A JOVIAL CREW
OR,
THE MERRY BEGGARS.

The Persons of the Play.

[Link]
OLDRENTS*, an ancient esquire.

RACHEL, Oldrent’s daughter.

MERIEL, Oldrent’s daughter.

HEARTY*, his friend and merry companion, but a decayed† gentleman.

SPRINGLOVE, steward† to Master Oldrents.

RANDALL, a groom, servant to Oldrents.

CHAPLAIN to Oldrents

USHER to Oldrents

BUTLER to Oldrents

COOK to Oldrents

VINCENT*, [a] young gentlem[a]n.

HILLIARD, [another] young gentlem[a]n.

Master CLACK*, the Justice† himself.

OLIVER*, the Justice's son.

AMY*, Justice Clack’s niece.

Master SENTWELL, friend to Justice Clack

Two other GENTLEMEN, friends to Justice Clack.

Master TALLBOY*, lover to the Justice’s niece.

MARTIN, the Justice's clerk.

AUTEM MORT†, an old beggar-woman.

PATRICO, [the patriarch of the] beggars.

SOLDIER, [one of] four especial beggars.

LAWYER, [another of] four especial beggars.

COURTIER, [another of] four especial beggars.

SCRIBBLE, [another,] their poet.

Divers other beggars, fiddlers, piper, and mutes.

CONSTABLE.

Prologue.

1PrologueThe title of our play, A Jovial Crew*,

May seem to promise mirth, which were a new

And forced† thing in these sad and tragic days*

For you to find or we express in plays.

We wish you, then, would change that expectation,

Since jovial mirth is now grown out of fashion,

Or much not to expect. For now it chances

(Our comic writer finding that romances*

Of lovers, through much travel and distress,

Till it be thought no power can redress

Th’afflicted wanderers, though stout chivalry

Lend all his aid for their delivery,

Till lastly some impossibility

Concludes all strife and makes a comedy),

Finding (he says) such stories bear the sway,

Near as he could, he has composed a play

Of fortune-tellers, damsels, and their squires,

Exposed to strange adventures through the briars

Of love and fate. But why need I forestall

What shall so soon be obvious to you all,

But wish the dullness may make no man sleep,

Nor sadness of it any woman weep.

ACT ONE

1.1*

Act 1 is one long scene that takes place on Oldrents' estate, near the barn used as charitable housing for beggars. This scene explains and illustrates two conflicts that instigate the subsequent actions of the play. First, Oldrents, despite his wealth, his benevolence to others, and his two healthy daughters, is severely depressed. He has been given a prophecy warning that his two daughters will become beggars, and he cannot understand how this state of affairs could happen or how he might prevent it. As a result, although he keeps a merry companion in his house, his friend Hearty cannot cheer him up or reason him out of his doldrums. The second conflict has to do with Oldrents' relationship with his foster-son Springlove, who acts as his steward. Although Oldrents has given Springlove every advantage a gentleman can confer, Springlove insists on becoming a 'traveller' in the spring, joining a crew of beggars as they wander about the countryside. Springlove does not neglect his duties; indeed, he gives us a very clear list of all the functions he performs in Oldrents' household [JC 1.1.speech30], and he is careful to leave a substitute in charge during his absence. The real issue is the larger question of Nature or Nurture: which is the more important influence in our lives? Springlove is grateful to Oldrents for his education and his job, but he feels he has a higher duty to life itself -- the lure of the spring, the pleasures of the new season as enjoyed by sleeping in the open and touring the countryside by foot, opening himself up to what is free and available to all -- including love and sexual adventures. Oldrents, on the other hand, believes that Springlove should be considering the place of a gentleman and his duty to his benefactor. In effect, he tries to cage Springlove's spirit -- meaning well by it, paternalistically, as though Oldrents' view were the superior attitude -- but as Springlove warns him, you cannot cage a swallow [JC 1.1.speech46]. Birds must obey the seasons and so must Springlove. Oldrents fails in his effort to force Springlove to act like other people of his class and obey the laws of society, instead of the laws of nature. The final third of Act 1 gives us a demonstration of what Springlove enjoys about the jovial crew of beggars, although there is no attempt to hide the sometimes desperate hunger and deprivation they suffer as the lowest rung on the social ladder, so low that we might say that they are not even on the ladder at all. The beggars maintain a cheerful attitude, however, and express their warmth within their group in song, in music and dancing, in sharing whatever they have, whether food, drink, money, or love, and in enduring the loss of whatever they cannot have. The impermanency of their lives makes them disdain mere things and prefer their 'family' which includes newborns, young people and old, all sticking together no matter what and enjoying their freedom to do without what other 'normal' people think they must have.

OLDRENTS [and] HEARTY enter.

3OldrentsIt has indeed, friend, much afflicted me.

4HeartyAnd very justly, let me tell you, sir,

That could so impiously be curious

To* tempt a judgement on you; to give ear,

And faith too, by your leave, to fortune-tellers,

Wizards†, and gipsies!

5OldrentsI have since been frighted

With’t in a thousand dreams*.

6HeartyI would be drunk

A thousand times to bed rather than dream

Of any of their riddle-me riddle-mes*.

If they prove happy†, so. If not, let’t go.

You’ll never find their meaning till the event*,

If you suppose there was at all a meaning,

As the equivocating† devil had, when he

Cozened† the monk to let him live soul-free†,

Till he should find him sleeping between sheets.

The wary† monk, abjuring† all such lodging,

At last, by overwatching† in his study,

The foul fiend took him napping with his nose

Betwixt the sheet-leaves† of his conjuring book.

There was the whim† or double meaning on’t.

But these fond† fortune-tellers, that know nothing,

Aim to be thought more cunning than their master,

The foresaid devil, though truly not so hurtful.

Yet trust ’em? Hang ’em! Wizards! Old blind buzzards†!

For once they hit*, they miss a thousand times,

And most times give quite contrary, bad for good,

And best for worst. One told a gentleman

His son should be a man-killer, and hanged for’t,

Who after proved a great and rich physician,

And with great fame i’th’ university

Hanged up in picture for a grave example*.

There was the whim of that. Quite contrary!

7OldrentsAnd that was happy. Would mine could so deceive my fears!

8HeartyThey may, but trust not to’t. Another schemist†

Found that a squint-eyed† boy should prove a notable†

Pickpurse and afterwards a most strong thief,

When he grew up to be a cunning* lawyer,

And at last died a judge. Quite contrary!

How many have been marked out by these wizards

For fools, that after have been pricked† for sheriffs*?

Was not a shepherd-boy foretold to be

A drunkard, and to get his living from

Bawds, whores, thieves, quarrellers, and the like?

And did he not become a suburb justice*?

And live in wine and worship by the fees*

Racked* out of such delinquents†? There’s the whim on’t.

Now I come to you. Your figure-flinger† finds

That both your daughters, notwithstanding all

Your great possessions, which they are co-heirs of,

Shall yet be beggars. May it not be meant —

If, as I said, there be a meaning in it —

They may prove courtiers, or great courtiers’ wives,

And so be beggars in law*? Is not that

The whim on’t, think you? You shall think no worse on’t.

9OldrentsWould I had your merry heart.

10HeartyI thank you, sir.

11OldrentsI mean the like.

12HeartyI would you had; and I

Such an estate as yours. Four thousand yearly,

With such a heart as mine, would defy Fortune

And all her babbling soothsayers†. I’d as soon

Distrust in providence as lend a fear

To such a destiny for a child of mine

While there be sack† and songs in town or country.

Think like a man of conscience. Now I am serious!

What justice can there be for such a curse

To fall upon your heirs? Do you not live

Free, out of law or grieving any man?

Are you not th’only rich man lives unenvied?

Have you not all the praises of the rich

And prayers of the poor? Did ever any

Servant or hireling, neighbour, kindred, curse you,

Or wish one minute shortened of your life?

Have you one grudging tenant? Will they not all

Fight for you? Do they not teach their children,

And make ’em too, pray for you morn and evening,

And in their graces too, as duly as

For king and realm? The innocent things would think

They ought not eat else.

