November 25· The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
Cupid as a Shoemaker
Thomas Dekker, The Shoemaker’s Holiday · about 22 minutes
We are indebted to Thomas Dekker for one of the most humorous characters in all Elizabethan literature; namely, Simon Eyre, an old shoemaker whose affairs became hilariously involved with those of the gentry.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
The Shoemaker’s Holiday
Thomas Dekker
469THE SHOEMAKER’S HOLIDAY
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE KING.THE EARL OF CORNWALL.SIR HUGH LACY, Earl of Lincoln.ROWLAND LACY, otherwise HANS,ASKEW,His Nephews.SIR ROGER OATELEY, Lord Mayor of London.Master HAMMON,Master WARNER,Master SCOTT,Citizens of London.SIMON EYRE, the Shoemaker.ROGER, commonly called HODGE,FIRK,RALPH,EYRE’S Journeymen.LOVELL, a Courtier.DODGER, Servant to the EARL OF LINCOLN.A DUTCH SKIPPER.A BOY.ROSE, Daughter of SIR ROGER.SYBIL, her Maid.MARGERY, Wife of SIMON EYRE.JANE, Wife of RALPH.Courtiers, Attendants, Officers, Soldiers, Hunters, Shoemakers, Apprentices, Servants.
SCENE—LONDON AND OLD FORD]
ACT I
SCENE I. [A street in London]
Enter the LORD MAYOR and the EARL OF LINCOLN
Lincoln
MY lord mayor, you have sundry timesFeasted myself and many courtiers more;Seldom or never can we be so kindTo make requital of your courtesy.But leaving this, I hear my cousin LacyIs much affected to1 your daughter Rose.L. Mayor. True, my good lord, and she loves him so wellThat I mislike her boldness in the chase.Lincoln. Why, my lord mayor, think you it then a shame,To join a Lacy with an Oateley’s name?L. Mayor. Too mean is my poor girl for his high birth;Poor citizens must not with courtiers wed,Who will in silks and gay apparel spendMore in one year than I am worth, by far:Therefore your honour need not doubt2 my girl.Lincoln. Take heed, my lord, advise you what you do!A verier unthrift lives not in the world,Than is my cousin; for I’ll tell you what:’Tis now almost a year since he requestedTo travel countries for experience.I furnished him with coins, bills of exchange,Letters of credit, men to wait on him,Solicited my friends in ItalyWell to respect him. But to see the end:Scant had he journey’d through half Germany,But all his coin was spent, his men cast off,His bills embezzl’d,3 and my jolly coz,4Asham’d to show his bankrupt presence here,Became a shoemaker in Wittenberg,A goodly science for a gentlemanOf such descent! Now judge the rest by this:Suppose your daughter have a thousand pound,He did consume me more in one half year;And make him heir to all the wealth you haveOne twelvemonth’s rioting will waste it all.Then seek, my lord, some honest citizenTo wed your daughter to.L. Mayor. I thank your lordship.[Aside.] Well, fox, I understand your subtilty.—As for your nephew, let your lordship’s eyeBut watch his actions, and you need not fear,For I have sent my daughter far enough.And yet your cousin Rowland might do well,Now he hath learn’d an occupation;And yet I scorn to call him son-in-law.Lincoln. Ay, but I have a better trade for him.I thank his grace, he hath appointed himChief colonel of all those companiesMust’red in London and the shires about,To serve his highness in those wars of France.See where he comes!—
471Enter LOVELL, LACY, and ASKEW
Lovell, what news with you?Lovell. My Lord of Lincoln, ’tis his highness’ will,That presently5 your cousin ship for FranceWith all his powers; he would not for a million,But they should land at Dieppe within four days.Lincoln. Go certify his grace, it shall be done. Exit LOVELL.Now, cousin Lacy, in what forwardnessAre all your companies?Lacy. All well prepared.The men of Hertfordshire lie at Mile-end,Suffolk and Essex train in Tothill-fields,The Londoners and those of Middlesex,All gallantly prepar’d in Finsbury,With frolic spirits long for their parting hour.L. Mayor. They have their imprest,6 coats, and furniture;7And, if it please your cousin Lacy comeTo the Guildhall, he shall receive his pay;And