SCENE A Foreſt.

DUDGEON, doſt thou hear? look well to Brock, my mare, drive Dun and her fair and ſoftly down the hill, and take heed the thorns tear not my cow-hides, as thou goeſt near the hedges.

Maſter, the bull's hide is down.

Ha! what ſay'ſt thou knave? is the bull's hide down? why then hoiſt it up again. I'll meet thee at the ſtile, and help to ſet all ſtrait.

And yet, heaven help us, it is a crooked world, and an unthrifty; for ſome that have ne'er a ſhoe had rather go barefoot, than buy clout-leather to mend the old, when they can get no new; well, heaven mend them, tho' they will not mend their ſhoes. Let me ſee by my executor here, my leather pouch, what I have taken, what I have ſpent, what I have gained, what I have loſt, and what I have laid out: My taking is more than my ſpending, for here's ſtore left. I have ſpent but a groat, a penny for my two jades, a penny to the poor, a penny pot of ale, and a penny cake, for my man and me.—A dicker of cow-hides coſt me —'ſnails, who comes here? Dame Ploughſhare, or Miſtreſs what d'ye call her? put up, John Hobbs, money tempts beauty.

Well met, good fellow, ſaw'ſt thou not the hart?

My heart? heaven bleſs me from ſeeing my heart?

Thy heart? the deer, man, we demand the deer.

Do you demand what's dear? marry, corn and cow-hides.—Maſs! a good ſmug laſs. Well like my daughter Nell.

Cameſt thou not down the wood?

Yes, miſtreſs, that I did.

And ſaw'ſt thou not the deer imboſt?

By the rood ye make me laugh, ha! ha! ha! what the dickens is it, love! that makes ye prate to me ſo fondly?

Why how now, Hobbs, ſo ſaucy with the Dutcheſs and the Queen?

*Much Dutcheſs, and much Queen, I trow! theſe be but women; and one of them is as like my wench as a raw hide is to one that's not tann'd: I would Nell had her cloaths, I would give a load of hair and horns, and a fat of leather, to match her to ſome Juſtice, by the meg-holly.

Be ſilent, Tanner, and aſk pardon of the Queen.

And ye be the Queen, I cry ye mercy, good Miſtreſs Queen!

Madam, let's take our bows, and in the ſtanding ſeek to get a ſhoot.

Come bend our bows, and bring the herd of deer.

Heaven ſend you good ſtriking, and fat fleſh.— See if all women, high or low, be not alike. I took the Queen for Dame Ploughſhare, as I am a true Tanner.

Soft, who comes here? more knaves yet!

Ho! good-fellow! ſaw'ſt thou not the king?

No, good-fellow! I ſaw no King.—Which King doſt thou aſk for?

Why, King Edward, what King is there elſe?

There's another King, and ye could hit on him; one Harry, one Harry! and by our Lady they ſay he's the honeſter man of the two.

Sirrah, beware you ſpeak not treaſon.

What if I do?

Then you'll be hang'd.

That's a dog's death, I'll not meddle with it. But by my troth I know not when I do ſpeak treaſon, and when I don't; there's ſuch halting betwixt two Kings, that a man cannot go upright but he ſhall offend one of them: I would heaven had them both for me.

Well, thou ſaw'ſt not the King?

No; is he in the Country?

He's hunting here at Drayton-Baſſet. ^*

The devil he is, God bleſs his maſterſhip! I ſaw a woman here, that they ſaid was the Queen. She's as like my daughter Nell as ever I ſee, but that my daughter's fairer.

Farewell, fellow; ſpeak well of the King.

God make him an honeſt man, I hope that's well ſpoken; for, by the mouſe-foot, ſome give him hard words; whether he 'zerves um or not, let him look to that; I'll med⯑dle o'my cow-hides, and let the world wag.

The devil in a dung-cart! how theſe roy⯑ſters ſwarm in the country now the King is ſo near. 'deliver [9]me from this, for he looks more like a thief than a horſe! but a man cannot tell amongſt theſe court-nols who's true.

