Sent us to Cambridge, where our oil is spent;
Us our kind college from the teat did tear,
And forc’d us walk, before we weaned were.
From that time since wandered have we still
In the wide world, urg’d by our forced will,
Nor ever have we happy fortune tried;
Then why should hope with our rent state abide?
Nay, let us run unto the baseful cave,
Pight in the hollow ribs of craggy cliff,
Where dreary owls do shriek the live-long night,
Chasing away the birds of cheerful light;
Where yawning ghosts do howl in ghastly wise,
Where that dull, hollow-eyed, that staring sire,
Yclep’d Despair, hath his sad mansion:
Him let us find, and by his counsel we
Will end our too much irked misery.
To wail thy haps, argues a dastard mind.
To bear too long, argues an ass’s kind.
Long since the worst chance of the die was cast.
But why should that word worst so long time last?
Why dost thou now these sleepy plaints commence?
Why should I e’er be dull’d with patience?
Wise folk do bear with, struggling cannot mend.
Good spirits must with thwarting fates contend.
Some hope is left our fortunes to redress.
No hope but this—e’er to be comfortless.
Our life’s remainder gentler hearts may find.
The gentlest hearts to us will prove unkind.
ACTUS IV., SCAENA 1.
SIR RADERIC and PRODIGO
at one corner of the stage; RECORDER
and AMORETTO at the other: two PAGES scouring of tobacco-pipes.
SIR RADERIC. Master Prodigo, Master Recorder hath told you law—your land is forfeited; and for me not to take the forfeiture were to break the Queen’s law. For mark you, it’s law to take the forfeiture; therefore not to take it is to break the Queen’s law; and to break the Queen’s law is not to be a good subject, and I mean to be a good subject. Besides, I am a justice of the peace; and, being justice of the peace, I must do justice—that is, law—that is, to take the forfeiture, especially having taken notice of it. Marry, Master Prodigo, here are a few shillings over and besides the bargain.
PRODIGO. Pox on your shillings! ’Sblood, a while ago, before he had me in the lurch, who but my cousin Prodigo? You are welcome, my cousin Prodigo. Take my cousin Prodigo’s horse. A cup of wine for my cousin Prodigo. Good faith, you shall sit here, good cousin Prodigo. A clean trencher for my cousin Prodigo. Have a special care of my cousin Prodigo’s lodging. Now, Master Prodigo with a pox, and a few shillings for a vantage. A plague on your shillings! Pox on your shillings! If it were not for the sergeant, which dogs me at my heels, a plague on your shillings! pox on your shillings! pox on yourself and your shillings! pox on your worship! If I catch thee at Ostend—I dare not stay for the sergeant. [Exit.