A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. II by Robert Dodsley

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JACOB. Yea, but, how will my father herewith be content?

REBECCA. Thou shalt see me win him thereto incontinent.
And here he cometh happily: Jacob, hear me;
Make a sign to Mido, that he do not name thee,
Then get thee in privily, till I do thee call.

JACOB. As ye command me, mother Rebecca, I shall.

ACTUS QUINTI, SCAENA NONA.

ISAAC. MIDO. REBECCA. JACOB.

ISAAC. Where be ye, good wife?

MIDO. My dame Rebecca is here.

REBECCA. I am glad, sweet husband, that I see you appear,
For[287] I have a word or two unto you to say.

ISAAC. Whatsoever it be, tell it me, I you pray.

REBECCA. Sir, ye know that now our life-days are but short,
And we had never so great need of comfort.
Now Esau his wives being Hittites both,
Ye know, to please us are much unwilling and both.
That if Jacob eke would take any Hittite to wife,
Small joy should we both have or comfort of our life.

ISAAC. Wife, ye speak this well, and I will provide therefore,
Call Jacob quickly, that he appear me before.

MIDO. I can run apace for him, if ye bid me go.

REBECCA. Go, hie thee at once then, like a good son, Mido.

[_Exit Mido, but returns directly with Jacob_.

ISAAC. O Lord, save thou my son from mis-carrying.

MIDO. Come, master Jacob, ye must make no tarrying,
For I it is that shall be shent, if you be slack,
Here is your son Jacob now, master Isaac.

ISAAC. Son Jacob, make thee ready, as fast [as] thou can,
And in all haste possible get thee unto Laban.
He is thine own uncle, and a right godly man,
Marry of his daughters, and not of Canaan.
In Mesopotamia shalt thou lead thy life.
The Lord prosper thee here without debate or strife;
And the God of Abraham prosper thee in peace;
He multiply thy seed, and make it to increase!
Now kiss me, dear son Jacob, and so go thy way.

REBECCA. Kiss me also, sweet son, and hence without delay.

JACOB. Now, most tender parents, as well with heart and word
I bid you well to fare, and leave you to the Lord.

MIDO. Nay, master Jacob, let me have an hand also.

JACOB. Even with all my heart: farewell, little Mido.
[_Exit Jacob_.

ISAAC. Now will I depart hence into the tent again.

REBECCA. As pleaseth God and you, but I will here remain.

ACTUS QUINTI, SCAENA DECIMA.

ESAU. RAGAN. REBECCA. ISAAC. MIDO.

ESAU. And is he gone indeed to mine uncle Laban,
In Mesopotamia at the town of Haran?
And is Jacob gone to the house of Bethuel?
The whirlwind with him, and flinging fiend of hell!
But I shall meet with him yet one day well enough.
And who is this? my mother? whom I see here now.

RAGAN. She stood here all this while, sir, did ye not her see?

ESAU. Didst thou see her stand here, and wouldest not warn me?

REBECCA. Son Esau, afore God, thou art much to blame,
And to do, as I hear of thee, is a foul shame.

ESAU. Mother, what is it ye heard of me of late?

REBECCA. That thou dost thy brother Jacob deadly hate.

ESAU. Hate Jacob? I hate him, and will do, till I die,
For he hath done me both great wrong and villainy;
And that shall he well know, if the Lord give me life.

REBECCA. Fie upon thee, to speak so, like a lewd caitiff!

RAGAN. My master Esau is of nature much hot,
But he will be better than he saith, fear not.

ESAU. My birthright to sell did he not make me consent?

REBECCA. But the same to do wert not thyself content?
There is no man to blame for it but thine own self.

ESAU. Yea, mother, I see that ye hold with that mopish elf.
It is your dainty darling, your prinkox, your golpol;
He can never be praised enough of your soul;
He must ever be extolled above the moon:
It is never amiss that he hath said or done.
I would he were rocked or dandled in your lap;
Or I would with this falchion I might give him pap.
I marvel why ye should so love him, and me not?
Ye groaned as well for the one as thother, I wot.
But Jacob must be advanced in any wise:
But I shall one day handle him of the new guise.[288]

REBECCA. Both on thy father's blessing and mine, I charge thee,
That thy soul intend never such iniquity;
Beware by the example of Cain, I thee reed,
That thou bring not the Lord's curse upon thy head.