13Oldrents’Tis their goodness.

14HeartyIt is your merit. Your great love and bounty

Procures from heaven those inspirations† in ’em.

Whose rent did ever you exact? Whose have

You not remitted†, when by casualties

Of fire, of floods, of common dearth, or sickness,

Poor men were brought behindhand†? Nay, whose losses

Have you not piously repaired?

15OldrentsEnough.

16HeartyWhat heriots† have you ta’en from forlorn widows?

What acre of your thousands have you racked†?

17OldrentsGood friend, no more.

18HeartyThese are enough, indeed,

To fill your ears with joyful acclamations

Where’er you pass: ‘Heaven bless our landlord Oldrents*,

Our master Oldrents, our good patron Oldrents!’

Cannot these sounds conjure that evil spirit

Of fear out of you, that your children shall

Live to be beggars? Shall Squire Oldrents’* daughters

Wear old rents* in their garments — there’s a whim too —

Because a fortune-teller told you so?

19OldrentsCome, I will strive to think no more on’t.

20HeartyWill you ride forth for air then, and be merry?

21OldrentsYour counsel and example may instruct me.

22HeartySack must be had in sundry places too.

For songs, I am provided.

SPRINGLOVE enters with books and papers;
he lays them on the table.

23Oldrents [Aside] Yet here comes one brings me a second fear,

Who has my care† the next unto my children.

24HeartyYour steward, sir, it seems, has business with you.

I wish you would have none.

25OldrentsI’ll soon dispatch it,

And then be for our journey instantly.

26HeartyI’ll wait your coming down*, sir.He exits.

27OldrentsBut why, Springlove,

Is now this expedition†?

28SpringloveSir, ’tis duty.

29OldrentsNot common among stewards, I confess,

To urge in their accounts before the day

Their lords have limited†. Some that are grown

To hoary hairs and knighthoods are not found

Guilty of such an importunity†.

’Tis yet but thirty days, when I give forty

After the half-year day, our Lady last*.

Could I suspect my trust were lost in thee,

Or doubt thy youth had not ability

To carry out the weight of such a charge,

I, then, should call on thee.

30SpringloveSir, your indulgence,

I hope, shall ne’er corrupt me. Ne’ertheless,

The testimony of a fair discharge*

From time to time will be encouragement

SPRINGLOVE turns over the several books to his master.

To virtue in me. You may then be pleased

To take here [Showing him the pages] a survey of all your rents

Received, and all such other payments as

Came to my hands since my last audit for

Cattle, wool, corn, all fruits of husbandry.

Then, my receipts on bonds, and some new leases,

With [Showing him the pages] some old debts, and almost desperate† ones,

As well from country cavaliers as courtiers.*

Then here, sir, [Showing him the pages] are my several disbursements†,

In all particulars for yourself and daughters,

In charge of housekeeping, buildings, and repairs;

Journeys, apparel, coaches, gifts, and all

Expenses for your personal necessaries†.

Here, [Showing him the pages] servants’ wages, liveries, and cures†.

Here [Showing him the pages] for supplies of horses, hawks, and hounds.

And lastly, not the least to be remembered,

[Showing him the pages] Your large benevolences to the poor.

31OldrentsThy charity there goes hand in hand with mine.

And, Springlove, I commend it in thee that

So young in years art grown so ripe in goodness.

May their heaven-piercing prayers bring on thee

Equal rewards with me.

32SpringloveNow here, sir, [Showing him the pages] is

The balance of the several† accounts

Which shews you what remains in cash which, added

Unto your former bank†, makes up in all —

33Oldrents [Reading him the page] Twelve thousand and odd pounds.

34SpringloveHere are the keys

Of all. The chests are safe in your own closet†.

35OldrentsWhy in my closet? Is not yours as safe?

36SpringloveOh, sir. you know my suit†.

37OldrentsYour suit? What suit?

38SpringloveTouching the time of year.

39Oldrents’Tis well-nigh May.

