There is no gentleman, knight, or lord: There is no duke, earl, or king, But, if I list, I can with one word Shortly send unto their lodging.
Some I disquiet with covetousness: Some with wrath, pride and lechery; And some I do thrust into such distress, That he feeleth only pain and misery.
Some I allure to have their delight Always in gluttony, envy and murder, And those things to practise with all their might, Either by land or else by water.
Ho, ho, ho! there is none to be compared To me, I tell you, in any point: With a great sort[369] myself I have tried, That boldly ventured many a joint, And when for a long time we had wrestled, And showed our strength on either side, Yet oftentimes a fall they received, When through my policy their feet did slide.
Wherefore (my dear children) I warn ye all: Take heed, take heed of my temptation, For commonly at the last ye have the fall, And also [be] brought to desperation.
O! it is a folly for many to strive, And think of me to get the upper hand, For unless that God make them to thrive, They cannot against me stick or stand: And though that God on high have his dominion, And ruleth the world everywhere, Yet by your leave I have a portion Of this same earth that standeth here.
The kingdom of God is above in heaven, And mine is, I tell you, beneath in hell; But yet a greater place, if he had dealt even, He should have given me and mine to dwell: For to my palace of every nation, Of what degree or birth soever they be, Come running in with such festination,[370]
That otherwhiles they amazed me.
O, all the Jews and all the Turks, Yea, and a great part of Christendom, When they have done my will and my works, In the end they fly hither all and some:[371]
There is no minute of the day, There is no minute of the night, But that in my palace there is alway Crowding together a marvellous sight; They come on thicker than swarms of bees, And make such a noise and crying out, That many a one lieth on his knees, With thousands kept under and closed about: Not so much as my parlours, halls, and every chamber: My porches, my galleries, and my court: My entries, my kitchen, and my larder, But with all manner people be filled throughout!
What shall I say more, I cannot tell, But of this (my children) I am certain, There comes more in one hour unto hell, Than unto heaven in a month or twain.
And yet for all this my nature is such, That I am not pleased with this company, But out of my kingdom I must walk much, That one or other I may take tardy.
Ho, ho, ho! I am never once afraid With these my claws you for to touch, For I will not leave, till you be paid Such treasure as is within my pouch.
The world is my son, and I am his father, And also the flesh is a daughter of mine; It is I alone that taught them to gather Both gold and silver that is so fine; Wherefore I suppose that they love me well, And my commandments gladly obey, That at the last then unto hell They may come all the ready way.
But now (I know), since I came hither, There is such a multitude at my gate, That I must again repair down thither After mine old manner and rate.
[_Here the Devil goeth out, and in cometh the Rich Man's Son alone_.
THE SON.
How glad am I that my journey is ended, Which I was about this whole day!
My horse to stand still I never suffered, Because I would come to the end of my way: But yet I am sorry that I cannot find My loving father at home at his place, That unto him I may break my mind, And let him know my miserable case.
[_Here he confesseth his naughtiness, uttering the same with a pitiful voice_.
I have been wild, I have been wanton, I have ever followed my fancy and will: I have been to my father a froward son, And from day to day continued still.
I have always proudly disdained those That in my madness gave me good counsel: I counted them most my mortal foes, And stoutly against them did rebel.
The thing that was good I greatly hated, As one which lacked both wit and reason; The thing that was evil I ever loved, Which now I see is my confusion.
I could not abide of the school to hear; Masters and teachers my heart abhorred; Methought the book was not fit gear For my tender fingers to have handled; I counted it a pleasure to be daintily fed, And to be clothed in costly array: I would most commonly slug in my bed, Until it were very far-forth day.
And (to be short) anon after this, There came such fancies in my brain, That to have a wife, whom I might kiss, I reckoned to be the greatest gain.
But yet, alas, I was quite deceived; The thing itself doth easily appear; I would, alas, I had been buried, When to my father I gave not ear!
That which I had I have clean spent, And kept so much riot with the same, That now I am fain a coat that is rent, Alas, to wear for very shame.
I have not a cross left in my purse To help myself now in my need, That well I am worthy of God's curse, And of my father to have small meed.
[_Here the Rich Man must be as it were coming in_.
But except mine eyes do me beguile, That man is my father, whom I do see: And now that he comes, without craft or wile, To him I will bend on either knee.
Ah, father, father, my father most dear!
FATHER. Ah! mine own child, with thee what cheer?
SON. All such sayings as in my mind At the first time ye studied to settle, Most true, alas, I do them find, As though they were written in the Gospel.
FATHER. Those words, my son, I have almost forgotten; Stand up, therefore, and kneel no longer, And what it was I spake so often, At two or three words recite to thy father.
SON. If that ye be, father, well remembered, As the same I believe ye cannot forget, You said that, so soon as I were married, Much pain and trouble thereby I should get.
FATHER. Hast thou by proof, son, this thing tried?
SON. Yea, alas, too much I have experienced: My wife I did wed all full of frenzy.
My seely poor shoulders hath now so bruised, That like to a cripple I move me weakly, Being full often with the staff thwacked: She spareth no more my flesh and bone, Than if my body were made of stone!
Her will, her mind, and her commandment From that day hither I have fulfilled, Which if I did not, I was bitterly shent, And with many strokes grievously punished: That would God, the hour when I was married, In the midst of the church I might have sinked.
I think there is no man under the sun, That here on the earth beareth life, Which would do such drudgery as I have done, At the unkind words of such a wife; For how I was used, and in what wise, A day to declare will not suffice.
If this be not true, as I have spoken, To my good neighbours I me report, Who other whiles, when I was smitten, My wife to be gentle did then exhort: For glad I was to abide all labour, Whereby the less might be my dolour.[372]
Wherefore, good father, I you humbly desire To have pity of me and some compassion, Or else I am like to lie fast in the mire, Without any succour or consolation: For at this hour I have not a penny, Myself to help in this great misery.