ESAU. And what, should I take all this wrong at Jacob's hand?

REBECCA. Forgive, and the Lord shall prosper thee in the land.
My son Esau, hear me; I am thy mother:
For my sake, let pass this grudge against thy brother.

RAGAN. Sir, your mother's request is but reasonable,
Which for you to grant shall be much commendable.

ESAU. Mother, though it be a great thing that ye require:
Yet must all malice pass at your desire;
And for your cause, mother, this mine anger shall slake.

REBECCA. I thank thee, my son, that thou dost it for my sake.

ESAU. For your sake, with Jacob I will be at accord.

REBECCA. And shall I call thy father to be as record?

ESAU. As pleaseth you, mother, I can be well content.

REBECCA. Then will I go call him hither incontinent.
And where he doth already love thee very well,
This will make him to love thee better a great deal.

RAGAN. Truly, sir, this is of you a right gentle part:
At least, if it come from the bottom of your heart.

ESAU. It must now be thus; but when I shall Jacob find,
I shall then do as God shall put into my mind.

__Enter_ ISAAC _and_ MIDO _with_ REBECCA.

REBECCA. He hath at my word remitted all his quarrel.

ISAAC. Forsooth! love him the better a great deal.
And if he be here, I would commend his doing.

ESAU.[289] All prest here, father, to tarry on your coming.

ISAAC. Son Esau, thou hast thyself well acquitted,
That all quarrel to Jacob thou hast remitted.
It was the Lord's pleasure that it should thus be,
Against whose ordinance to stand is not for thee:
But now, to the intent it may please the Lord,
To knit your hearts one day in a perfect concord,
We shall first in a song give laud unto His name,
And then with all gladness within confirm the same.

REBECCA. As ye think best, dear husband, I agree thereto.

ESAU. Me ye may command to what ye will have me to do:
And so may ye do also Ragan my man.

ISAAC. I see none; but praise we the Lord the best we can,
Call forth all our household, that with one accord
We may all with one voice sing unto the Lord.

[_Ragan calleth all to sing_.

_This song must be sung after the prayer.

O Lord, the God of our father Abraham,
How deep and unsearchable are thy judgments!
Thy almightiful hand did create and frame
Both heaven and earth, and all the elements.
Man of the earth thou hast formed and create;
Some do thee worship, and some stray awry,
Whom pleaseth thee, thou dost choose or reprobate,
And no flesh can ask thee wherefore or why?
Of thine own will thou didst Abraham elect,
Promising him seed as stars of the sky,
And them as thy chosen people to protect,
That they might thy mercies praise and magnify.
Perform thou, O Lord, thine eternal decree
To me and my seed, the sons of Abraham;
And whom thou hast chosen thine own people to be,
Guide and defend to the glory of thy name_.

FINIS.

[_Then entereth the Poet, and the rest stand
still till he have done_.

THE POET. When Adam, for breaking God's commandment,
Had sentence of death, and all his posterity:
Yet the Lord our God, who is omnipotent,
Had in his own self by his eternal decree
Appointed to restore man, and to make him free.
He purposed to save mankind by his mercy,
Whom he once had created unto his glory.
Yet not all flesh did he then predestinate,
But only the adopted children of promise:
For he foreknew that many would degenerate,
And wilfully give cause to be put from that bliss,
So on God's behalf no manner default there is;
But where he chooseth, he showeth his great mercy:
And where he refuseth, he doth none injury,
But thus far surmounteth man's intellection,[290]
To attain or conceive, and (much more) to discuss:
All must be referred to God's election
And to his sacred judgment. It is meet for us,
With Paul the apostle, to confess, and say thus:
O, the deepness of the riches of God's wisdom!
How unsearchable are his ways to man's reason?
Our part therefore is first to believe God's word,
Not doubting but that he will his elected save:
Then to put full trust in the goodness of the Lord,
That we be of the number, which shall mercy have:
Thirdly, so to live, as we may his promise crave.
Thus if we do, we shall Abraham's children be,
And come with Jacob to endless felicity.

[_All the rest of the actors answer, Amen_.

_Then followeth the prayer_.