Now I have let my mother and the Queen, and all our train go by, let me awhile forget my Majeſty; and, 'ſtead of royal Edward, as the King's attendant have ſome ſport with yonder ruſtic. Hollo! my friend! good-fellow, prithee ſtay.

No ſuch matter. I am in haſte.

If thou be a good-fellow, let me borrow a word.

My purſe thou mean'ſt.—I am no good-fellow, and I pray heaven thou beeſt not one.

Why, doſt thou not love a good-fellow.

No; 'tis a bye-word, good-fellows be thieves.

Doſt thou think I am one?

Thought is free, and thou art not my ghoſtly father

In faith, I mean thee no harm.

Who knoweth that but thyſelf?—I pray heaven he ſpied not my purſe!

On my troth I mean thee none.

Well, upon thy oath I'll ſtay.—Now what ſay'ſt thou to me? ſpeak quickly, for my company ſtays for me be⯑neath at the next ſtile.

The King is hunting hereabouts; did'ſt thou ſee his Majeſty?

His Majeſty? what's that? his horſe or his mare?

Tuſh, I mean his Grace.

Grace, quotha! pray heaven he have any.—Which King doth thou 'quire for?

Why, for King Edward.—Know'ſt thou any more Kings than one?

I know not ſo many, for I tell thee I know none.— Marry, I hear of King Edward.

Did'ſt thou ſee his highneſs?

Now, by my holydame, that's the beſt term thou gaveſt him yet; he's high enough, but he has put poor King Harry low enough.

How low hath he put him?

Nay I cannot tell, but he has got the Crown from him, much good do him with it!

Amen! I like thy talk ſo well, I would I knew thy name.

Doſt thou not know me?

No.

Then thou know'ſt nobody; did'ſt never hear of John Hobbs, the Tanner of Tamworth?

Not till now, I promiſe thee; but now I do know thee, I like thee well.

So do not I thee.—I doubt thou art ſome out-rider, that lives by taking of purſes, here on Baſſet-heath.—But I fear thee not; for I have wared all my money in cow⯑hides, at Coleſill market; and my man and my mare are hard by at the hill-foot.

Is that thy grey mare, that's tied at the ſtile, with the hides on her back?

Ay, that's Brock, my mare; and there's Dun, my nag; and Dudgeon, my man.

There's neither man, nor horſe; but only the mare.

Od's blue bodkin! has the knave ſerved me ſo? farewell. I may loſe hides, horns, mare, and all, by prating with thee.

Tarry, man, tarry! they'll ſooner take my bay gelding, than thy grey mare; for I have tied mine by her.

That will I ſee before I take your word.

I'll bear thee company.

If you will, you muſt; but I had much rather go alone.

The SCENE continues.

Now, by my troth, the Queen ſhoots paſſing well.

So did the Dutcheſs, when ſhe was as young.

Age ſhakes the hand, and ſhoots both wide and ſhort.

What have they given us?

Six roſe-nobles juſt.

The Queen gave four.

Right, and the Dutcheſs two; had the King come, he would have rained on us ſhowers of gold.

Why, he is hunting, ſomewhere hereabout.— Let us firſt drink the Queen and Dutcheſs' health, and then go ſeek him.

Agreed.

How ſay'ſt thou, Tanner? wilt thou take my courſer for thy mare?

Courſer, call'ſt thou him? he's too fine for me! thy ſkittiſh jade will neither carry my leather, horns, nor hides. But if I were ſo mad to change, what would'ſt thou give me to boot?

Nay, boot that's boot-worthy —I look for boot of thee.

Ha, ha, ha! that's a merry jig! why, man, Brock, my mare, knows ha and ree; will ſtand when I cry ho, let me get up when I ſay hi, and down when I ſay hee.

Well, I'll give thee a noble if I like her pace; lay thy cow-hides on my ſaddle, and let's jog towards Drayton.

'Tis out of my way; but I begin to like thee well.

Thou wilt like me better ere we part.—I pray thee tell me, what ſay they of the King?

Of the Kings, thou mean'ſt.—Art thou no blab if I do tell thee?

If the King knows not now, he ſhall never know it for me.

Maſs, they ſay King Harry's a very advowtry man.

A devout man; and what's King Edward?