twenty pounds besides my brethrenWill freely give him, to approve our lovesWe bear unto my lord, your uncle here.Lacy. I thank your honour.Lincoln. Thanks, my good lord mayor.L. Mayor. At the Guildhall we will expect your coming. Exit.Lincoln. To approve your loves to me? No subtilty!Nephew, that twenty pound he doth bestowFor joy to rid you from his daughter Rose.But, cousins both, now here are none but friends,I would not have you cast an amorous eyeUpon so mean a project as the loveOf a gay, wanton, painted citizen.I know, this churl even in the height of scornDoth hate the mixture of his blood with thine.I pray thee, do thou so! Remember, coz,What honourable fortunes wait on thee.Increase the king’s love, which so brightly shines,And gilds thy hopes. I have no heir but thee,—And yet not thee, if with a wayward spiritThou start from the true bias8 of my love.Lacy. My lord, I will for honour, not desireOf land or livings, or to be your heir,So guide my actions in pursuit of France,As shall add glory to the Lacys’ name.Lincoln. Coz, for those words here’s thirty Portuguese,9And, nephew Askew, there’s a few for you.Fair Honour, in her loftiest eminence,Stays in France for you, till you fetch her thence.Then, nephews, clap swift wings on your designs.Begone, begone, make haste to the Guildhall;There presently I’ll meet you. Do not stay:Where honour beckons, shame attends delay. Exit.Askew. How gladly would your uncle have you gone!Lacy. True, coz, but I’ll o’erreach his policies.I have some serious business for three days,Which nothing but my presence can dispatch.You, therefore, cousin, with the companies,Shall haste to Dover; there I’ll meet with you:Or, if I stay past my prefixed time,Away for France; we’ll meet in Normandy.The twenty pounds my lord mayor gives to meYou shall receive, and these ten Portuguese,Part of mine uncle’s thirty. Gentle coz,Have care to our great charge; I know, your wisdomHath tried itself in higher consequence.Askew. Coz, all myself am yours: yet have this care,To lodge in London with all secrecy;Our uncle Lincoln hath, besides his own,Many a jealous eye, that in your faceStares only to watch means for your disgrace.Lacy. Stay, cousin, who be these?
473Enter SIMON EYRE, MARGERY his wife, HODGE, FIRK, JANE, and RALPH with a piece10
Eyre. Leave whining, leave whining! Away with this whimpering, this puling, these blubbering tears, and these wet eyes! I’ll get thy husband discharg’d, I warrant thee, sweet Jane; go to!
Hodge. Master, here be the captains.Eyre. Peace, Hodge; hush, ye knave, hush!Firk. Here be the cavaliers and the colonels, master.
Eyre. Peace, Firk; peace, my fine Firk! Stand by with your pishery-pashery,11 away! I am a man of the best presence; I’ll speak to them, an12 they were Popes.—Gentlemen, captains, colonels, commanders! Brave men, brave leaders, may it please you to give me audience. I am Simon Eyre, the mad shoemaker of Tower Street; this wench with the mealy mouth that will never tire, is my wife, I can tell you; here’s Hodge, my man and my foreman; here’s Firk, my fine firking13 journeyman, and this is blubbered Jane. All we come to be suitors for this honest Ralph. Keep him at home, and as I am a true shoemaker and a gentleman of the gentle craft, buy spurs yourselves, and I’ll find ye boots these seven years.
Marg. Seven years, husband?Eyre. Peace, midriff,14 peace! I know what I do. Peace!
Firk. Truly, master cormorant,15 you shall do God good service to let Ralph and his wife stay together. She’s a young new-married woman; if you take her husband away from her a-night, you undo her; she may beg in the daytime; for he’s as good a workman at a prick and an awl, as any is in our trade.
Jane. O let him stay, else I shall be undone.
Firk. Ay, truly, she shall be laid at one side like a pair of old shoes else, and be occupied for no use.
Lacy. Truly, my friends, it lies not in my power:The Londoners are press’d,16 paid, and set forthBy the lord mayor; I cannot change a man.