ISAAC. Now unto God let us pray for all the whole clergy,
To give them grace to advance God's honour and glory.

REBECCA. Then for the Queen's majesty let us pray
Unto God to keep her in health and wealth night and day,
And that, of his mere mercy and great benignity,
He will defend and maintain her estate and dignity;
That she, being grieved with any outward hostility,
May against her enemies always have victory.

JACOB. God save the Queen's councillors most noble and true,
And with all godliness their noble hearts endue.

ESAU. Lord save the nobility and preserve them all:
And prosper the Queen's subjects universal.

AMEN.

_Thus endeth this Comedy or Enterlude of Jacob and Esau_.

THE DISOBEDIENT CHILD.

THE PLAYER'S NAMES.

THE PROLOGUE SPEAKER. THE YOUNG WOMAN.
THE RICH MAN. THE SERVINGMAN.
THE RICH MAN'S SON. THE PRIEST.
THE MAN COOK. THE DEVIL.
THE WOMAN COOK. THE PERORATOR.

MR HALLIWELL'S PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION.[291]

So little is known respecting the history of the following tract, that
it is rather from an unwillingness to depart from the usual custom of
affixing introductions to our reprints, than from any expectation of
satisfying the slightest curiosity, that a few lines are here prefixed.
The interlude of "The Disobedient Child" was written about the middle
of the sixteenth century, by Thomas Ingelend, who is described in the
early printed copy as "late student in Cambridge," and his fame seems
to rest entirely on that production, for he is not to be traced in any
other early literary record.[292] It has been supposed by some writers,
from a few indistinct allusions in the play to Catholic customs, that
it was composed in the reign of Henry VIII.; but if this be the case,
the notice of Queen Elizabeth, introduced towards the close of the
drama, must be an interpolation, a supposition not unlikely to be
correct, for the audience are elsewhere reminded to "serve the king."
The printed edition by Colwell is without date, but it was published
about the year 1560. Two copies of this work which I have collated
differ in some slight particulars from each other, but there is not
sufficient reason for thinking that there were two editions, for it was
formerly a very common practice to correct and alter the press whilst
the impression was being taken.[293]

[It is observable that the present interlude marks a considerable
advance, in point of literary merit, on those which precede it in this
collection. The author was evidently a man of taste and judgment, and
many passages might be pointed out which possess no mean share of
picturesqueness, elegance, and dramatic propriety. Contrary to the
usual practice, in old as well as modern pieces, "The Disobedient
Child" concludes unhappily, though without any attempt at a highly
wrought tragical catastrophe; the Rich man persists in his unrelenting
conduct, and we are left to imagine that his son returns to live and
die in misery with his termagant wife.]

THE DISOBEDIENT CHILD.[294]

THE PROLOGUE.

THE PROLOGUE SPEAKER.

Now, forasmuch as in these latter days,
Throughout the whole world in every land,
Vice doth encrease, and virtue decays,
Iniquity having the upper hand;
We therefore intend, good gentle audience,
A pretty short interlude to play at this present:
Desiring your leave and quiet silence
To show the same, as is meet and expedient.[295]
The sum whereof, matter and argument,
In two or three verses briefly to declare,
Since that it is for an honest intent,
I will somewhat bestow my care.
In the city of London there was a rich man
Who, loving his son most tenderly,
Moved him earnestly now and then,
That he would give his mind to study,
Saying that by knowledge, science and learning,
Is at the last gotten a pleasant life,
But through the want and lack of this thing
Is purchased poverty, sorrow and strife.
His son, notwithstanding this gentle monition,
As one that was clean devoid of grace,
Did turn to a mock and open derision
Most wickedly with an unshamefast[296] face;
Insomuch that, contrary to his father's will,
Unto a young woman he did consent,
Whereby of lust he might have his fill,
And married the same incontinent.[297]
Not long after that, the child began
To feel his wife's great frowardness,
And called himself unhappy man,
Oppressed with pains and heaviness:
Who, before that time, did live blessedly,
Whilst he was under his father's wing;
But now, being wedded, mourning and misery
Did him torment without ending.
But now it is time for me to be going,
And hence to depart for a certain space,
For I do hear the Rich Man coming
With the wanton boy into this place.