Why, what of that, good Springlove?

[A] nightingale sings.

40SpringloveOh, sir, you hear I am called.

41OldrentsFie, Springlove, fie!

I hoped thou hadst abjured† that uncouth practice.

42SpringloveYou thought I had forsaken nature then.

43OldrentsIs that disease of nature still in thee

So virulent? And notwithstanding all

My favours, in my gifts, my cares, and counsels,

Which to a soul ingrateful might be boasted?

Have I first bred thee and then preferred thee from

I will not say how wretched a beginning

To be a master over all my servants,

Planted thee in my bosom, and canst thou,

There, slight me for the whistling of a bird?

44SpringloveYour reason, sir, informs you that’s no cause,

But ’tis the season of the year that calls me.

What moves her notes provokes my disposition†

By a more absolute power of nature than

Philosophy can render an account for.

45OldrentsI find there’s no expelling it, but still

It will return. I have tried all the means,

As I may safely think, in humane* wisdom,

And did, as near as reason could, assure me

That thy last year’s restraint† had stopped for ever

That running sore† on thee, that gadding† humour —

When, only for that cause, I laid the weight

Of mine estate in stewardship upon thee,

Which kept thee in that year after so many

Summer vagaries† thou hadst made before.

46SpringloveYou kept a swallow† in a cage that while.

I cannot, sir, endure another summer

In that restraint with life: ’twas then my torment,

But now my death. Yet, sir, my life is yours,

Who are my patron: freely may you take it.

Yet pardon, sir, my frailty, that do beg

A small continuance of it on my knees.[He kneels.]

47OldrentsCan there no means be found to preserve life

In thee but wandering like a vagabond?

Does not the sun as comfortably shine

Upon my gardens as the opener fields?

Or on my fields as others far remote?

Are not my walks and greens as delectable

As the highways and commons? Are the shades

Of sycamore and bowers of eglantine†

Less pleasing than of bramble or thorn hedges?

Or of my groves and thickets than wild woods?

Are not my fountain waters fresher than

The troubled streams, where every beast does drink?

Do not the birds sing here as sweet and lively

As any other where? Is not thy bed more soft

And rest more safe than in a field or barn?

Is a full table, which is called thine own,

Less curious† or wholesome than the scraps

From others’ trenchers†, twice or thrice translated†?

48Springlove [He rises.]* Yea, in the winter season, when the fire

Is sweeter than the air.

49OldrentsWhat air is wanting?

50SpringloveO sir, you’ve heard of pilgrimages;

Our initial interest in the workshop was focused on an extract from [JC 1.1.speeches50-58], exploring some of the ways in which the inner tensions in Springlove and Oldrents might manifest themselves. Both men are deeply torn. Springlove is in the grip of his annual desire to leave his master and go ‘wandering’. Whilst he “must abroad or perish,” he does not want to be rude to his master or cause him pain. Oldrents, too, is being pulled in different directions. Part of him wants to insist that the young man, the only ‘son’ he has, stays at home and is not exposed to the dangers of travelling. At the same time, however, he does not want to offend Springlove, fearing that if he upsets him he will never return.

In our first read-throughs, the objective of each character was clear but too simple: Springlove (Alan Morrissey) wanted to leave, Oldrents (Hannah Watkins) wanted him to stay. This does not do justice to the complexity of Brome’s characterisation and it is also dramatically less interesting than if the struggle for both men is as much with themselves as it is with the other. Brian Woolland, the director, encouraged both actors to take their time, to allow the characters to be more tentative, with the intention of enabling them (and the audience) to get a stronger sense of the internal dialogue – not in the interests of developing an inappropriately psychological characterisation, but because the play itself is so centrally concerned with these debates between individual liberty and the restraint of social and civil responsibilities. Whilst this was certainly effective, Brian felt that each character’s objectives were still being played as if the only obstacle to prevent them achieving what they wanted was external, that is the other character’s resistance, when there is also an internal obstacle. He asked the actors to read from earlier in the scene, starting at Speech 34 (‘Springlove: Here are the keys / Of all …’). We then discussed those moments in the extract where either character felt their resistance to the other’s objective becoming uncertain or unstable. We agreed that a pivotal moment occurs after [JC 1.1.speech39], where Brome gives the stage direction, ‘[A] nightingale sings’. Fortunately, Olivia Darnley (an actor working with us for the day, but not taking a role in this particular scene) was able to produce a remarkable birdsong imitation. Helen Ostovich described Springlove’s response to the sound of the bird as the revelation of an involuntary impulse: he is ‘confounded’.