FATHER. For so much as by my advice and counsel In no manner wise thou wouldest be ruled.
Therefore to thee I cannot do well, But let thee still suffer as thou hast deserved, For that thou hast suffered is yet nothing To that tribulation which is behind coming.
SON. Alas, father, what shall I do?
My wits of themselves cannot devise What thing I were best go unto, Whereof an honest living may arise: Wherefore, gentle father, in this distress, Somewhat assuage mine heaviness.
FATHER. What should I do, I cannot tell, For now that thou hast taken a wife, With me thy father thou mayest not dwell, But always with her spend thy life.
Thou mayest not again thy wife forsake, Which during life to thee thou didst take.
SON. Alas, I am not able thus to endure, Though thereunto I were never so willing; For my wife is of such a crooked nature, As no woman else in this day living, And if the very truth I shall confess, She is to me an evil that is endless.
FATHER. If that thou thinkest thyself alone Only to lead this irksome life, Thou may'st learn what grief, sorrow and moan, Socrates had with Xantippe his wife[373]; Her husband full oft she taunted and checked, And, as the book saith, unhonestly mocked.
SON. I cannot tell what was Socrates wife, But mine I do know, alas, too well; She is one that is evermore full of strife, And of all scolders beareth the bell.
When she speaketh best, then brawleth her tongue; When she is still, she fighteth apace; She is an old witch, though she be young: No mirth with her, no joy or solace!
FATHER. I cannot, my son, thy state redress; Me thy father thou didst refuse; Wherefore now help thy own foolishness, And of thy wife no longer muse.
SON. My wife went forth into the country With certain gossips to make good cheer, And bad me at home still to be, That at her return she might find me there: And if that she do take me from home,[374]
My bones, alas, she will make to crackle, And me her husband, as a stark mome,[375]
With knocking and mocking she will handle; And, therefore, if I may not here remain, Yet, loving father, give me your reward, That I may with speed ride home again, That to my wife's words have some regard.
FATHER. If that at the first thou wouldest have been ordered, And done as thy father counselled thee, So wretched a life had never chanced, Whereof at this present thou complainest to me; But yet come on, to my house we will be going, And there thou shalt see what I will give:-- A little to help thy need living, Since that in such penury thou dost live; And that once done, thou must hence again, For I am not he that will thee retain.
[_Here the Rich Man and his Son go out, and in cometh the Perorator_.[376]
THE PERORATOR.
This Interlude here, good gentle audience, Which presently before you we have played, Was set forth with such care and diligence, As by us truly might well be shewed.
Short it is, I deny not, and full of brevity, But if ye mark thereof the matter, Then choose ye cannot but see plainly, How pain and pleasure be knit together.
By this little play the father is taught After what manner his child to use, Lest that through cockering[377] at length he be brought His father's commandment to refuse; Here he may learn a witty[378] lesson Betimes to correct his son being tender, And not let him be lost and undone With wantonness, of mischief the mother; For as long as the twig is gentle and pliant (Every man knoweth this by experience), With small force and strength it may be bent, Putting thereto but little diligence; But after that it waxeth somewhat bigger, And to cast his branches largely beginneth, It is scant the might of all thy power, That one bough thereof easily bendeth: This twig to a child may well be applied, Which, in his childhood and age of infancy, With small correction may be amended, Embracing the school with heart and body, Who afterward, with overmuch liberty, And ranging abroad with the bridle of will, Despiseth all virtue, learning, and honesty, And also his father's mind to fulfil: Whereby at the length it so falleth out That this the young stripling, after that day Runs into confusion without any doubt, And like for evermore quite to decay.
Wherefore take heed, all ye that be parents, And follow a part after my counsel; Instruct your children and make them students, That unto all goodness they do not rebel; Remember what writeth Solomon the wise: _Qui parcit virgae, odit filium_.
Therefore for as much as ye can devise, Spare not the rod, but follow wisdom: Further, ye young men and children also, Listen to me and hearken a while, What in few words for you I will show Without any flattery, fraud, or guile.
This rich man's son whom we did set forth Here evidently before our eyes, Was (as it chanced) nothing worth: Given to all noughtiness, vice, and lies.
The cause whereof was this for a truth: His time full idly he did spend, And would not study in his youth, Which might have brought him to a good end; His father's commandment he would not obey, But wantonly followed his fantasy, For nothing that he could do or say Would bring this child to honesty.
And at the last (as here ye might see) Upon a wife he fixed his mind, Thinking the same to be felicity, When indeed misery came behind; For by this wife he carefully[379] lived, Who under his father did want nothing, And in such sort was hereby tormented, That ever anon he went lamenting.
His father did will him lightness[380] to leave, And only to give himself unto study, But yet unto virtue he would not cleave, Which is commodious for soul and body.
You heard that by sentences ancient and old, He stirred his son as he best thought; But he, as an unthrift stout and bold, His wholesome counsel did set at nought; And since that he despised his father, God unto him did suddenly then send Such poverty with a wife and grief together, That shame and sorrow was his end.
Wherefore to conclude, I warn you all By your loving parents always be ruled, Or else be well assured of such a fall, As unto this young man worthily chanced.
Worship God daily, which is the chief thing, And his holy laws do not offend: Look that ye truly serve the king, And all your faults be glad to amend: Moreover, be true of hand and tongue, And learn to do all things that be honest, For no time so fit, as when ye be young, Because that age only is the aptest.
I have no more to speak at this season, For very good will these things I did say, Because I do see that virtue is geason[381]
With most men and children at this day.
[_Here the rest of the Players come in, and kneel down all together, each of them saying one of these verses_: