else his fellow, which is in prison, his room shall supply.
Chill not be his half for vorty shillings, I tell you plain,
I think Damon be too wise to return again.
Will. Will no man speak for them in this woful case?
Grim. No, chill warrant you, one Master Stippus is in place,
Where he may do good, but he frames himself so,
Whatsoever Dionysius willeth, to that he will not say no:
’Tis a subtle vox, he will not tread on thorns for none,
A merry harecop[113] ’tis, and a pleasant companion;
A right courtier, and can provide for one.
Jack. Will, how like you this gear? your master Aristippus also
At this collier’s hand hath had a blow!
But in faith, Father Grim, cannot ye colliers
Provide for yourselves far better than courtiers?
Grim. Yes, I trow: black colliers go in threadbare coats,
Yet so provide they, that they have the fair white groats.
Ich may say in counsel, though all day I moil in dirt,
Chill not change lives with any in Dionysius’ court:
For though their apparel be never so fine,
Yet sure their credit is far worse than mine.
And, by Cock, I may say, for all their high looks,
I know some sticks full deep in merchants’ books:
And deeper will fall in, as fame me tells,
As long as instead of money they take up hauks’ hoods and bells:
Whereby they fall into a swelling disease, which colliers do not know;
’T ’ath a mad name: it is called, ich ween, Centum pro cento.
Some other in courts make others laugh merrily,
When they wail and lament their own estate secretly.
Friendship is dead in court, hypocrisy doth reign;
Who is in favour now, to-morrow is out again:
The state is so uncertain that I, by my will,
Will never be courtier, but a collier still.
Will. It seemeth that colliers have a very[114] trim life.
Grim. Colliers get money still: tell me of troth,
Is not that a trim life now, as the world go’th?
All day though I toil with my main and might,
With money in my pouch I come home merry at night,
And sit down in my chair by my wife fair Alison,
And turn a crab in the fire,[115] as merry as Pope John.
Jack. That pope was a merry fellow, of whom folk talk so much.
Grim. H’ad to be merry withal, h’ad gold enough in his hutch.
Jack. Can gold make men merry? they say, who can sing so merry a note,
As he that is not able to change a groat?[116]
Grim. Who sings in that case, sings never in tune. I know for my part,
That a heavy pouch with gold makes a light heart;
Of which I have provided for a dear year good store,
And these benters,[117] I trow, shall anon get me more.
Will. By serving the court with coals, you gain’d all this money.
Grim. By the court only, I assure ye.
Jack. After what sort, I pray thee tell me?
Grim. Nay, there bate an ace (quod Bolton[118]); I can wear a horn and blow it not.
Jack. By ’r Lady, the wiser man.
Grim. Shall I tell you by what sleight I got all this money?
Then ich were a noddy indeed; no, no, I warrant ye.
Yet in few words I tell you this one thing,
He is a very fool that cannot gain by the king.
Will. Well said, Father Grim: you are a wily collier and a brave,
I see now there is no knave like to the old knave.
Grim. Such knaves have money, when courtiers have none.
But tell me, is it true that abroad is blown?
Jack. What is that?
Grim. Hath the king made those fair damsels his daughters,
To become now fine and trim barbers?
Jack. Yea, truly, to his own person.
Grim. Good fellows, believe me, as the case now stands,
I would give one sack of coals to be wash’d at their hands,
If ich came so near them, for my wit chould not give three chips,
If ich could not steal one swap at their lips.
Jack. Will, this knave is drunk, let us dress him.
Let us rifle him so, that he have not one penny to bless him,
And steal away his debenters[119] too.
[Aside.
Will. Content: invent the way, and I am ready,
Jack. Faith, and I will make him a noddy.
[Aside.
Father Grim, if you pray me well,[120] I will wash you and shave you too,
Even after the same fashion as the king’s daughters do:
In all points as they handle Dionysius, I will dress you trim and fine.
Grim. Chuld vain learn that: come on then, chill give thee a whole pint of wine
At tavern for thy labour, when ’cha money for my benters here.
[Here