[_Here the Prologue Speaker goeth out, and in
cometh the Rich Man and his son_.

SON. Father, I beseech you, father, show me the way,
What thing I were best to take in hand,
Whereby this short life so spend I may,
That all grief and trouble I might withstand.

FATHER. What is the meaning, my child, I thee pray,
This question to demand of me?
For that thing to do I am glad alway,
Which should not be grievous to thee.

SON. Marry, but therefore of you counsel I take,
Seeing now my childhood I am clean past,
That unto me ye plainly do make
What to a young man is best for to taste.

FATHER. I see nothing truly, my son, so meet,
And to prove so profitable for thee,
As unto the school to move thy feet,
With studious lads there for to be.

SON. What, the school! nay, father, nay!
Go to the school is not the best way.

FATHER. Say what thou list, for I cannot invent
A way more commodious to my judgment.[298]

SON. It is well known how that ye have loved
Me heretofore at all times most tenderly;
But now (me-think) ye have plainly showed
Certain tokens of hatred;
For if I should go to my book after your advice,
Which have spent my childhood so pleasantly,
I may then seem driven out of paradise,
To take pain and woe, grief and misery.
All things I had rather sustain and abide,
The business of the school once cast aside;
Therefore, though ye cry, till ye reve[299] asunder,
I will not meddle with such a matter.

FATHER. Why, cannot I thee thus much persuade?
For that in my mind is the best trade.

SON. When all is said and all is done,
Concerning all things, both more and less,
Yet like to the school none under the sun
Bringeth to children so much heaviness.

FATHER. What, though it be painful, what, though it be grievous,
For so be all things at the first learning,
Yet marvellous pleasure it bringeth unto us,
As a reward for such painstaking.
Wherefore come off, and be of good cheer,
And go to thy book without any fear,
For a man without knowledge (as I have read)
May well be compared to one that is dead.

SON. No more of the school; no more of the book;
That woful work is not for my purpose,
For upon those books I may not look:
If so I did, my labour I should lose.

FATHER. Why then to me thy fancy [doth] express,
That the school matters to thee are counted weariness.

SON. Even as to a great man, wealthy and rich,
Service and bondage is a hard thing,
So to a boy, both dainty and nice,[300]
Learning and study is greatly displeasing.

FATHER. What, my child, displeasing, I pray thee,
That maketh a man live so happily?

SON. Yea, by my troth, such kind of wisdom
Is to my heart, I tell you, very loathsome.

FATHER. What trial thereof hast thou taken,
That the school of thee is so ill bespoken?

SON. What trial thereof would ye fain know?
Nothing more easy than this to show:
At other boys' hands I have it learned,
And that of those truly, most of all other,
Which for a certain time have remained
In the house and prison of a schoolmaster.

FATHER. I dare well say that there is no misery,
But rather joy, pastime and pleasure
Always with scholars keeping company:
No life to this, I thee well assure.

SON. It is not true, father, which you do say;
The contrary thereof is proved alway,
For as the bruit goeth by many a one,
Their tender bodies both night and day
Are whipped and scourged, and beat[301] like a stone,
That from top to toe the skin is away.

FATHER. Is there not (say they) for them in this case
Given other while for pardon some place?

SON. None, truly, none; but that alas, alas,
Diseases among them do grow apace;
For out of their back and side doth flow
Of very gore-blood marvellous abundance;
And yet for all that is not suffered to go,
Till death be almost seen in their countenance.
Should I be content thither then to run,
Where the blood from my breech thus should spun,[302]
So long as my wits shall be mine own,
The schoolhouse for me shall stand alone.[303]

FATHER. But I am sure that this kind of fashion
Is not showed to children of honest condition.

SON. Of truth, with these masters is no difference,
For alike towards all is their wrath and violence.

FATHER. Son, in this point thou art quite deceived,
And without doubt falsely persuaded,
For it is not to be judged that any schoolmaster
Is of so great fierceness and cruelty,
And of young infants so sore a tormentor,
That the breath should be about to leave the body.

SON. Father, this thing I could not have believed,
But of late days I did behold
An honest man's son hereby buried,
Which through many stripes was dead and cold.

