A Collection Of Old English Plays, Vol. IV. | Page 4

in all this
towne, Besides they say he is an honest man, And keepes good rule and
orders in his house.
Beech. He's so indeede; his conversation Is full of honest harmlesse
curtesie: I dare presume, if that he be within, Hele serve us well, and
keepe us company. See where he is, go in, ile follow you; [Strive
curtesies. Nay straine no curtesie, you shall goe before.
Mer. Your welcome, neighbour, you are welcome, sir; I praie sit downe,
your verie welcome both.
Beech. We thanke you for it, and we thinke no lesse. Now fill two cans

of your ould strongest beare; That make so manie loose their little wits,
And make indentures as they go along.
Mer. Hoe, sister Rachell!
Rach. I come presently,
Enter Rachell.
Mer. Goe draw these gentlemen two cans of beare. Your negligence
that cannot tend the shop, Will make our customers forsake the house.
Wheres Harry Williams that he staies not here?
Rach. My selfe was busie dressing up the house: As for your man he is
not verie well, But sitteth sleeping by the kitchen fier.
Mer. If you are busie, get you up againe; [Exit. Ile draw my neighbours
then their drinke my selfe, Ile warrant you as good as any mans,-- And
yet no better; many have the like. [Exit for Beare.
Neigh. This showes him for a plain and honest man, That will not
flatter with too many wordes; Some shriltong'd fellowes would have
cogd and faind, Saying, ile draw the best in Christendome.
Beech. Hees none of those, but beares an honest minde, And shames to
utter what he cannot prove.
Enter Merry.
But here he comes: is that the best you have?
Mer. It is the best upon mine honest worde.
Beech. Then drinke to us.
Mer. I drinke unto you both.
Nei. Beech. We pledge you both, and thanke you hartelie.

Beech. Heres to you sir.
Neigh. I thank you.
[_Maister Beech drinkes; drinke Neighbour_.
Neigh. Tis good indeed and I had rather drinke Such beare as this as
any Gascoine Wine: But tis our English manner to affect Strange things,
and price them at a greater rate, Then home-bred things of better
consequence.
Mer. Tis true indeede; if all were of your mind, My poore estate would
sooner be advanc'd, And our French Marchants seeke some other trade.
Beech. Your poore estate! nay, neighbour, say not so, For God be
thanked you are well to live.
Mer. Not so good neighbour, but a poore young man, That would live
better if I had the meanes: But as I am I can content myselfe, Till God
amend my poore abilitie.
Neigh. In time no doubt; why, man, you are but young, And God,
assure your selfe, hath wealth in store, If you awaight his will with
patience.
Beech. Thankes be to God I live contentedlie, And yet I cannot boast of
mightie wealth: But yet Gods blessings have beene infinit, And farre
beyond my expectations. My shop is stor'd, I am not much in debt; And
here I speake it where I may be bold, I have a score of poundes to helpe
my neede, If God should stretch his hand to visit me With sicknesse or
such like adversity.
Neigh. Enough for this; now, neighbour, whats to pay?
Mer. Two pence, good sir.
Beech. Nay, pray, sir, forbeare; Ile pay this reckoning, for it is but
small.

Neigh. I will not strive since yee will have it so.
Beech. Neighbour, farewell.
[Exit Beech and Neigh.
Mer. Farewell unto you both. His shop is stor'd, he is not much in debt,
He hath a score of poundes to helpe his neede: I and a score too if the
trueth were known. I would I had a shop so stor'd with wares, And
fortie poundes to buy a bargain with, When as occasion should be
offered me; Ide live as merrie as the wealthiest man That hath his being
within London walles. I cannot buy my beare, my bread, my meate, My
fagots, coales, and such like necessaries, At the best hand, because I
want the coine, That manie misers cofer up in bagges, Having enough
to serve their turnes besides. Ah for a tricke to make this Beeches trash
Forsake his cofer and to rest in mine! I, marrie, sir, how may that tricke
be done? Marrie, with ease and great facilitie. I will invent some
new-found stratagem, To bring his coyne to my possession. What
though his death relieve my povertie? Gaine waites on courage, losse
on cowardice.
[Exit.

[SCENE II.]
_Enter Pandino and Armenia sicke on a bed, Pertillo their Sonne,
Falleria his Brother, Sostrato his Wife, Alinso their Sonne, and a
Scrivener with a Will, &c_.
Pan. Brother and sister, pray you both drawe