The two occasions when birdsong is heard give crucial glimpses into Springlove’s inner turmoil.

In the subsequent discussions, Brian Woolland asked the actors to use the analogy of a parent talking to a son or daughter who was keen to go on a gap year prior to starting at university.

Whilst this was useful in getting at a sense of both characters’ internal conflicts, Julie Sanders and Richard Cave noted that the analogy did not recognise the extent to which begging, and indeed poverty, was extremely dangerous in mid seventeenth century England – not least because the laws against beggars in this period were so punitive. Indeed, whilst various analogies were explored in discussion, the social and political specificity of the scene became increasingly evident. The following extract is from an enactment of the whole episode.

It is not surprising that, for both characters, the internal tensions are most evident when they engage in direct address to the audience. This is not only where each character articulates most clearly the discomfort of his position, but, by talking directly to the audience, removes himself, physically and emotionally, from the social constraints of the master / servant relationship. Whilst this realisation of a substantial extract from the scene achieved something of Helen Ostovich’s aims in that it revealed the inner tensions in both characters, it begged a number of significant questions about the relationship between acting style and social specificity. One area for useful further exploration might have been in the physical contact between the two men. When Oldrents puts his hand on Springlove’s shoulder , there is a strong, if momentary, sense that this is both a sign of friendship and an assertion of ownership, with the timing of the gesture reinforcing Oldrents’ rhetorical question, “Are not my (Hannah’s emphasis) walks and greens as delectable as the highways…?” [JC 1.1.speech47].

There is another moment in the extract, however, where Springlove puts his hand on Oldrents’ knee.

The gesture seems too familiar, given Springlove’s social position. It is not that the physical contact is ‘wrong’ either theatrically or historically, but that the inappropriateness of it needs to be more marked – perhaps with a look of surprise on the part of Oldrents and a hint of embarrassment from Springlove, or at least a momentary recognition that he might have overstepped a social boundary. It is easy to imagine such an interaction (and how much more clearly it could be signalled if the actors were in period costumes that marked their social status). Pressures of time regrettably prevented us from exploring such moments in as much detail as we would have liked. The enactment does, however, reveal the extent to which the exchange between Oldrents and Springlove exposes the inner tensions that drive not only these two characters but the play itself. and

The voluntary travels of good men?

51OldrentsFor penance, or to holy ends! But bring

Not those into comparison, I charge you.

52SpringloveI do not, sir. But pardon me to think

Their sufferings are much sweetened by delights

Such as we find by shifting place and air.

53OldrentsAre there delights in beggary? Or, if to take

Diversity of air be such a solace,

Travel the kingdom over. And if this

Yield not variety enough, try further,

Provided your deportment be gentle†.

Take horse, and man, and money: you have all,

Or I’ll allow enough.

Nightingale, cuckoo, etc., sing.

54SpringloveOh, how am I confounded†!

Dear sir, retort† me naked to the world

Rather than lay those burdens on me, which

Will stifle me. I must abroad or perish!

55Oldrents [Aside] I will no longer strive to wash this Moor*,

Nor breathe more minutes so unthriftily

In civil argument against rude wind,

But rather practise to withdraw my love

And tender care (if it be possible)

From that unfruitful† breast, incapable

Of wholesome counsel.

56SpringloveHave I your leave, sir?

57OldrentsI leave you to dispute it with yourself.

I have no voice† to bid you go or stay.

My love shall give thy will pre-eminence†;

And leave th’effect to time and providence —He exits.