FATHER. Peraventure, the child of some disease did labour,
Which was the cause of his sepulture.[304]

SON. With no disease, surely, was he disquieted,
As unto me it was then reported.

FATHER. If that with no such thing he were infected,
What was the cause that he departed?

SON. Men say that of[305] this man, his bloody master,
Who like a lion most commonly frowned,
Being hanged up by the heels together,
Was belly and buttocks grievously whipped;
And last of all (which to speak I tremble),[306]
That his head to the wall he had often crushed.[307]

FATHER. Thus to think, son, thou art beguiled verily,
And I would wish thee to suppose the contrary,
And not for such tales my counsel to forsake,
Which only do covet thee learned to make.

SON. If Demosthenes and Tully were present truly,
They could not print[308] it within my head [more] deeply.

FATHER. Yet, by thy father's will and intercession,
Thou shalt be content that thing to pardon.

SON. Command what ye list, that only excepted,
And I will be ready your mind to fulfil,
But whereas I should to the school have resorted,
My hand to the palmer[309] submitting still,
I will not obey ye therein, to be plain,
Though with a thousand strokes I be slain.

FATHER. Woe is me, my son, woe is me!
This heavy and doleful day to see.

SON. I grant indeed I am your son;
But you my father shall not be,
If that you will cast me into that prison,
Where torn in pieces ye might me see.

FATHER. Where I might see thee torn and rent?
O Lord, I could not such a deed invent!

SON. Nay, by the mass, I hold[310] ye a groat,
Those cruel tyrants cut not my throat:
Better it were myself did slay,
Than they with the rod my flesh should flay.
Well, I would we did this talk omit,
For it is loathsome to me every whit.

FATHER. What trade then, I pray thee, shall I devise,
Whereof thy living at length may arise?
Wilt thou follow warfare, and a soldier be 'ppointed,
And so among Troyans and Romans be numbered?

SON. See ye not, masters, my father's advice?
Have ye the like at any time heard?
To will me thereto he is not wise,
If my years and strength he did regard;
Ye speak worse and worse, whatsoever ye say;
This manner of life is not a good way,
For no kind of office can me please,
Which is subject to wounds and strokes always.

FATHER. Somewhat to do it is meet and convenient;
Wilt thou then give thy diligent endeavour
To let thy youth unhonestly be spent,
And do as poor knaves, which jaxes[311] do scour?
For I do not see that any good art,
Or else any honest science or occupation,
Thou wilt be content to have a part,
After thy father's mind and exhortation.

SON. Ha, ha, ha, ha, labour in very deed!
God send him that life which stands in need:
There be many fathers that children have,
And yet not make the worst of them a slave,
Might not you of yourself be well ashamed.
Which would have your son thither constrained?

FATHER. I would not have thee driven to that succour,
Yet for because the scriptures declare,
That he should not eat, which will not labour,
Some work to do it must be thy care.

SON. Father, it is but a folly with you to strive,
But yet notwithstanding I hope to thrive.

FATHER. That this thine intent may take good success,
I pray God heartily of his goodness.

SON. Well, well, shall I in few words rehearse
What thing doth most my conscience pierce.

FATHER. Therewith I am, son, very well contented.

SON. Yea, but I think that ye will not be pleased.

FATHER. Indeed, peradventure it may so chance.

SON. Nay, but I pray ye, without any perchance,
Shall not my request turn to your grievance?

FATHER. If it be just and lawful, which thou dost require.

SON. Both just and lawful, have ye no fear.

FATHER. Now therefore ask; what is thy petition?

SON. Lo, this it is, without further dilation;[312]
For so much as all young men for this my beauty,
As the moon the stars, I do far excel,
Therefore out of hand[313] with all speed possibly
To have a wife, methink, would do well,
For now I am young, lively, and lusty,
And welcome besides to all men's company.

FATHER. Good Lord, good Lord, what do I hear?

SON. Is this your beginning to perform my desire?

FATHER. Alas! my child, what meaneth thy doting?
Why dost thou covet thy own undoing?

SON (_Aside_). I know not in the world how to do the thing,
That to his stomach may be delighting.

FATHER. Why, foolish idiot, thou goest about a wife,
Which is a burthen and yoke all thy life.

SON. Admit she shall as a burthen with me remain,
Yet will I take one, if your good-will I attain.

