Thank her for the crowd to-morrow. But for her, We were a homesick handful of brave souls That love the royal sport. These mouthing players, These hookers, would 'a' spoiled us of our beer--

PRENTICE.

Lying by to catch the gentry at the stairs,-- All pressing to Bear Alley--

WAT. Run 'em in At stage-plays and show-fooleries on the way.

Stage-plays, with their tart nonsense and their flags, Their "Tamerlanes" and "Humors" and what not!

My life on't, there was not a man of us But fared his Lent, by reason of their fatness, And on a holiday ate not at all!

TOBIAS [_solemnly_].

'Tis so; 'tis so.

WAT. But when she heard it told How lean the sport was grown, she d.a.m.ns stage-plays O' Thursday. So: Nick gets his turn to growl!

PRENTICE.

As well as any player.

[_With a dumb show of ranting among the TAVERNERS._]

WAT. Players?--Hang them!

I know 'em, I. I've been with 'em.... I was As sweet a gentlewoman in my voice As any of your finches that sings small.

TOBIAS. 'Twas high.

[_Enter THE PLAYER, followed by CHIFFIN, the ballad-monger. He is abstracted and weary._]

WAT [_lingering at the table_].

I say, I've played.... There's not one man Of all the gang--save one.... Ay, there be one I grant you, now!... He used me in right sort; A man worth better trades.

[_Seeing THE PLAYER._]

--Lord love you, sir!

Why, this is you indeed. 'Tis a long day, sir, Since I clapped eyes on you. But even now Your name was on my tongue as pat as ale!

You see me off. We bait to-morrow, sir; Will you come see? Nick's fresh, and every soul As hot to see the fight as 'twere to be-- Man Daniel, baited with the lions!

TOBIAS. Sir, 'Tis high ... 'tis high.

WAT. We show him in the street With dogs and all, ay, now, if you will see.

THE PLAYER.

Why, so I will. A show and I not there?

Bear it out bravely, Wat. High fortune, man!

Commend me to thy bear.

[_Drinks and pa.s.ses him the cup._]

WAT. Lord love you, sir!

'Twas ever so you gave a man G.o.dspeed....

And yet your spirits flag; you look but palely.

I'll take your kindness, thank ye.

[_Turning away._]

In good time!

Come after me and Nick, now. Follow all; Come boys, come, pack!

[_Exit WAT, still descanting. Exeunt most of the TAVERNERS, with the PRENTICE. SIMEON DYER draws near THE PLAYER, regarding him gravely.

CHIFFIN sells ballads to those who go out. d.i.c.kON is about to follow them, when TOBIAS stops him._]

TOBIAS.

What? Not so fast, you there; Who gave you holiday? Bide by the inn; Tend on our gentry.

[_Exit after the crowd._]

CHIFFIN. Ballads, gentlemen?

Ballads, new ballads?

SIMEON [_to THE PLAYER._]

With your pardon, sir, I am gratified to note your abstinence From this deplorable fond merriment Of baiting of a bear.

THE PLAYER. Your friendship then Takes pleasure in the heaviness of my legs.

But I am weary I would see the bear.

Nay, rest you happy; malt shall comfort us.

SIMEON.

You do mistake me. I am--

CHIFFIN. Ballad, sir?

"How a Young Spark would Woo a Tanner's Wife, And She Sings Sweet in Turn."

SIMEON [_indignantly_].

Abandoned poet!

CHIFFIN [_indignantly_].

I'm no such thing! An honest ballad, sir, No poetry at all.

THE PLAYER.

Good, sell thy wares.

CHIFFIN.

"A Ballad of a Virtuous Country-Maid Forswears the Follies of the Flaunting Town"-- And tends her geese all day, and weds a vicar.

SIMEON.

A G.o.dlier tale, in sooth. But speak, my man; If she be virtuous, and the tale a true one, Can she not do't in prose?

THE PLAYER. Beseech her, man.

'Tis scandal she should use a measure so.

For no more sin than dealing out false measure Was Dame Sapphira slain.

SIMEON. You are with me, sir; Although methinks you do mistake the sense O' that you have read.... This jigging, jog-trot rime, This ring-me-round, debaseth mind and matter, To make the reason giddy--