HAMMON

Yonder’s the shop, and there my fair love sits.

She’s fair and lovely, but she is not mine.

O would she were! Thrice have I courted her,

Thrice hath my hand been moistened with her hand

Whilst my poor famished eyes do feed on that

5

Which made them famish. I am infortunate:

I still love one; yet nobody loves me.

I muse in other men what women see

That I so want. Fine Mistress Rose was coy,

And this, too curious. O no, she is chaste,

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And, for she thinks me wanton, she denies

To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes.

How prettily she works! O pretty hand!

O happy work! It doth me good to stand

Unseen to see her. Thus I oft have stood

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In frosty evenings, a light burning by her,

Enduring biting cold only to eye her.

One only look hath seemed as rich to me

As a king’s crown, such is love’s lunacy.

Muffled I’ll pass along, and by that try

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Whether she know me.

JANE Sir, what is’t you buy?

What is’t you lack, sir? Calico, or lawn,

Fine cambric shirts, or bands? What will you buy?

HAMMON

[Aside] That which thou wilt not sell. Faith, yet, I’ll try. –

How do you sell this handkerchief?

JANE Good cheap.

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HAMMON

And how these ruffs?

JANE Cheap too.

HAMMON And how this band?

JANE

Cheap too.

HAMMON All cheap. How sell you then this hand?

JANE

My hands are not to be sold.

HAMMON To be given, then.

Nay, faith, I come to buy.

JANE But none knows when.

HAMMON

Good sweet, leave work a little while; let’s play.

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JANE

I cannot live by keeping holiday.

HAMMON

I’ll pay you for the time which shall be lost.

JANE

With me you shall not be at so much cost.

HAMMON

Look how you wound this cloth, so you wound me.

JANE

It may be so.

HAMMON ’Tis so.

JANE What remedy?

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HAMMON

Nay, faith, you are too coy.

JANE Let go my hand.

HAMMON

I will do any task at your command.

I would let go this beauty, were I not

Enjoined to disobey you by a power

That controls kings. I love you.

JANE So; now part.

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HAMMON

With hands I may, but never with my heart.

In faith, I love you.

JANE I believe you do.

HAMMON

Shall a true love in me breed hate in you?

JANE

I hate you not.

HAMMON Then you must love.

JANE I do.

What, are you better now? - I love not you.

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HAMMON

All this, I hope, is but a woman’s fray,

That means ‘come to me’ when she cries ‘away!’

In earnest, mistress - I do not jest –

A true chaste love hath entered in my breast.

I love you dearly as I love my life.

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I love you as a husband loves a wife.

That, and no other love, my love requires.

Thy wealth, I know, is little; my desires

Thirst not for gold. Sweet beauteous Jane, what’s mine

Shall, if thou make myself thine, all be thine.

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Say, judge, what is thy sentence - life or death?

Mercy or cruelty lies in thy breath.

JANE

Good sir, I do believe you love me well,

For ‘tis a silly conquest, silly pride

For one like you - I mean a gentleman –

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To boast that by his love tricks he hath brought

Such and such women to his amorous lure.

I think you do not so; yet many do,

And make it even a very trade to woo.

I could be coy, as many women be,

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Feed you with sunshine smiles and wanton looks;

But I detest witchcraft. Say that I

Do constantly believe you constant have –

HAMMON

Why dost thou not believe me?

JANE I believe you.

But yet, good sir, because I will not grieve you

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With hopes to taste fruit which will never fall,

In simple truth, this is the sum of all:

My husband lives - at least I hope he lives.

Pressed was he to these bitter wars in France.

Bitter they are to me by wanting him.

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I have but one heart, and that heart’s his due.

How can I then bestow the same on you?

Whilst he lives, his I live, be it ne’er so poor;

And rather be his wife than a king’s whore.

HAMMON

Chaste and dear woman, I will not abuse thee,

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Although it cost my life if thou refuse me.

Thy husband pressed for France - what was his name?

JANE

Ralph Damport.

HAMMON Damport? Here’s a letter sent

From France to me from a dear friend of mine,

A gentleman of place. Here he doth write

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Their names that have been slain in every fight.

JANE

I hope death’s scroll contains not my love’s name.

HAMMON

Cannot you read?

JANE I can.

HAMMON Peruse the same.

To my remembrance such a name I read

Amongst the rest. See here.

JANE Ay me, he’s dead,

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He’s dead! If this be true, my dear heart’s slain.

HAMMON

Have patience, dear love.

JANE Hence! Hence!

HAMMON Nay, sweet Jane,

Make not poor sorrow proud with these rich tears.

I mourn thy husband’s death because thou mournest.

JANE

That bill is forged - ’tis signed by forgery!

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HAMMON

I’ll bring thee letters sent besides to many

Carrying the like report. Jane, ‘tis too true.

Come, weep not. Mourning, though it rise from love,

Helps not the mourned, yet hurts them that mourn.

JANE

For God’s sake, leave me.

HAMMON Whither dost thou turn?

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Forget the dead; love them that are alive.

His love is faded, try how mine will thrive.

JANE

’Tis now no time for me to think on love.

HAMMON

’Tis now best time for you to think on love,

Because your love lives not.

JANE Though he be dead,

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My love to him shall not be buried.

For God’s sake, leave me to myself alone.

HAMMON

’Twould kill my soul to leave thee drowned in moan.

Answer me to my suit, and I am gone.

Say to me yea or no.

JANE No.

HAMMON Then farewell. –

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One farewell will not serve; I come again. –

Come, dry these wet cheeks. Tell me, faith, sweet Jane,

Yea or no: once more.

JANE Once more I say no.

Once more be gone, I pray, else will I go.

HAMMON

Nay, then, I will grow rude. By this white hand,

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Until you change that cold ‘no’, here I’ll stand,

Till by your hard heart –

JANE Nay, for God’s love, peace!

My sorrows by your presence more increase.

Not that you thus are present; but all grief

Desires to be alone. Therefore in brief

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Thus much I say, and saying bid adieu:

If ever I wed man it shall be you.

HAMMON

O blessed voice! Dear Jane, I’ll urge no more.

Thy breath hath made me rich.

JANE Death makes me poor.