He's a frank franion, a merry companion, and loves a wench well; they ſay he has married a poor widow becauſe ſhe is fair.

Doſt thou like him the worſe for that?

No, by my feckens, but the better; for though I be but a plain Tanner, I love a fair laſs myſelf.

Prithee, tell me, how love they King Edward?

Faith, as poor folks love holidays.—Glad to have them now and then, but to have them come too often would undo them; ſo to ſee the King now and then is a comfort, but to behold him every day would beggar us; and I may ſay to thee, under the roſe, we fear we ſhall be troubled to lend him money, for we doubt he's but needy.

Would'ſt thou not lend him money if he ſhould need it?

Yes, by my holydame! he ſhall have half my purſe, and I'll ſell ſole-leather to help him to more.

In faith now, which lov'ſt thou beſt, Harry or Edward?

Nay, that's a ſecret! and two may keep it, if one be away.

Shall I ſay my conſcience? I think Harry is the true King.

Art adviſed of that? Harry's of the old houſe of Lancaſter, and that progenity do I love.

Then doſt thou hate the Houſe of York?

Why, no; for I am juſt a-kin to Sutton wind-mill; I can grind which way ſoe'er the wind blow: If it be Harry, I can ſay well fare Lancaſter! if it be Edward, I can ſing, York, York for my money!

Thou art of my mind, for I ſay Harry is the lawful King; Edward is but a uſurper; fool and a coward.

Nay, there thou lyeſt! he has wit enough, and courage enough; doſt thou not ſpeak treaſon?

Ay; but I know to whom I ſpeak it.

Doſt thou? an I were conſtable, I ſhould be for⯑ſworn if I ſet thee not in the ſtocks for it.

Well, let it go no further; for I did ſerve King Harry, and I love him beſt; though now I ſerve King Edward.

Thou art the arranter knave to ſpeak ill of thy maſter. But, ſirrah, what's thy name? what office haſt thou? and what will the King do for thee?

My name is Ned; I am the King's butler, and he will do more for me than for any nobleman in the court.

The devil he will! the more fool he, and ſo I'll tell him if e'er I ſee him; and I would I might ſee him in my poor houſe at Tamworth.

Go with me to the court, and I'll bring thee to the King; and what ſuit ſoever thou have to him, I'll warrant thee to ſpeed.

I ha' nothing to do at court; I'll home with my cow-hides; but if the King will come to me, he ſhall be welcome.

Haſt thou no ſuit touching thy trade? to tranſport hides, or have the ſole ſelling of leather within a certain circuit; or about bark, or ſuch like, to have letters patent.

By the maſs, I like not thoſe patents! for, I think it's pity that only one ſubject ſhould have, what might do good to many throughout the land.

Say'ſt thou me ſo, Tanner? well, let's caſt lots, whether thou ſhalt go with me to Drayton, or I go home with thee to Tamworth.

Lot me no lotting! I'll not go with thee; if thou wilt go with me, 'cauſe thou'rt my Liege's man (and yet I think he has many honeſter) thou ſhalt be welcome to John Hobbs: thou ſhalt be welcome to beef and bacon; and per⯑haps a bag-pudding: and my daughter Nell ſhall make a poſſet for thee ere thou goeſt to bed.

Here's my hand.—I'll but go and ſee the King ſerved, and be at home as ſoon as thyſelf; ay, and, with thy leave and her's, kiſs thy fair daughter too.

SCENE, Hobbs's Houſe.

Come, Nell, come daughter, be your hands and face waſhed?

Ay, forſooth, father.

Ye muſt be cleanly I can tell ye, for there comes a court-nol hither to-night, the King's maſterſhip's butler, Ned; a ſpruce youth; but beware ye be not in love, nor overtaken by him, for Courtiers be ſlippery lads.

No, forſooth, father.

God's bleſſing on thee! that half-year's ſchooling at Liechfield, was better to thee than houſe and land, it has put ſuch manners into thee: Ay, forſooth; and no forſooth, at every word. Is ſupper ready?

Ay, forſooth, father.

Have we a good barley bag-pudding, a piece of fat bacon, a good cow-heel, a hard cheeſe, and a brown loaf?