474Hodge. Why, then you were as good be a corporal as a colonel, if you cannot discharge one good fellow; and I tell you true, I think you do more than you can answer, to press a man within a year and a day of his marriage.
Eyre. Well said, melancholy Hodge; gramercy, my fine foreman.
Marg. Truly, gentlemen, it were ill done for such as you, to stand so stiffly against a poor young wife, considering her case, she is new-married, but let that pass. I pray, deal not roughly with her; her husband is a young man, and but newly ent’red, but let that pass.
Eyre. Away with your pishery-pashery, your pols and your edipols!17 Peace, midriff; silence, Cicely Bumtrinket! Let your head speak.
Firk. Yea, and the horns too, master.
Eyre. Too soon, my fine Firk, too soon! Peace, scoundrels! See you this man? Captains, you will not release him? Well, let him go; he’s a proper shot; let him vanish! Peace, Jane, dry up thy tears, they’ll make his powder dankish.18 Take him, brave men; Hector of Troy was an hackney to him, Hercules and Termagant19 scoundrels, Prince Arthur’s Round-table—by the Lord of Ludgate—ne’er fed such a tall, such a dapper swordsman; by the life of Pharaoh, a brave, resolute swordsman! Peace, Jane! I say no more, mad knaves.
Firk. See, see, Hodge, how my master raves in commendation of Ralph!
Hodge. Ralph, th’art a gull,20 by this hand, an thou goest not.Askew. I am glad, good Master Eyre, it is my hapTo meet so resolute a soldier.Trust me, for your report and love to him,A common slight regard shall not respect him.Lacy. Is thy name Ralph?Ralph. Yes, sir.Lacy. Give me thy hand;Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman.Woman, be patient; God, no doubt, will sendThy husband safe again; but he must go,His country’s quarrel says it shall be so.
475Hodge. Th’art a gull, by my stirrup, if thou dost not go. I will not have thee strike thy gimlet into these weak vessels; prick thine enemies, Ralph.
Enter DODGER
Dodger. My lord, your uncle on the Tower-hillStays with the lord mayor and the aldermen,And doth request you with all speed you may,To hasten thither.Askew. Cousin, let’s go.Lacy. Dodger, run you before, tell them we come.—This Dodger is mine uncle’s parasite, Exit DODGER.The arrant’st varlet that e’er breath’d on earth;He sets more discord in a noble houseBy one day’s broaching of his pickthank tales,21Than can be salv’d22 again in twenty years,And he, I fear, shall go with us to France,To pry into our actions.Askew. Therefore, coz,It shall behove you to be circumspect.Lacy. Fear not, good cousin.—Ralph, hie to your colours.
[Exit LACY and ASKEW.]
Ralph. I must, because there’s no remedy;But, gentle master and my loving dame,As you have always been a friend to me,So in mine absence think upon my wife.Jane. Alas, my Ralph.Marg. She cannot speak for weeping.
Eyre. Peace, you crack’d groats,23 you mustard tokens,24 disquiet not the brave soldier. Go thy ways, Ralph!
Jane. Ay, ay, you bid him go; what shall I doWhen he is gone?Firk. Why, be doing with me or my fellow Hodge; be not idle.
476Eyre. Let me see thy hand, Jane. This fine hand, this white hand, these pretty fingers must spin, must card, must work; work, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; work for your living, with a pox to you.—Hold thee, Ralph, here’s five sixpences for thee; fight for the honour of the gentle craft, for the gentlemen shoemakers, the courageous cordwainers, the flower of St. Martin’s, the mad knaves of Bedlam, Fleet Street, Tower Street and Whitechapel; crack me the crowns of the French knaves; a pox on them, crack them; fight, by the Lord of Ludgate; fight, my fine boy!
Firk. Here, Ralph, here’s three twopences: two carry into France, the third shall wash our souls at parting, for sorrow is dry. For my sake, firk the Basa mon cues.
Hodge. Ralph, I am heavy at parting; but here’s a shilling for thee. God send25 thee to cram thy slops26 with French crowns, and thy enemies’ bellies with bullets.
Ralph. I thank you, master, and I thank you all.Now, gentle wife, my loving lovely Jane,Rich men, at parting, give their wives rich gifts,Jewels and rings, to grace their lily hands.Thou know’st our trade makes rings for women’s heels:Here take this pair of shoes, cut out by Hodge,Stitch’d by my fellow Firk, seam’d by myself,Made up and pink’d27 with letters for thy name.Wear them, my dear Jane, for thy husband’s sake,And every morning, when thou pull’st them on,Remember me, and pray for my return.Make much of them; for I have made them soThat I can know them from a thousand mo.
Drum sounds. Enter the LORD MAYOR, the EARL OF LINCOLN, LACY, ASKEW, DODGER, and Soldiers. They pass over the stage; RALPH falls in amongst them; FIRK and the rest cry “Farewell,” etc., and so exeunt.
477ACT II
SCENE I. [A garden at Old Ford]
Enter ROSE, alone, making a garland
Rose. Here sit thou down upon this flow’ry bank,And make a garland for thy Lacy’s head.These pinks, these roses, and these violets,These blushing gilliflowers, these marigolds,The fair embroidery of his coronet,Carry not half such beauty in their cheeks,As the sweet countenance of my Lacy doth.O my most unkind father! O my stars,Why lower’d you so at my nativity,To make me love, yet live robb’d of my love?Here as a thief am I imprisonedFor my dear Lacy’s sake within those walls,Which by my father’s cost were builded upFor better purposes. Here must I languishFor him that doth as much lament, I know,Mine absence, as for him I pine in woe.
Enter SYBIL
Sybil. Good morrow, young mistress. I am sure you make that garland for me; against28 I shall be Lady of the Harvest.
Rose. Sybil, what news at London?
Sybil. None but good; my lord mayor, your father, and master Philpot, your uncle, and Master Scot, your cousin, and Mistress Frigbottom by Doctors’ Commons, do all, by my troth, send you most hearty commendations.
Rose. Did Lacy send kind greetings to his love?
Sybil. O yes, out of cry, by my troth. I scant knew him; here ’a wore a scarf; and here a scarf, here a bunch of feathers, and here precious stones and jewels, and a pair of garters,—O, monstrous! like one of our yellow silk curtains at home here in Old Ford House here, in Master Belly-mount’s chamber. I stood at our door in Cornhill, look’d at him, he at me indeed, spake to him, but he not to me, not a word; marry go-up, thought I, with a wanion!29 He passed by me as proud—Marry foh! are you grown humorous,30 thought I; and so shut the door, and in I came.
478Rose. O Sybil, how dost thou my Lacy wrong!My Rowland is as gentle as a lamb.No dove was ever half so mild as he.
Sybil. Mild? yea, as a bushel of stamped crabs.31 He looked upon me as sour as verjuice.32 Go thy ways, thought I; thou may’st be much in my gaskins,33 but nothing in my nether-stocks.34 This is your fault, mistress, to love him that loves not you; he thinks scorn to do as he’s done to; but if I were as you, I’d cry, ‘Go by, Jeronimo, go by!’35
I’d set mine old debts against my new driblets,And the hare’s foot against the goose giblets,For if ever I sigh, when sleep I should take,Pray God I may lose my maidenhead when I wake.Rose. Will my love leave me then, and go to France?
Sybil. I know not that, but I am sure I see him stalk before the soldiers. By my troth, he is a proper man; but he is proper that proper doth. Let him go snick-up,36 young mistress.
Rose. Get thee to London, and learn perfectlyWhether my Lacy go to France, or no.Do this, and I will give thee for thy painsMy cambric apron and my Romish gloves,My purple stockings and a stomacher.Say, wilt thou do this, Sybil, for my sake?
Sybil. Will I, quoth’a? At whose suit? By my troth, yes, I’ll go. A cambric apron, gloves, a pair of purple stockings, and a stomacher! I’ll sweat in purple, mistress, for you; I’ll take anything that comes a’ God’s name. O rich! a cambric apron! Faith, then have at ‘up tails all.’ I’ll go jiggy-joggy to London, and be here in a trice, young mistress. Exit.
