MOUNTCHENSEY. Pursue the project, scholler: what we can do To help indeavour, join our lives thereto!

[Exeunt.]

ACT II.

SCENE I. Waltham: The house of Banks.

[Enter Banks, Sir John and Smug.]

BANKS. Take me with you, good Sir John! A plague on thee, Smug, and thou touchest liquor, thou art founderd straight. What, are your brains always water-mills? must they ever run round?

SMUG. Banks, your ale is a Philistine fox; z'hart, there's fire i'th tail on't; you are a rogue to charge us with Mugs i'th rereward. A plague of this wind; O, it tickles our catastrophe.

SIR JOHN. Neighbour Banks of Waltham, and Goodman Smug, the honest Smith of Edmonton, as I dwell betwixt you both at Enfield, I know the taste of both your ale houses, they are good both, smart both. Hem, Grass and hay! we are all mortal; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.

BANKS. Well said, Sir John, you are of the same humor still; and doth the water run the same way still, boy?

SMUG. Vulcan was a rogue to him; Sir John, lock, lock, lock fast, Sir John; so, sir John. I'll one of these years, when it shall please the Goddesses and the destinies, be drunk in your company; that's all now, and God send us health: shall I swear I love you?

SIR JOHN. No oaths, no oaths, good neighbour Smug! We'll wet our lips together and hug; Carrouse in private, and elevate the hart, and the liver and the lights,--and the lights, mark you me, within us; for hem, Grass and hay! we are all mortall, let's live till we die, and be Merry, and there's an end.

BANKS. But to our former motion about stealing some venison; whither go we?

SIR JOHN. Into the forest, neighbour Banks, into Brian's walk, the mad keeper.

SMUG. Z'blood! I'll tickle your keeper.

BANKS. Yfaith, thou art always drunk when we have need of thee.

SMUG. Need of me? z'hart, you shall have need of me always while there's iron in an Anvil.

BANKS. Master Parson, may the Smith go, think you, being in this taking?

SMUG. Go? I'll go in spite of all the belles in Waltham.

SIR JOHN. The question is, good neighbour Banks--let me see: the Moon shines to night,--there's not a narrow bridge betwixt this and the forest,--his brain will be settled ere night; he may go, he may go, neighbour Banks. Now we want none but the company of mine host Blague at the George at Waltham; if he were here, our Consort were full. Look where comes my good host, the Duke of Norfolk's man! and how? and how? a hem, grass and hay! we are not yet mortall; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.

[Enter Host.]

HOST. Ha, my Castilian dialogues! and art thou in breath still, boy? Miller, doth the match hold? Smith, I see by thy eyes thou hast been reading little Geneva print: but wend we merrily to the forest, to steal some of the king's Deer. I'll meet you at the time appointed: away, I have Knights and Colonels at my house, and must tend the Hungarions. If we be scard in the forest, we'll meet in the Church-porch at Enfield; ist Correspondent?

BANKS. Tis well; but how, if any of us should be taken?

SMITH. He shall have ransom, by the Lord.

HOST. Tush, the knave keepers are my bosonians and my pensioners. Nine a clock! be valiant, my little Gogmagogs; I'll fence with all the Justices in Hartford shire. I'll have a Buck till I die; I'll slay a Doe while I live; hold your bow straight and steady. I serve the good duke of Norfolk.

SMUG. O rare! who, ho, ho, boy!

SIR JOHN. Peace, neighbor Smug. You see this is a Boor, a Boor of the country, an illiterate Boor, and yet the Citizen of good fellows: come, let's provide; a hem, Grass and hay! we are not yet all mortall; we'll live till we die, and be merry, and there's an end. Come, Smug1

SMUG. Good night, Waltham--who, ho, ho, boy!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. The George Inn.

[Enter the Knights and Gentlemen from breakfast again.]

OLD MOUNTCHESNEY. Nor I for thee, Clare, not of this. What? hast thou fed me all this while with shalles. And com'st to tell me now, thou lik'st it not?

CLARE. I do not hold thy offer competent; Nor do I like th' assurance of thy Land, The title is so brangled with thy debts.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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