ACT II
SCENE I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside.
What, ho, Pilch!
Ha, come and bring away the nets!
What, Patch-breech, I say!
What say you, master?
Look how thou stirrest now! Come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a wanion.
Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us even now.
Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.
Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? They say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, they ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.
Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave gaping till they swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all.
[Aside.] A pretty moral.
But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry.
Why, man?
Because he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church and parish up again. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind,—
[Aside.] Simonides?
We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.
Honest! good fellow, what’s that? If it be a day fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody look after it.
May see the sea hath cast upon your coast.
What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way!
No, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country of Greece gets more with begging than we can do with working.
Canst thou catch any fishes, then?
I never practised it.
Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for’t.
Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid’t, and I have a gown here; come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and moreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome.
I thank you, sir.
Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg?
I did but crave.
But crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping.
Why, are your beggars whipped, then?
O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go draw up the net.
[Aside.] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!
Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are?
Not well.
Why, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our King, the good Simonides.
The good Simonides, do you call him?
Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and good government.
He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good government. How far is his court distant from this shore?
Marry sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and tomorrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world to joust and tourney for her love.
Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there.
O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for—his wife’s soul.
Help, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s right in the law; ’twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ’tis come at last, and ’tis turned to a rusty armour.
What mean you sir?
Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady?
I’ll show the virtue I have borne in arms.
Why, d’ye take it, and the gods give thee good on’t!
Ay, but hark you, my friend; ’twas we that made up this garment through the rough seams of the waters: there are certain condolements, certain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you’ll remember from whence you had them.
We’ll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair; and I’ll bring thee to the court myself.