479Rose. Do so, good Sybil. Meantime wretched IWill sit and sigh for his lost company. Exit.
SCENE II. [A street in London]
Enter LACY, disguised as a Dutch Shoemaker
Lacy. How many shapes have gods and kings devis’d,Thereby to compass their desired loves!It is no shame for Rowland Lacy, then,To clothe his cunning with the gentle craft,That, thus disguis’d, I may unknown possessThe only happy presence of my Rose.For her have I forsook my charge in France,Incurr’d the king’s displeasure, and stirr’d upRough hatred in mine uncle Lincoln’s breast.O love, how powerful art thou, that canst changeHigh birth to baseness, and a noble mindTo the mean semblance of a shoemaker!But thus it must be. For her cruel father,Hating the single union of our souls,Has secretly convey’d my Rose from London,To bar me of her presence; but I trust,Fortune and this disguise will further meOnce more to view her beauty, gain her sight.Here in Tower Street with Eyre the shoemakerMean I a while to work; I know the trade,I learnt it when I was in Wittenberg.Then cheer thy hoping spirits, be not dismay’d,Thou canst not want: do Fortune what she can,The gentle craft is living for a man. Exit.
Eyre. Where be these boys, these girls, these drabs, these scoundrels? They wallow in the fat brewiss38 of my bounty, and lick up the crumbs of my table, yet will not rise to see my walks cleansed. Come out, you powder-beef39 queans! What, Nan! what, Madge Mumble-crust. Come out, you fat midriff-swag-belly-whores, and sweep me these kennels40 that the noisome stench offend not the noses of my neighbours. What, Firk, I say; what, Hodge! Open my shop-windows! What, Firk, I say!
480Enter FIRK
Firk. O master, is’t you that speak bandog41 and Bedlam42 this morning? I was in a dream, and mused what madman was got into the street so early. Have you drunk this morning that your throat is so clear?
Eyre. Ah, well said, Firk; well said, Firk. To work, my fine knave, to work! Wash thy face, and thou’t be more blest.
Firk. Let them wash my face that will eat it. Good master, send for a souse-wife,43 if you’ll have my face cleaner.
Enter HODGE
Eyre. Away, sloven! avaunt, scoundrel!—Good-morrow, Hodge; good-morrow, my fine foreman.
Hodge. O master, good-morrow; y’are an early stirrer. Here’s a fair morning.—Good-morrow, Firk, I could have slept this hour. Here’s a brave day towards.44
Eyre. Oh, haste to work, my fine foreman, haste to work.
Firk. Master, I am dry as dust to hear my fellow Roger talk of fair weather; let us pray for good leather, and let clowns and ploughboys and those that work in the fields pray for brave days. We work in a dry shop; what care I if it rain?
Enter MARGERY
Eyre. How now, Dame Margery, can you see to rise? Trip and go, call up the drabs, your maids.
Marg. See to rise? I hope ’tis time enough, ’tis early enough for any woman to be seen abroad. I marvel how many wives in Tower Street are up so soon. Gods me, ’tis not noon,—here’s a yawling!45
481Eyre. Peace, Margery, peace! Where’s Cicely Bumtrinket, your maid? She has a privy fault, she farts in her sleep. Call the quean up; if my men want shoe-thread, I’ll swinge her in a stirrup.
Firk. Yet, that’s but a dry beating; here’s still a sign of drought.
Enter LACY disguised, singing
Lacy. Der was een bore van GelderlandFrolick sie byen;He was als dronck he cold nyet stand,Upsolce sie byen.Tap eens de canneken,Drincke, schone mannekin.46
Firk. Master, for my life, yonder’s a brother of the gentle craft; if he bear not Saint Hugh’s bones,47 I’ll forfeit my bones; he’s some uplandish workman: hire him, good master, that I may learn some gibble-gabble; ’twill make us work the faster.
Eyre. Peace, Firk! A hard world! Let him pass, let him vanish; we have journeymen enow. Peace, my fine Firk!
