A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 01
General
A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 01
English drama
PALMER. Sir, I will kiss them with all my heart.
'POTHECARY. Kiss them again, and take my part,
For I am not worthy: nay, let be:
Those bees that stung Eve shall not sting me.
PARDONER. Good friends, I have yet here[470] in this glass,
Which on the drink at the wedding was
Of Adam and Eve undoubtedly.
If ye honour this relic devoutly,
Although ye thirst no whit the less,
Yet shall ye drink the more, doubtless:
After which drinking ye shall be as meet
To stand on your head as on your feet.
'POTHECARY. Yea, marry, now I can[471] you thank;[472]
In presence of this--the rest be blank.
Would God this relic had come rather:[473]
Kiss that relic well, good father.
Such is the pain that ye palmers take
To kiss the pardon-bowl for the drink sake.
O holy yeast, that looketh full sour and stale,
For God's body, help me to a cup of ale.
The more I behold[474] thee, the more I thirst:
The oftener I kiss thee, the more like to burst.
But since I kiss thee so devoutly,
Hire me,[475] and help me with drink, till I die.
What, so much praying and so little speed?
PARDONER. Yea, for God knoweth when it is need
To send folks drink; but, by St Anthony,
I ween he hath sent you too much already.
'POTHECARY. If I have never the more for thee,
Then be thy relics no riches to me;
Nor to thyself, except they be
More beneficial than I can see.
Richer is one box of this triacle,[476]
Than all thy relics, that do no miracle.
If thou hadst prayed but half so much to me,
As I have prayed to thy relics and thee,
Nothing concerning mine occupation,
But straight should have wrought one[477] operation:
And as in value I pass you an ace,
So here lieth much richness in little space.
I have a box of rhubarb here,
Which is as dainty as it is dear.
So[478] help me God and halidom,
Of this I would not give a dram
To the best friend I have in England's ground,
Though he would give me twenty pound.
For though the stomach do it abhor,
It purgeth you clean from the choler;
And maketh your stomach sore to walter,
That ye shall never come to the halter.
PEDLAR. Then is that medicine a sovereign thing
To preserve a man from hanging.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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