58SpringloveI am confounded in my obligation

To this good man. His virtue is my punishment,

When ’tis not in my nature to return

Obedience to his merits. I could wish

Such an ingratitude were death by th’law

And put in present execution on me,

To rid me of my sharper suffering.

Nor but by death can this predominant sway

Of nature be extinguished in me. I

Have fought with my affections†, by th’assistance

Of all the strengths of art and discipline —

All which I owe him for in education too —

To conquer and establish my observance,

As in all other rules, to him in this,

This inborn strong desire of liberty

In that free course, which he detests as shameful,

And I approve my earth’s felicity*,

But find the war is endless, and must fly.

What must I lose then? A good master’s love.

What loss feels he that wants not what he loses?

They’ll say I lose all reputation.

What’s that, to live where no such thing is known?

My duty† to a master will be questioned.

Where duty is exacted it is none,

And among beggars, each man is his own.

RANDALL and three or four servants enter with a great kettle†, and black jacks†, and a baker’s basket, all empty.

Now, fellows, what news from whence you came?[The servants] exeunt with all.

RANDALL remains.

59RandallThe old wonted† news, sir, from your guest house, the old barn. We have unloaden the bread-basket, the beef-kettle, and the beer bombards† there amongst your guests, the beggars. And they have all prayed for you and our master, as their manner is, from the teeth outward*; marry from the teeth inwards ’tis enough to swallow your alms, from whence I think their prayers seldom come.

60SpringloveThou shouldst not think uncharitably.

61RandallThought’s free, Master Steward, an* it please you. But your charity is nevertheless notorious†, I must needs say.

62Springlove‘Meritorious’, thou meantst to say.

63RandallSurely, sir, no. ’Tis out of our curate’s book*.

64SpringloveBut I aspire no merits, nor popular thanks. ’Tis well if I do well in it.

65RandallIt might be better though — if old Randall, whom you allow to talk, might counsel — to help to breed up poor men’s children, or decayed labourers past their work or travel, or towards the setting up of poor young married couples, than to bestow an hundred pound a year (at least you do that, if not all you get) besides our master’s bounty, to maintain in begging such wanderers as these, that never are out of their way; that cannot give account from whence they came, or whither they would; nor of any beginning they ever had, or any end they seek, but still to stroll and beg till their bellies be full, and then sleep till they be hungry.

66SpringloveThou art ever repining† at those poor people! They take nothing from thee but thy pains: and that I pay thee for too. Why shouldst thou grudge?

67RandallAm I not bitten to it every day, by the six-footed bloodhounds† that they leave in their litter, when I throw out the old, to lay fresh straw for the newcomers at night? That’s one part of my office. And you are sure, that though your hospitality be but for a night and a morning for one rabble, to have a new supply every evening*. They take nothing from me indeed; they give too much.

68SpringloveThou art old Randall still! Ever grumbling, but still officious† for ’em.

69RandallYes, hang ’em, they know I love ’em well enough. I have had merry bouts† with some of ’em.

70SpringloveWhat say’st thou, Randall?

71RandallThey are indeed my pastime. I left the merry grigs† (as their provender has pricked ’em*) in such a hoigh† yonder! Such a frolic! You’ll hear anon, as you walk nearer ’em.

72SpringloveWell, honest Randall. Thus it is. I am for a journey. I know not how long will be my absence. But I will presently take order with the cook, pantler†, and butler for my wonted allowance to the poor. And I will leave money with thee to manage the affair till my return.

73RandallThen uprise Randall, Bailie† of the Beggars.*

74SpringloveAnd if our master shall be displeased (although the charge† be mine) at the openness† of the entertainment, thou shalt then give it proportionably in money, and let them walk further.

75RandallPseugh! That will never do’t, never do ’em good. ’Tis the seat, the habitation, the rendezvous* that cheers their hearts. Money would clog their consciences. Nor must I lose the music of ’em in their lodging.

76SpringloveWe will agree upon’t anon. Go now about your business.

77RandallI go. Bailie? Nay, Steward and Chamberlain of the Rogues and Beggars!He exits.

