A pleasant Comedie of the two
A drench, or cut him in the forehead, for he hath got
A horses disease, namely the staggers, to night hees a good
Huswife, he reeles al that he wrought to day, & he were good
Now to play at dice, for he castes excellent well.
A horses disease, namely the staggers, to night hees a good
Huswife, he reeles al that he wrought to day, & he were good
Now to play at dice, for he castes excellent well.
Fran. How meanst thou, is he drunke?
Boy. I cannot tell, but I am sure hee hath more liquor in him
Then a whole dicker of hydes, hees sockt throughly I faith.
Then a whole dicker of hydes, hees sockt throughly I faith.
Fran. Well goe and call him, bid him bring me drinke.
Exit.Boy. I will sir.
Fran. My mother powres and will looke merrily,
Neither vpon my father nor on me,
He saies she fell out with mistresse Barnes to day,
Then I am sure they'l not be quickly friends,
Good Lord what kinde of creatures women are?
Their loue is lightly wonne and lightly lost,
And then their hate is deadly and extreame.
He that doth take a wyfe, betakes himselfe
To all the cares and troubles of the world,
Now her disquietnes doth grieue my father,
Greeues me, and troubles all the house besides,
What, shall I haue so ne drinke? how now a horne?
Belike the drunken slaue is fallen a sleepe,
And now the boy doth wake him with his horne,
How now sirra, wheres the butler?
Neither vpon my father nor on me,
He saies she fell out with mistresse Barnes to day,
Then I am sure they'l not be quickly friends,
Good Lord what kinde of creatures women are?
Their loue is lightly wonne and lightly lost,
And then their hate is deadly and extreame.
He that doth take a wyfe, betakes himselfe
To all the cares and troubles of the world,
Now her disquietnes doth grieue my father,
Greeues me, and troubles all the house besides,
What, shall I haue so ne drinke? how now a horne?
Belike the drunken slaue is fallen a sleepe,
And now the boy doth wake him with his horne,
How now sirra, wheres the butler?
Ent. Boy. Mary sir, where he was euen now a sleepe, but I
wakt him, and when he wakt, he thought he was in mayster
Barnses buttery, for he stretcht himself thus: and yauning
said, Nicke, honest Nicke fill a fresh bowle of ale, stand to it
Nicke and thou beest a man of Gods making, stand to it, and
then I winded my horne, and hees horne mad.
wakt him, and when he wakt, he thought he was in mayster
Barnses buttery, for he stretcht himself thus: and yauning
said, Nicke, honest Nicke fill a fresh bowle of ale, stand to it
Nicke and thou beest a man of Gods making, stand to it, and
then I winded my horne, and hees horne mad.
Enter Hodge.
Hodg. Boy hey, ho boy, and thou beest a man draw, O heres
a blessed mooneshine God be thanked, boy is not this goodly
weather for barley?
a blessed mooneshine God be thanked, boy is not this goodly
weather for barley?
Boy. Spoken like a right maulster Hodge, but doost thou
heare? thou art not drunke.
heare? thou art not drunke.
Hod. No, I scorne that I faith.
But. But thy fellow Dicke Coomes is mightily drunke.
Hod.
