id="Page_12"/> coxcombs: let’s be no longer fools to this flat-cap, Touchstone. Eastward, bully, this satin belly, and canvas-backed Touchstone: ’slife! man, his father was a maltman, and his mother sold gingerbread in Christchurch.[12]    121

Go. What would you ha’ me to do?

Qu. Why, do nothing, be like a gentleman, be idle; the curse of man is labour. Wipe thy bum with testones, and make ducks and drakes with shillings. What, Eastward-ho! Wilt thou cry, “what is’t ye lack?” stand with a bare pate, and a dropping nose, under a wooden pent-house, and art a gentleman? Wilt thou bear tankards, and mayst bear arms? Be ruled; turn gallant; Eastward-ho! ta, lirra, lirra, ro! “Who[13] calls Jeronimo? Speak, here I am.” God’s so! how like a sheep thou look’st: o’ my conscience, some cowherd begot thee, thou Golding of Golding-hall! Ha, boy?    133

Go. Go, ye are a prodigal coxcomb! I a cowherd’s son, because I turn not a drunken whore-hunting rake-hell like thyself!

Qu. Rake-hell! rake-hell!

[Offers to draw, and Golding trips up his heels and holds him.

Go. Pish, in soft terms, ye are a cowardly bragging boy. I’ll ha’ you whipt.

Qu. Whipt?—that’s good, i’faith! untruss me?    140

Go. No, thou wilt undo thyself. Alas! I behold thee with pity, not with anger: thou common shot-clog,[14] gull of all companies; methinks I see thee already walk-in Moorfields[15] without a cloak, with half a hat, without a band, a doublet with three buttons, without a girdle, a hose with one point, and no garter, with a cudgel under thine arm, borrowing and begging threepence.

Qu. Nay, ’slife! take this and take all; as I am a gentleman born, I’ll be drunk, grow valiant, and beat thee.

[Exit.

Go. Go, thou most madly vain, whom nothing can recover but that which reclaims atheists, and makes great persons sometimes religious—calamity. As for my place and life, thus I have read:—    154

Whate’er some vainer youth may term disgrace,
The gain of honest pains is never base;
From trades, from arts, from valour, honour springs,
These three are founts of gentry, yea, of kings.

Enter Gertrude, Mildred, Bettrice, and Poldavy, a tailor; Poldavy with a fair gown, Scotch farthingale and French-fall in his arms; Gertrude in a

French head-attire, and citizen’s gown; Mildred sewing and Bettrice leading a monkey after her.[16]

Ge. For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel approach—that sweet, that fine, that delicate, that—for love’s sake tell me if he come. O sister Mill, though my father be a low-capped tradesman, yet I must be a lady; and I praise God my mother must call me madam. Does he come? Off with this gown, for shame’s sake, off with this gown: let not my knight take me in the city-cut in any hand: tear’t, pax on’t (does he come?) tear’t off. “Thus whilst she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,” &c.[17]    167

Mi. Lord, sister, with what an immodest impatiency and disgraceful scorn do you put off your city ’tire; I am sorry to think you imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both you and us.

Ge. I tell you I cannot endure it, I must be a lady: do you wear your coif with a London licket,[18] your stammel[19] petticoat with two guards,[20] the buffin[21] gown with the tuff-taffety cape, and the velvet lace. I must be a lady,

and I will be a lady. I like some humours of the city-dames well: to eat cherries[22] only at an angel a pound, good; to dye rich scarlet, black, pretty; to line a grogram gown clean thorough with velvet, tolerable; their pure linen, their smocks of three pounds a smock, are to be borne withal. But your mincing niceries, taffeta pipkins, durance[23] petticoats, and silver bodkins—God’s my life, as I shall be a lady, I cannot endure it! Is he come yet? Lord, what a long knight ’tis! “And ever she cried, Shoot