All this, forſooth; and more, ye ſhall have a poſſet: but, indeed, the rats have ſpoiled your hard cheeſe.

Now, the devil choak them! for they eat me a whole candle the other night.

What, Maſter! Maſter!

How, now, Knave? what ſay'ſt thou, Dudgeon?

Here's gueſts come. Where's Ellen?

What gueſts be they?

A court-nol; one Ned, the King's butcher, he ſays; and his friend too.

Ned, the King's butcher? ha, ha, ha!—the King's butler, thou mean'ſt; take their horſes, and walk them, and bid them come in doors.

Nell, lay the cloth, and ſupper o'th' board.

I'faith, honeſt Tanner, I'll ever keep promiſe with thee:—prithee, bid my friend welcome.

By my troth ye are both welcome to Tamworth! friend, I know not your name.

My name is Tom Twiſt.

Tom Twiſt? belike then you are the King's taylor.

No, faith.

Ye are welcome both; and I like you well, but for one thing.

What's that?

Nay, that I keep to myſelf.—For I grieve to think that pride brings many to extruction.

Prithee, tell us thy meaning.

Troth, I doubt ye ne'er came truly by all theſe gay trappings. 'Tis not your bare wages, and thin fees ye have of the King, can keep ye thus fine; but either ye muſt rob the King privily, or his ſubjects openly, to maintain your prodi⯑gality.—But, come, let's to ſupper.—What, Nell! what, Dudgeon!—where be theſe folks?

Ye are welcome, gentlemen, as I may ſay, forſooth.

I thank ye, fair maid.

A pretty wench, faith!

How lik'ſt her, Ned?

I like her ſo well, I would ye would make me your ſon-in-law.

And I like thee ſo well, Ned; that, had'ſt thou an occupation, (for ſervice is no heritage, and a young courtier, an old beggar.) I could find in my heart to caſt her away upon thee; and, if thou wilt forſake the court, and turn Tanner, here with me at Tamworth, or bind thyſelf to a Shoe-maker, in Liechfield, I'll give thee twenty nobles, ready money, with my Nell; and truſt thee with a dicker of leather to ſet up thy trade.

Ned, he offers ye fair, if ye have the grace to take it.

He does, indeed Tom; and hereafter I'll tell him more.

Come, ſit down to ſupper.

Go to, Nell! no more ſheep's eyes; ye may be caught, I tell you; theſe be licoriſh lads.

I warrant ye, father. Yet, in truth, Ned is a very proper man; and to'ther may ſerve, but Ned's a pearl in mine eye.

Daughter, call Dudgeon and his fellows, we'll have a three-man-ſong, to make our gueſts merry.

'Nails! what court-nols are ve? ye'll neither eat nor talk. What news at the court? do ſomewhat for your meat.

Heavy news there. King Henry is dead.

That's light news and merry for your maſter, King Edward.

But how will the commons take it?

Troth, the commons will take it as a common thing, and ſay, Well! God be with good King Henry! death's an honeſt man, for he ſpares not the King.—

Shrewdly ſpoken, Tanner, by my faith.

Come, fill me a cup of mother Whetſtone's ale, that I may drink to my friends; Here's to ye, Ned and Tom, with all my heart!

and yet, I doubt, if I come to the court, you'll not know me.

Yes, faith! Tom ſhall be my ſurety, Tanner, I will know thee.

If thou doſt not, Ned, thou deſerv'ſt that the King ſhould not know thee.

Come, honeſt Tanner, I drink to thy fair daughter, Nell; my wife that may be.

[...]faith Ned, thou may'ſt live to make her a lady.

Tuſh, her father offers nothing, having no more children but her.

I would I had not, condition ſhe had all; but I have a knave to my ſon, juſt ſuch an unthrift as one of you two; that ſpends all on gay cloaths and new faſhions, and no work will go down with him, that I fear he'll be hang'd; heaven bleſs you to a better fate! tho', by my troth, I doubt it; but come, let's drive away care with a good old ſong.

Well ſung good fellows, I would the King heard you.

