The Shoemaker’s Holiday – Act 4, Scene 3

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Enter LACY and ROSE, arm in arm.

How happy am I by embracing thee!
O I did fear such cross mishaps did reign,
That I should never see my Rose again.

Sweet Lacy, since fair Opportunity
Offers herself to further our escape,
Let not too over-fond esteem of me
Hinder that happy hour; invent the means,
And Rose will follow thee through all the world.

O how I surfeit with excess of joy,
Made happy by thy rich perfection!
But since thou payest sweet interest to my hopes,
Redoubling love on love, let me once more,
Like to a bold-faced debtor, crave of thee
This night to steal abroad, and at Eyre’s house,
Who now by death of certain aldermen
Is Mayor of London, and my master once,
Meet thou thy Lacy; where, in spite of change,
Your father’s anger, and mine uncle’s hate,
Out happy nuptials will we consummate.

Enter SYBIL.

O God, what will you do, mistress?  Shift for yourself, our father is at hand!  He’s coming, he’s coming!  Master Lacy, hide yourself!  In, my mistress!  For God’s sake, shift for yourselves!

Your father come!  Sweet Rose, what shall I do?
Where shall I hide me?  How shall I escape?

A man, and want wit in extremity?
Come, come, be Hans still:  Play the shoemaker,
Pull on my shoe.


Mass, and that’s well remembered!

Here comes your father.

Forware, metresse, tis un good skow; it sal vel dute, or ye sal neit betallen.

O God, it pincheth me!  What will you do?

Your father’s presence pincheth, not the shoe.

Well done; fit my daughter well, and she shall please thee well.

Yaw, yaw, ick weit dat well.  Forware tis un good skoo, tis gi mait van neits leither:  se ever, mine here.

Enter a Prentice.

I do believe it.  What’s the news with you?

Please you, the Earl of Lincoln at the gate
Is newly lighted, and would speak with you.

The Earl of Lincoln come to speak with me?
Well, well, I know his errand.  Daughter Rose,
Send hence your shoemaker:  dispatch, have done!
Sib, make things handsome!  Sir boy, follow me.

[Exit LORD MAYOR, SYBIL and Prentice.

Mine uncle come?  O what may this portend?
Sweet Rose, this of our love threatens an end.

Be not dismayed at this:  whate’er befall,
Rose is thine own.  To witness I speak truth,
Where thou appoints the place I’ll meet with thee.
I will not fix a day to follow thee,
But presently steal hence.  Do not reply:
Love which gave strength to bear my father’s hate,
Shall now add wings to further our escape.                                   [Exeunt.

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