78SpringloveI cannot think but with a trembling fear

On this adventure, in a scruple which

I have not weighed with all my other doubts.

I shall, in my departure, rob my master.

Of what? Of a true servant. Other theft

I have committed none. And that may be supplied,

And better too, by some more constant to him.

But I may injure many in his trust*,

Which now he cannot be but sparing† of.

I rob him too of the content and hopes

He had in me, whom he had built and raised

Unto that growth in his affection

That I became a gladness in his eye

And now must be a grief or a vexation

A noise and singing within.

Unto his noble heart. But hark! Ay, there’s

The harmony that drowns all doubts and fears.

A little nearer ――

Song [from within].

From hunger and cold who lives more free,

Or who more richly clad then we?

Our bellies are full; our flesh is warm;

And against pride our rags are a charm.

Enough is our feast, and for tomorrow

Let rich men care†; we feel no sorrow.

No sorrow, no sorrow, no sorrow, no sorrow.

Let rich men care; we feel no sorrow.

79SpringloveThe emperor hears no such music; nor feels content like this!

Each city, each town, and every village,

Affords us either an alms or pillage†.

And if the weather be cold and raw

Then in a barn we tumble† in straw.

If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock*,

The fields will afford us a hedge or a haycock†.

A haycock, a haycock, a haycock, a haycock,

The fields will afford us a hedge or a haycock.

80SpringloveMost ravishing delight! But in all this

Only one sense is pleased: mine ear is feasted.

Mine eye too must be satisfied with my joys.

The hoarding usurer cannot have more

Thirsty desire to see his golden store

When he unlocks his treasury than I

The equipage† in which my beggars lie.

He opens the scene; the beggars are discovered in their postures; then they issue forth; and last the PATRICO.

81All BeggarsOur master, our master! Our sweet and comfortable master!

82SpringloveHow cheer, my hearts?

83ScribbleMost crouse†, most caperingly†.

Shall we dance, shall we sing, to welcome our king?

Strike up, piper, a merry merry dance,

That we on our stampers† may foot it and prance*,

To make his heart merry as he has made ours,

As lustick† and frolic as lords in their bowers.

Music. Dance.

84SpringloveExceeding well performed.

85Scribble’Tis well if it like you, master. But we have not that rag among us that we will not dance off to do you service, we being all and only your servants, most noble sir. Command us therefore and employ us, we beseech you.

86SpringloveThou speak’st most courtly.

87LawyerSir, he can speak, and could have writ as well. He is a decayed† poet, newly fallen in among us, and begs as well as the best of us. He learned it pretty well in his own profession before and can the better practise it in ours now.

88SpringloveThou art a wit too, it seems.

89SoldierHe should have wit and knavery too, sir, for he was an attorney till he was pitched over the bar†. And from that fall, he was taken up a knight o’ the post†; and so he continued, till he was degraded at the whipping-post†; and from thence he ran resolutely into this course. His cunning in the law and the other’s labour with the muses are dedicate† to your service; and for myself, I’ll fight for you.

90SpringloveThou art a brave fellow, and speak’st like a commander. Hast thou borne arms?*

91CourtierSir, he has borne the name of a Netherland soldier* till he ran away from his colours†, and was taken lame with lying in the fields by a sciatica*. I mean, sir, the strappado*. After which, by a second retreat, indeed running away, he scambled† into his country, and so scaped the gallows; and then snapped up his living in the city by his wit in cheating, pimping, and such like arts, till the cart† and the pillory† showed him too publicly to the world. And so, begging being the last refuge, he entered into our society. And now lives honestly, I must needs say, as the best of us.

92SpringloveThou speak’st good language too.

93ScribbleHe was a courtier born, sir, and begs on pleasure, I assure you, refusing great and constant means from able friends† to make him a staid† man. Yet, the want of a leg notwithstanding, he must travel in this kind against all common reason, by the special policy of providence.

94SpringloveAs how, I prithee?

95ScribbleHis father, sir, was a courtier, a great court beggar*, I assure you; I made these verses of him and his son here.