So would I; i'faith, I ſhould ſtrain a note for him. Come, take away, and let's to bed—ye ſhall have clean ſheets, Ned, tho' they be coarſe; good ſtrong hemp, of my daugh⯑ter's own ſpinning.

Thanks, honeſt Hobbs! but we'll not go to bed.

What then? let's ha' more ale.

No more, good friend; we'll mount our horſes, and with ſpeed to London, for it is near day; and, honeſt Tanner! gramercy for our hearty cheer. If e'er it be thy chance to come to court, enquire for me, Ned, the King's Butler; or Tom, of the King's Chamber, my companion, and ſee what welcome we will give the there.

I have heard of courtiers have ſaid as much as you, and when they have been tried, would not ſo much as aſk their friends to drink.

We are none ſuch, believe me, honeſt Tanner. So now to horſe, for we muſt ſtrait away; and ſo, with hearty thanks, friend Hobbs, farewell.

Fare ye well, both! commend me to the King, and tell him,

SCENE, An Antique Hall.

So, the drift and meaning, whereby as it were, of all your long purgation, Sir Humphrey Bowes, is no more in ſome reſpect, but that the King wants money, and would ha' ſome of his commonality.

Tanner, you rightly underſtand the matter.

We have, my lord.

'Tis well, Sir Humphrey!

I a hundred marks.

Come, maſter Hadland, your benevolence.

Then you have money; let the King have part.

Ay, do, maſter Hadland, do; they ſay ye ſold a foul deal of dirty land for fair gold and ſilver; let the King have ſome, now, while ye have it; if ye be forborne a while, all will be ſpent: for he who cannot keep land, that lies faſt, will have much ado to hold money: 'tis ſlippery ware! 'tis melting ware!

Gramercy, Tanner!

Say, what ſhall we have?

My forty ſhillings.

Why hear you, goodman Goodfellow! (tho' you are much miſcall'd) hear a plain Tanner, who will teach you thrift; Keep fewer dogs and horſes, and then you may feed more men; yet feed no idle men, 'tis needleſs charge: but ſurely you, that for hounds and hunting mates do ſpare for nought, will ſomething ſpare unto your king.

My brace of angels, by my troth that's all.

Maſs! and 'tis well the curs have left ſo much; I thought they would have eaten up thy land ere this.

Now, Harry Grudgen.

What would you have of me? money I have none, and I'll ſell no ſtock; here's old polling!—ſubſidy, ſoldiers, and to the poor! and you might have your will, you'd ſoon ſhut me out of doors.

Now, by my holydame, neighbour Grudgen, thou'rt but a grumbling, grudging churl! thou haſt two ploughs going, and ne'er a cradle rocking, with many a peck of money; and wilt not ſpare a few pounds to the King.

Marry come up, goodman Tanner, are you ſo tart? your prolicateneſs has brought your ſon to the gallows almoſt; you can be frank of another man's coſt.

Thou'rt no good man to twit me with my ſon; he may outlive thee yet: my ſon's in jail;—is he the firſt ho⯑neſt man's ſon that hath been there? and thou wert a man as thou'rt but a beaſt, I would have thee by the ears.

His beneligence? hang him! he'll not give a penny willingly.

I care not much to caſt away forty pence.

Twenty old angels, and a ſcore of hides; if that be too little, take twenty nobles more: while I have it my King ſhall never want.

The King ſhall know thy loving, liberal heart.

Shall he, i faith? I thank ye heartily! but, hear ye, gentlemen, come ye from the court?

I do.

Lord, how does the King? and how does Ned, the King's butler? and Tom of his chamber? I am ſure ye know them.

I do, and they are well,

For want of better gueſts they were at my houſe one night.

I know they were.

They promiſed me a good turn for kiſſing my daughter, Nell; and now I ha' cagion to try them; my ſon's in Caperdochia, as they call it, in Newgate jail; for peeping into another man's purſe: and outcept the King be miſer⯑able, he's like to totter for lack of ground to ſtand on! can that ſame Ned, the butler, do any thing with the King?

More than myſelf or any other Lord.

A halter he can! by my troth ye rejoice my heart to hear it.

