SKIPPER

Ick sal yow wat seggen, Hans; dis skip dat comen from Candy is

al wol, by Got’s sacrament, van sugar, civet, almonds, cambric,

end alle dingen – towsand, towsand ding. Nempt it, Hans,

nempt it vor yow meester. Daer be de bils van laden. Your

meester Simon Eyre sal hae good copen. Wat seggen yow, Hans?

5

FIRK

Wat seggen de reggen de copen, slopen? – laugh, Hodge, laugh!

LACY

Mine liever broder Firk, bringt Meester Eyre tot den signe van

swanniken. Daer sal yow find dis skipper end me. Wat seggen

yow, broder Firk? Doot it, Hodge. Come, skipper.

FIRK

‘Bring him’, quoth you? Here’s no knavery, to bring my master

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to buy a ship worth the lading of two or three hundred

thousand pounds. Alas, that’s nothing, a trifle, a bauble, Hodge!

HODGE

The truth is, Firk, that the merchant owner of the ship dares

not show his head, and therefore this skipper, that deals for

him, for the love he bears to Hans offers my master Eyre a

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bargain in the commodities. He shall have a reasonable day of

payment; he may sell the wares by that time, and be an huge

gainer himself.

FIRK

Yea, but can my fellow Hans lend my master twenty porpentines

as an earnest-penny?

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HODGE

’Portagues’ thou wouldst say: here they be, Firk. Hark, they

jingle in my pocket like Saint Mary Overy’s bells.

FIRK

Mum, here comes my dame and my master. She’ll scold, on my

life, for loitering this Monday. But all’s one – let them all say

what they can, Monday’s our holiday.

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MARGERY

You sing, Sir Sauce, but I beshrew your heart;

I fear for this your singing we shall smart.

FIRK

Smart for me, dame? Why, dame, why?

HODGE

Master, I hope you’ll not suffer my dame to take down your

journeymen.

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FIRK

If she take me down, I’ll take her up – yea, and take her down,

too, a buttonhole lower.

EYRE

Peace, Firk; not I, Hodge. By the life of Pharaoh, by the Lord of

Ludgate, by this beard, every hair whereof I value at a king’s

ransom, she shall not meddle with you. Peace, you bombast-

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cotton-candle quean – away, Queen of Clubs, quarrel not with

me and my men, with me and my fine Firk. I’ll firk you if you

do.

MARGERY

Yea, yea, man, you may use me as you please – but let that pass.

EYRE

Let it pass? Let it vanish away! Peace, am I not Simon Eyre? Are

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not these my brave men, brave shoemakers, all gentlemen of

the Gentle Craft? Prince am I none, yet am I nobly born, as

being the sole son of a shoemaker. Away, rubbish, Vanish, melt

- melt like kitchen-stuff.

MARGERY

Yea, yea, ‘tis well. I must be called rubbish, kitchen-stuff, for a

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sort of knaves.

FIRK

Nay, dame, you shall not weep and wail in woe for me. Master,

I’ll stay no longer. Here’s a venentory of my shop-tools. Adieu,

master. Hodge, farewell.

HODGE

Nay, stay, Firk, thou shalt not go alone.

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MARGERY

I pray, let them go. There be more maids than Malkin, more

men than Hodge, and more fools than Firk.

FIRK

Fools? ‘Nails, if I tarry now, I would my guts might be turned

to shoe-thread.

HODGE

And if I stay, I pray God I may be turned to a Turk, and set in

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Finsbury for boys to shoot at! Come, Firk.

EYRE

Stay, my fine knaves, you arms of my trade, you pillars of my

profession. What, shall a tittle-tattle’s words make you forsake

Simon Eyre? Avaunt, kitchen-stuff!Rip, you brown-bread

tannikin, out of my sight! Move me not. Have I not ta’en you

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from selling tripes in Eastcheap, and set you in my shop, and

made you hail-fellow with Simon Eyre the shoemaker? And

now do you deal thus with my journeymen? Look, you powder-

beef quean, on the face of Hodge: here’s a face for a lord.

FIRK

And here’s a face for any lady in Christendom.

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EYRE

Rip, you chitterling, avaunt! Boy, bid the tapster of the Boar’s

Head fill me a dozen cans of beer for my journeymen.

FIRK

A dozen cans? O brave! Hodge, now I’ll stay!

EYRE

[Aside to BOY] An’ the knave fills any more than two he pays for

them.

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