Scene II A Room in the Tavern
Enter Roughman and Fawcett.
Roughman.
Where be these drawers—rascals, I should say—
That will give no attendance?
Enter Clem.
Clem.
Anon, anon, sir: please you see a room? What, you here, again! Now we shall have such roaring!
Roughman.
You, sirrah, call your mistress.
Clem.
Yes, sir, I know it is my duty to call her mistress.
Roughman.
See an the slave will stir!
Clem.
Yes, I do stir.
Roughman.
Shall we have humours, sauce-box? You have ears;
I’ll teach you prick-song.26
Clem.
But you have now a wrong sow by the ear. I will call her.
Roughman.
Do, sir; you had best.
Clem.
If you were twenty Roughmans, if you lug me by the ears again, I’ll draw.
Roughman.
Ha! what will you draw?
Clem.
The best wine in the house for your worship; and I would call her, but I can assure you that she is either not stirring, or else not in case.
Roughman.
How not in case?
Clem.
I think she hath not her smock on; for I think I saw it lie at her bed’s head.
Roughman.
What! drawers grow capricious?27
Clem.
Help! help!
Enter Bess Bridges.
Bess.
What uproar’s this? Shall we be never rid
From these disturbances?
Roughman.
Why, how now, Bess?
Is this your housewifery? When you are mine,
I’ll have you rise as early as the lark.
Look to the bar yourself; these lazy rascals
Will bring your state behindhand.
Clem.
You lie, sir.
Roughman.
How! lie!
Clem.
Yes, sir, at the Raven in the High Street. I was at your lodging this morning for a pottle-pot.
Roughman.
You will about your business: must you here
Stand gaping and idle? [Strikes him.
Bess.
You wrong me, sir,
And tyrannize too much over my servants.
I will have no man touch them but myself.
Clem.
If I do not put ratsbane into his wine, instead of sugar, say I am no true baker. [Exit.
Roughman.
What! rise at noon?
A man may fight a tall fray in a morning,
And one of your best friends, too, be hacked and mangled,
And almost cut to pieces, and you fast,
Close in your bed, ne’er dream on’t.
Bess.
Fought you this day?
Roughman.
And ne’er was better put to’t in my days.
Bess.
I pray, how was’t?
Roughman.
Thus. As I passed yon fields——
Enter Kitchenmaid.
Maid.
I pray, forsooth, what shall I reckon for the jowl of ling28 in the Portcullis?
Roughman.
A pox upon your jowls, you kitchen-stuff!
Go, scour your skillets,29 pots, and dripping-pans,
And interrupt not us. [Kicks at her.
Maid.
The devil take your ox-heels, you foul cod’s-head! must you be kicking?
Roughman.
Minion! dare you scold?
Maid.
Yes, sir; and lay my ladle over your coxcomb. [Exit.
Bess.
I do not think that thou darest strike a man,
That swagger’st thus o’er women.
Roughman.
How now, Bess?
Bess.
Shall we be never quiet?
Fawcett.
You are too rude.
Roughman.
Now I profess all patience.
Bess.
Then proceed.
Roughman.
Rising up early, minion, whilst you slept,
To cross yon field, I had but newly parted
With this my friend, but that I soon espied
A gallant fellow, and most strongly armed:
In the mid-field we met, and, both being resolute,
We justled for the wall.
Bess.
Why, did there stand a wall in the mid-field?
Roughman.
I meant, strove for the way.
Two such brave spirits meeting, straight both drew.
Re-enter Clem.
Clem.
The maid, forsooth, sent me to know whether you would have the shoulder of mutton roasted or sod.30
Roughman.
A mischief on your shoulders! [Strikes him.
Clem.
That’s the way to make me never prove good porter.
Bess.
You still heap wrongs on wrongs.
Roughman.
I was in fury,
To think upon the violence of that fight,
And could not stay my rage.
Fawcett.
Once more proceed.
Roughman.
Oh! had you seen two tilting meteors justle
In the mid-region, with like fear and fury
We too encountered. Not Briareus
Could with his hundred hands have struck more thick:
Blows came about my head,—I took them still;
Thrusts by my sides, ’twixt body and my arms,—
Yet still I put them by.
Bess.
When they were past, he put them by.—Go on.
But in this fury, what became of him?
Roughman.
I think I paid him home: he’s soundly mauled.
I bosomed him at every second thrust.
Bess.
Scaped he with life?
Roughman.
Ay, that’s my fear. If he recover this,
I’ll never trust my sword more.
Bess.
Why fly you not, if he be in such danger?
Roughman.
Because a witch once told me
I ne’er should die for murder.
Bess.
I believe thee.
But tell me, pray, was not this gallant fellow
A pretty, fair, young youth, about my years?
Roughman.
Even thereabout.
Clem.
He was not fifty, then.
Bess.
Much of my stature?
Roughman.
Much about your pitch.31
Clem.
He was no giant, then.
Bess.
And wore a suit like this?
Roughman.
I half suspect.
Bess.
That gallant fellow,
So wounded and so mangled, was myself.
You base, white-livered slave! it was this shoe
That thou stooped to untie; untrussed those points;
And, like a beastly coward, lay along
Till I strid over thee. Speak; was’t not so?
Roughman.
It cannot be denied.
Bess.
Hare-hearted fellow! milksop! Dost not blush?
Give me that rapier: I will make thee swear
Thou shalt redeem this scorn thou hast incurred,
Or in this woman shape I’ll cudgel thee,
And beat thee through the streets. As I am Bess, I’ll do’t.
Roughman.
Hold, hold! I swear.
Bess.
Dare not to enter at my door till then.
Roughman.
Shame confounds me quite.
Bess.
That shame redeem, perhaps we’ll do thee grace;
I love the valiant, but despise the base. [Exit.
Clem.
Will you be kicked, sir?
Roughman.
She hath wakened me,
And kindled that dead fire of courage in me
Which all this while hath slept. To spare my flesh
And wound my fame, what is’t? I will not rest,
Till by some valiant deed I have made good
All my disgraces past. I’ll cross the street,
And strike the next brave fellow that I meet.
Fawcett.
I am bound to see the end on’t.
Roughman.
Are you, sir? [Beats off Fawcett.
[Exeunt.