Scene IV Before Sir Arthur Clarington’s House
Enter Sir Arthur Clarington, Warbeck, and Somerton.
Sir Arth. Come, gentlemen, we must all help to grace
The nimble-footed youth of Edmonton,
That are so kind to call us up to-day
With an high morris.
War. I could wish it for the best, it were the worst now. Absurdity’s in my opinion ever the best dancer in a morris.
Som. I could rather sleep than see ’em.
Sir Arth. Not well, sir?
Som. ’Faith, not ever thus leaden: yet I know no cause for’t.
War. Now am I beyond mine own condition highly disposed to mirth.
Sir Arth. Well, you may have yet a morris to help both;
To strike you in a dump, and make him merry.
Enter Sawgut with the Morris-dancers, &c.
Saw. Come, will you set yourselves in morris-ray?444 the forebell, second-bell, tenor, and great-bell; Maid Marian445 for the same bell. But where’s the weathercock now? the Hobby-horse?
1st Cl. Is not Banks come yet? What a spite ’tis!
Sir Arth. When set you forward, gentlemen?
1st Cl. We stay but for the Hobby-horse, sir; all our footmen are ready.
Som. ’Tis marvel your horse should be behind your foot.
2nd Cl. Yes, sir, he goes further about; we can come in at the wicket, but the broad gate must be opened for him.
Enter Cuddy Banks with the Hobby-horse, followed by the Dog.
Sit Arth. O, we stayed for you, sir.
Cud. Only my horse wanted a shoe, sir; but we shall make you amends ere we part.
Sir Arth. Ay? well said; make ’em drink ere they begin.
Enter Servants with beer.
Cud. A bowl, I prithee, and a little for my horse; he’ll mount the better. Nay, give me: I must drink to him, he’ll not pledge else. [Drinks.] Here, Hobby [Holds the bowl to the Hobby-horse.]—I pray you: no? not drink! You see, gentlemen, we can but bring our horse to the water; he may choose whether he’ll drink or no. [Drinks again.
Som. A good moral made plain by history.
1st Cl. Strike up, Father Sawgut, strike up.
Saw. E’en when you will, children. [Cuddy mounts the Hobby.]—Now in the name of—the best foot forward! [Endeavours to play, but the fiddle gives no sound.]—How now! not a word in thy guts? I think, children, my instrument has caught cold on the sudden.
Cud. [Aside.] My ningle’s knavery; black Tom’s doing.
All the Clowns. Why, what mean you, Father Sawgut?
Cud. Why, what would you have him do? you hear his fiddle is speechless.
Saw. I’ll lay mine ear to my instrument that my poor fiddle is bewitched. I played “The Flowers in May” e’en now, as sweet as a violet; now ’twill not go against the hair: you see I can make no more music than a beetle of a cow-turd.
Cud. Let me see, Father Sawgut [Takes the fiddle]; say once you had a brave hobby-horse that you were beholding to. I’ll play and dance too.—Ningle, away with it. [Gives it to the Dog, who plays the morris.
All the Clowns. Ay, marry, sir! [They dance.
Enter a Constable and Officers.
Con. Away with jollity! ’tis too sad an hour.—
Sir Arthur Clarington, your own assistance,
In the king’s name, I charge, for apprehension
Of these two murderers, Warbeck and Somerton.
Sir Arth. Ha! flat murderers?
Som. Ha, ha, ha! this has awakened my melancholy.
War. And struck my mirth down flat.—Murderers?
Con. The accusation’s flat against you, gentlemen.—
Sir, you may be satisfied with this. [Shows his warrant.]—
I hope you’ll quietly obey my power;
’Twill make your cause the fairer.
Som. and War. O, with all our hearts, sir.
Cud. There’s my rival taken up for hangman’s meat; Tom told me he was about a piece of villany.—Mates and morris-men, you see here’s no longer piping, no longer dancing; this news of murder has slain the morris. You that go the footway, fare ye well; I am for a gallop.—Come, ningle. [Canters off with the Hobby-horse and the Dog.
Saw. [Strikes his fiddle, which sounds as before.] Ay? nay, an my fiddle be come to himself again, I care not. I think the devil has been abroad amongst us to-day; I’ll keep thee out of thy fit now, if I can. [Exit with the Morris-dancers.
Sir Arth. These things are full of horror, full of pity.
But if this time be constant to the proof,
The guilt of both these gentlemen I dare take
On mine own danger; yet, howsoever, sir,
Your power must be obeyed.
War. O, most willingly, sir.
’Tis a most sweet affliction; I could not meet
A joy in the best shape with better will:
Come, fear not, sir; nor judge nor evidence
Can bind him o’er who’s freed by conscience.
Som. Mine stands so upright to the middle zone
It takes no shadow to’t, it goes alone. [Exeunt.