A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 07
General
A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 07
English drama
MR BAR. Believe me, wench, I do not reprehend[252] thee,
But for this pleasant answer do commend thee.
I must confess, love doth thee mighty wrong,
But I will see thee have thy right ere long;
I know a young man, whom I hold most fit
To have thee both for living and for wit:
I will go write about it presently.
MALL. Good father, do. [_Exit_ [BARNES].
O God, methinks I should
Wife it as fine as any woman could!
I could carry a port to be obeyed,
Carry a mastering eye upon my maid,
With "Minion, do your business, or I'll make ye,"
And to all house authority betake me.
O God! would I were married! by my troth,
But if I be not, I swear I'll keep my oath.
_Enter_ MRS BARNES.
MRS BAR. How now, minion, where have you been gadding?
MALL. Forsooth, my father called me forth to him.
MRS BAR. Your father! and what said he to ye, I pray?
MALL. Nothing, forsooth.
MRS BAR. Nothing! that cannot be; something he said.
MALL. Ay, something that as good as nothing was.
MRS BAR. Come, let me hear that something-nothing, then.
MALL. Nothing but of a husband for me, mother.
MRS BAR. A husband! that was something; but what husband?
MALL. Nay, faith, I know not, mother: would I did!
MRS BAR. Ay, "would ye did!" i'faith, are ye so hasty?
MALL. Hasty, mother! why, how old am I?
MRS BAR. Too young to marry.
MALL. Nay, by the mass, ye lie.
Mother, how old were you when you did marry?
MRS BAR. How old soe'er I was, yet you shall tarry.
MALL. Then the worse for me. Hark, mother, hark!
The priest forgets that e'er he was a clerk:
When you were at my years, I'll hold my life,
Your mind was to change maidenhead for wife.
Pardon me, mother, I am of your mind,
And, by my troth, I take it but by kind.[253]
MRS BAR. Do ye hear, daughter? you shall stay my leisure.
MALL. Do you hear, mother? would you stay from pleasure,
When ye have mind to it? Go to, there's no wrong
Like this, to let maids lie alone so long:
Lying alone they muse but in their beds,
How they might lose their long-kept maidenheads.
This is the cause there is so many scapes,
For women that are wise will not lead apes
In hell: I tell ye, mother, I say true;
Therefore come husband: maidenhead adieu! [_Exit_.
MRS BAR. Well, lusty guts, I mean to make ye stay,
And set some rubs in your mind's smoothest way[254].
_Enter_ PHILIP.
PHIL. Mother--
MRS BAR. How now, sirrah; where have you been walking?
PHIL. Over the meads, half-way to Milton, mother,
To bear my friend, Frank Goursey, company.
MRS BAR. Where's your blue coat[255], your sword and buckler, sir?
Get you such like habit for a serving-man,
If you will wait upon the brat of Goursey.
PHIL. Mother, that you are mov'd, this makes me wonder;
When I departed, I did leave ye friends:
What undigested jar hath since betided?
MRS BAR. Such as almost doth choke thy mother, boy,
And stifles her with the conceit of it;
I am abus'd, my son, by Goursey's wife.
PHIL. By Mistress Goursey.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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