Marg. Nay, nay, y’are best follow your man’s counsel; you shall see what will come on’t. We have not men enow, but we must entertain every butter-box;48 but let that pass.
Hodge. Dame, ’fore God, if my master follow your counsel, he’ll consume little beef. He shall be glad of men an he can catch them.
Firk. Ay, that he shall.
Hodge. ’Fore God, a proper man, and I warrant, a fine workman. Master, farewell; dame, adieu; if such a man as he cannot find work, Hodge is not for you. Offers to go.
Eyre. Stay, my fine Hodge.
Firk. Faith, an your foreman go, dame, you must take a journey to seek a new journeyman; if Roger remove, Firk follows. If Saint Hugh’s bones shall not be set a-work, I may prick mine awl in the walls, and go play. Fare ye well, master; good-bye, dame.
482Eyre. Tarry, my fine Hodge, my brisk foreman! Stay, Firk! Peace, pudding-broth! By the Lord of Ludgate, I love my men as my life. Peace, you gallimaufry!49 Hodge, if he want work, I’ll hire him. One of you to him; stay,—he comes to us.
Firk. Den skomaker, quoth ’a! And hark you, skomaker, have you all your tools, a good rubbing-pin, a good stopper, a good dresser, your four sorts of awls, and your two balls of wax, your paring knife, your hand- and thumb-leathers, and good St. Hugh’s bones to smooth up your work?
Lacy. Yaw, yaw; be niet vorveard. Ik hab all de dingen voour mack skooes groot and cleane.53
Firk. Ha, ha! Good master, hire him; he’ll make me laugh so that I shall work more in mirth than I can in earnest.
Eyre. Hear ye, friend, have ye any skill in the mystery of cordwainers?
Lacy. Ik weet niet wat yow seg; ich verstaw you niet.54
Firk. Why, thus, man: [Imitating by gesture a shoemaker at work.] Ich verste u niet, quoth ’a.
Firk. Yaw, yaw! He speaks yawing like a jackdaw that gapes to be fed with cheese-curds. Oh, he’ll give a villanous pull at a can of double-beer; but Hodge and I have the vantage, we must drink first, because we are the eldest journeymen.
Eyre. What is thy name?Lacy. Hans—Hans Meulter.
Eyre. Give me thy hand; th’art welcome.—Hodge, entertain him; Firk, bid him welcome; come, Hans. Run, wife, bid your maids, your trullibubs,56 make ready my fine men’s breakfasts. To him, Hodge!
483Hodge. Hans, th’art welcome; use thyself friendly, for we are good fellows; if not, thou shalt be fought with, wert thou bigger than a giant.
Firk. Yea, and drunk with, wert thou Gargantua. My master keeps no cowards, I tell thee.—Ho, boy, bring him an heel-block, here’s a new journeyman.
Enter Boy
Lacy. O, ich wersto you; ich moet een halve dossen cans betaelen; here, boy, nempt dis skilling, tap eens freelicke.57 Exit Boy.
Eyre. Quick, snipper-snapper, away! Firk, scour thy throat; thou shalt wash it with Castilian liquor.
Enter Boy
Come, my last of the fives, give me a can. Have to thee, Hans; here, Hodge; here, Firk; drink, you mad Greeks, and work like true Trojans, and pray for Simon Eyre, the shoemaker.—Here, Hans, and th’art welcome.
Firk. Lo, dame, you would have lost a good fellow that will teach us to laugh. This beer came hopping in well.
Marg. Simon, it is almost seven.
Eyre. Is’t so, Dame Clapper-dudgeon?58 Is’t seven a clock, and my men’s breakfast not ready? Trip and go, you soused conger,59 away! Come, you mad hyperboreans; follow me, Hodge; follow me, Hans; come after, my fine Firk; to work, to work a while, and then to breakfast! [Exit.
Firk. Soft! Yaw, yaw, good Hans, though my master have no more wit but to call you afore me, I am not so foolish to go behind you, I being the elder journeyman. [Exeunt.
This is the reading for November 25 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 88. There the assignment reads “Vol. 47, pp. 469–483.” Read it in the guide.