Come to the court; I warrant thy ſon's life; Ned will ſave that, and do thee greater good.

SCENE,—A Grand Apartment.

What of him, coufin?

But who hath ſeen him ſince he came to town?

I warrant you, my lord; I will not fail.

SCENE, The Tower.

What, John Hobbs? welcome i'faith, to court.

Gramercy, honeſt Tom! where is the hangman Ned? where is that mad raſcal? ſhall I not ſee him?

See, there he ſtands; that ſame is he.

What, Ned! a plague on thee, how doſt thou for a mad rogue? and how, and how?

In health, John Hobbs, and very glad to ſee thee; But ſay, what wind drove thee to London?

Ah. Ned! I was brought hither with a whirlwind, man; my ſon! my ſon! did I not tell thee I had a knave to my ſon?

Yes, Tanner, what of him?

Faith, he's in Caperdochia, Ned; in Newgate-goal, for a robbery: and is like to be hang'd, outcept thou get the King to be more miſerable to him.

Wilt thou, Ned? for thoſe good words, ſee what my daughter Nell hath ſent thee; a hankercher wrought with as good Coventry-blue ^* ſilk thread as ever thou ſaw'ſt.

How, Ned; a better preſent? that can'ſt thou not have, for ſilk, cloth, and workmanſhip; why Nell made it, man!—But, Ned, is not the King in this company? what's he in the white beard and red petticoat? By the maſs, I miſdoubt, Ned, that is the King: I know it by my Lord What-ye-call-um's players.

How by them, Tanner?

Why, ever when they play an Enterlout, or a Com⯑modity, at Tamworth, the King is always in a white-beard, and a red-gown like him; therefore I 'ſpect him to be the King.

No, truſt me, Tanner, that is not the King; but thou ſhalt ſee the King before thou goeſt, and have a pardon for thy ſon with thee.

Then what is he i'th'red-gown, and he i'th'black?

That is the Mayor, Lord-Mayor of London; the other is the Recorder.

What nick-names theſe Court-nols have for one-another! Mare and Corder, quotha!—We have no ſuch at Tamworth or Liechfield; there is the honeſt bailiff and his brethren: ſuch words 'gree beſt with us.

My Lord-Mayor, and good Mr. Recorder, I pray ye, for my ſake, to bid this honeſt Tanner welcome.

And, if it pleaſe you, dine with me tomorrow.

I thank ye, goodman Mare! and Maſter Corder! but I care not for no meat; my ſtomach is like to a ſick ſwine's, that will neither eat nor drink, 'till ſhe know what will become of her pig.—Ned and Tom, ye promiſed me a good turn when I came to Court; either do it now, and ſave my ſon from the gallows, or go hang yourſelves.

No ſooner comes the King, but I will do it.

I warrant thee, Tanner; fear not thy ſon's life.

Nay, I fear not his life; 'tis his death I fear.

All health and happineſs attend my ſovereign!

Here is the young man, Hobbs, condemn'd to die.

Sovereign! and my ſon! O that ever I was born!

But when, Tanner? can'ſt thou tell?

Nay, e'en when ye pleaſe; for I have ſo defended ye, by calling ye plain Ned, mad rogue, and raſcal, that I know ye'll have me hang'd. Therefore, no more ado, but let my ſon and I e'en be truſs'd up together.—And here's another, as honeſt as yourſelf no doubt; ye made me call him plain Tom, and I warrant his name is Thomas, and ſome man of worſhip too; therefore, let's to our doom, e'en when and where ye will.

Why, an'like your kingſhip, I can ſcarce ſay at all! but, I thank ye!—I thank ye for my ſon's life, I thank ye for not putting me to death; and when I get back to Tamworth, my Nell ſhall work a ſcarf, and ſend ye; and I'll not forget a ſkin of choice cordovan, of my own tanning, to make ye boots againſt ye next go a hunting: when, if ye would but once more leave your kingſhip behind ye, come to my poor hovel, and be plain hail-fellow Ned again, we'd have ſuch a rowſe, as ſhould make all the hair on my hides ſtand an end! and ſo, farewell!

Song and Chorus of "GOD SAVE THE KING!"