FATHER. Son, it shall not be thus, by my counsel.

SON. I trust ye will not me otherwise compel.

FATHER. If thou were as wise as I have judged thee,
Thou wouldest in this case be ruled by me.

SON. To follow the contrary I cannot be turned;
My heart thereon is stifly fixed.

FATHER. What, I say, about thine own destruction?

SON. No, no, but about mine own salvation:
For if I be helped, I swear by the mass,
It is only marriage that brings it to pass.
It is not the school, it is not the book:
It is not science or occupation,
It is not to be a barber or cook,
Wherein is now set my consolation;
And since it is thus, be, father, content;
For to marry a wife I am full bent.

FATHER. Well, if thou wilt not, my son, be ruled,
But needs will follow thine own foolishness,
Take heed hereafter, if thou be troubled,
At me thou never seek redress;
For I am certain thou canst not abide
Any pain at all, grief or vexation.
Thy childhood with me so easily did slide,
Full of all pastime and delectation;
And if thou wouldest follow the book and learning,
And with thyself also take a wise way,
Then thou mayst get a gentleman's living,
And with many other bear a great sway:[314]
Besides this, I would in time to come,
After my power and small hability,
Help thee and further thee, as my wisdom
Should me most counsel for thy commodity.
And such a wife I would prepare for thee
As should be virtuous, wise, and honest,
And give thee with her after my degree,
Whereby thou mightest always live in rest.

SON. I cannot, I tell ye again, so much of my life
Consume at my book without a wife.

FATHER. I perceive therefore I have done too well,
And showed overmuch favour to thee,
That now against me thou dost rebel,
And for thine own furtherance wilt not agree;
Wherefore of my goods thou gettest not a penny,
Nor any succour else at my hands,
For such a child is most unworthy
To have any part of his father's lands.

SON. I do not esteem, father, your goods or lands,
Or any part of all your treasure;
For I judge it enough to be out of bands,
And from this day forward to take my pleasure.

FATHER. Well, if it shall chance thee thy folly to repent,
As thou art like within short space,
Think none but thyself worthy to be shent,[315]
Letting my counsel to take no place.

SON. As touching that matter, I will no man blame:
Now, farewell, father, most heartily for the same.

FATHER. Farewell, my son, depart in God's name!

SON. Room,[316] I say; room, let me be gone:
My father, if he list, shall tarry alone.

[_Here the Son goeth out, and the Rich Man tarrieth behind alone_.

THE FATHER.
Now at the last I do myself consider,
How great grief it is and heaviness
To every man that is a father,
To suffer his child to follow wantonness:
If I might live a hundred years longer,
And should have sons and daughters many,
Yet for this boy's sake I will not suffer
One of them all at home with me to tarry;
They should not be kept thus under my wing,
And have all that which they desire;
For why it is but their only undoing,
And, after the proverb, we put oil to the fire.[317]
Wherefore we parents must have a regard
Our children in time for to subdue,
Or else we shall have them ever untoward,
Yea, spiteful, disdainful, naught and untrue.
And let us them thrust alway to the school,
Whereby at their books they may be kept under:
And so we shall shortly their courage cool,
And bring them to honesty, virtue and nurture.
But, alas, now-a-days (the more is the pity),
Science and learning is so little regarded,
That none of us doth muse or study
To see our children well taught and instructed.
We deck them, we trim them with gorgeous array,
We pamper and feed them, and keep them so gay,
That in the end of all this they be our foes.
We bass them, [we] kiss them, we look round about;
We marvel and wonder to see them so lean;
We ever anon do invent and seek out
To make them go tricksy,[318] gallant, and clean:
Which is nothing else but the very provoking
To all unthriftiness, vice, and iniquity;
It puffeth them up, it is an alluring
Their fathers and mothers at length to defy.
Which thing mine own son doth plainly declare,
Whom I always entirely have loved;
He was so my joy, he was so my care,
That now of the same I am despised.
And how he is hence from me departed,
He hath no delight with me to dwell;
He is not merry, until he be married,
He hath of knavery took such a smell.[319]
But yet seeing that he is my son,
He doth me constrain bitterly to weep,
I am not (methink) well till I be gone;
For this place I can no longer keep.

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