A courtier begged by covetise†, not need,

From others that which made them beg indeed.

He begged till wealth had laden him with cares

To keep for’s children and their children shares;

While the oppressed, that lost that great estate,

Sent curses after it unto their fate.

The father dies (the world says) very rich;

The son, being gotten while (it seems) the itch

Of begging was upon the courtly sire,

Or bound by fate, will to no wealth aspire,

Though offered him in money, clothes, or meat,

More than he begs or instantly must eat.

Is not he heavenly blessed that hates earth’s treasure

And begs, with ‘What’s a gentleman but’s pleasure?’

Or say it be upon the heir a curse,

What’s that to him? The beggar’s ne’er the worse.

For of the general store that heaven has sent,

He values not a penny till’t be spent.

96AllA Scribble, a Scribble!*

97LawyerWhat city or court poet could say more than our hedge muse-monger here?

98CourtierWhat say, sir, to our poet Scribble here?

99SpringloveI like his vein exceeding well, and the whole consort† of you.

100LawyerConsort, sir?* We have musicians too among us: true merry beggars indeed that, being within the reach of the lash for singing libelous songs at London, were fain to fly into our covey†, and here they sing all our poet’s ditties. They can sing anything most tunably, sir, but† psalms. What they may do hereafter under a triple tree† is much expected. But they live very civilly and genteelly* among us.

101SpringloveBut what is he there? That solemn old fellow that neither speaks of himself, nor anybody for him.

102LawyerOh, sir, the rarest man of all. He is a prophet. See how he holds up his prognosticating† nose? He is divining† now.

103SpringloveHow? A prophet?

104LawyerYes, sir, a cunning-man and a fortune-teller: ’tis thought he was a great clerk† before his decay, but he is very close†, will not tell his beginning nor the fortune he himself is fallen from. But he serves us for a clergyman still, and marries us, if need be, after a new way of his own.

105SpringloveHow long have you had his company?

106LawyerBut lately come amongst us, but a very ancient stroll-all-the-land-over*, and has travelled with gipsies, and is a patrico†. Shall he read your fortune, sir?

107SpringloveIf it please him.

108PatricoLend me your hand, sir.

[He takes SPRINGLOVE's hand, and chants.]

By this palm, I understand,

Thou art born to wealth and land,

And, after many a bitter gust,

Shalt build with thy great grandsire’s dust.

109SpringloveWhere shall I find it? But come, I’ll not trouble my head with the search.

110LawyerWhat say, sir, to our crew? Are we not well congregated?

111SpringloveYou are a jovial crew, the only people

Whose happiness I admire.

112SoldierWill you make us happy in serving you? Have you any enemies? Shall we fight under you? Will you be our captain?

113LawyerNay, our king.

114SoldierCommand us something, sir.

115SpringloveWhere’s the next rendezvouz?

116ScribbleNeither in village nor in town,

But three mile off at Mapledown.

117SpringloveAt evening there I’ll visit you.

Song [sung by all the beggars].

Come, come, away! The spring

(By every bird that can but sing,

Or chirp a note, doth now invite

Us forth) to taste of his delight.

In field, in grove, on hill, in dale;

But above all the nightingale,

Who in her sweetness strives t’ out-do

The loudness of the hoarse cuckoo.

‘Cuckoo,’ cries he, ‘Jug, jug, jug*,’ sings she,

From bush to bush, from tree to tree.

Why in one place then tarry we?

Come away! Why do we stay?

We have no debt or rent to pay.

No bargains or accounts to make;

Nor land or lease to let or take;

Or, if we had, should that reward us,

When all the world’s our own before us,

And where we pass, and make resort,

It is our kingdom and our court?

‘Cuckoo,’ cries he, ‘Jug, jug, jug,’ sings she,

From bush to bush, from tree to tree.

Why in one place then tarry we?They exit singing.*

118SpringloveSo, now away.

They dream of happiness that live in state†,

But they enjoy it that obey their fate.He exits.

Edited by Helen Ostovich, Eleanor Lowe, Richard Cave, Elizabeth Schafer