A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 9 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 508 pages of information about A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 9.

MOTHER MIDNIGHT.  Marry, God’s benison light o’ thy good heart for’t.  Ha, that I were young again! i’ faith, I was an old doer at these love-songs when I was a girl.

Now, by the Mary matins, Peg, thou hast got the merriest wooer in all

Faith, I am none of those that love nothing but tum, dum, diddle.  If
he had not been a merry shaver, I would never have had him.


    But come, my nimble lass,
    Let all these matters pass,
    And in a bouncing bravation,
    Let’s talk of our copulation.

What good cheer shall we have to-morrow?  Old grandsire Thickskin, you that sit there as melancholy as a mantle-tree, what will you give us toward this merry meeting?

Marry, because you told me a merry goose case, I’ll bestow a fat goose
on ye, and God give you good luck.

Marry, well-said, old master:  e’en God give them joy indeed; for, by my
vay, they are a good, sweet young couple.

Granam, stand out o’ the way; for here come gentlefolk will run o’er
you else.


Master, here comes your son again.

Is Fortunatus there?  Welcome, Fortunatus:  Where’s Sophos?

Here Sophos is, as much o’erworn with love,
As you with grief for loss of Lelia.

And ten times more, if it be possible: 
The love of Lelia is to me more dear,
Than is a kingdom or the richest crown
That e’er adorn’d the temples of a king.

Thou welcome, Sophos—­thrice more welcome now,
Than any man on earth—­to me or mine: 
It is not now with me as late it was;
I low’r’d at learning, and at virtue spurn’d: 
But now my heart and mind, and all, is turn’d. 
Were Lelia here, I soon would knit the knot
’Twixt her and thee, that time could ne’er untie,
Till fatal sisters victory had won,
And that your glass of life were quite outrun.

Zounds, I think he be spurblind; why, Lelia stands hard by him.

And Lelia here falls prostrate on her knee,
And craves a pardon for her late offence.

What, Lelia my daughter?  Stand up, wench: 
Why, now my joy is full;
My heart is lighten’d of all sad annoy: 
Now fare well, grief, and welcome home, my joy.—­
Here, Sophos, take thy Lelia’s hand: 
Great God of heav’n your hearts combine,
In virtue’s lore to raise a happy line.

Now Phaeton hath check’d his fiery steeds,
And quench’d his burning beams that late were wont
To melt my waxen wings, when as I soar’d aloft;
And lovely Venus smiles with fair aspect
Upon the spring-time of our sacred love. 
Thou great commander of the circled orbs,
Grant that this league of lasting amity
May lie recorded by eternity.

Project Gutenberg
A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 9 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
Follow Us on Facebook