth, I love the fool the best: And, if you be jealous, G.o.d give you good-night!
I fear you"re a gelding, you caper so light.
GENTLEMAN.
I thought she had jested and meant but a fable, But now do I see she hath play"[d] with his bable.[676]
I wish all my friends by me to take heed, That a fool come not near you when you mean to speed.
FOOTNOTES:
[670] First printed in _The Alleyn Papers_ (for the Shakespeare Society), p. 8, by Collier, who remarks:--"In the original MS. this dramatic dialogue in verse is written as prose, on one side of a sheet of paper, at the back of which, in a more modern hand, is the name "Kitt Marlowe." What connection, if any, he may have had with it, it is impossible to determine, but it was obviously worthy of preservation, as a curious stage-relic of an early date, and unlike anything else of the kind that has come down to us. In consequence of haste or ignorance on the part of the writer of the ma.n.u.script, it has been necessary to supply some portions, which are printed within brackets. There are also some obvious errors in the distribution of the dialogue, which it was not easy to correct. The probability is that, when performed, it was accompanied with music."
[671] MS. "Jack."
[672] MS. "W. Fre."--which Dyce supposed to be an abbreviation for _Wench"s Friend_.
[673] MS. "Frend."
[674] MS. "Wen" (_i.e._ Wench).
[675] MS. "Wen."
[676] Bauble.
APPENDICES.
APPENDICES.
No. I.
THE ATHEIST"S TRAGEDIE.[677]
All you that have got eares to heare, Now listen unto mee; Whilst I do tell a tale of feare; A true one it shall bee:
A truer storie nere was told, As some alive can showe; "Tis of a man in crime grown olde, Though age he did not know.
This man did his owne G.o.d denie And Christ his onelie son, And did all punishment defie, So he his course might run.
Both day and night would he blaspheme, And day and night would sweare, As if his life was but a dreame, Not ending in dispaire.
A poet was he of repute, And wrote full many a playe, Now strutting in a silken sute, Then begging by the way.
He had alsoe a player beene Upon the Curtaine-stage, But brake his leg in one lewd scene, When in his early age.
He was a fellow to all those That did G.o.d"s laws reject, Consorting with the Christians" foes And men of ill aspect.
Ruffians and cutpurses hee Had ever at his backe, And led a life most foule and free, To his eternall wracke.
He now is gone to his account, And gone before his time, Did not his wicked deedes surmount All precedent of crime.
But he no warning ever tooke From others" wofull fate, And never gave his life a looke Untill it was too late.
He had a friend, once gay and greene.[678]
Who died not long before, The wofull"st wretch was ever seen, The worst ere woman bore,
Unlesse this Wormall[679] did exceede Even him in wickednesse, Who died in the extreemest neede And terror"s bitternesse.
Yet Wormall ever kept his course, Since nought could him dismay; He knew not what thing was remorse Unto his dying day.
Then had he no time to repent The crimes he did commit, And no man ever did lament For him, to dye unfitt.
Ah, how is knowledge wasted quite On such want wisedome true, And that which should be guiding light But leades to errors newe!
Well might learnd Cambridge oft regret He ever there was bred: The tree she in his mind had set Brought poison forth instead.
His l.u.s.t was lawlesse as his life, And brought about his death; For, in a deadlie mortall strife, Striving to stop the breath
Of one who was his rivall foe, With his owne dagger slaine, He groand, and word spoke never moe, Pierc"d through the eye and braine.
Thus did he come to suddaine ende That was a foe to all, And least unto himselfe a friend, And raging pa.s.sion"s thrall.