The Shoemaker’s Holiday – Act 5, Scene 1

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Enter EYRE, MARGERY, LACY and ROSE.

 EYRE
This is the morning then, stay, my bully, my honest Hans, is it not?

LACY
This is the morning that must make us two
Happy or miserable; therefore, if you–

EYRE
Away with these ifs and ands, Hans, and these etceteras!  By mine honour, Rowland Lacy, none but the King shall wrong thee!  Come, fear nothing:  am I not Sim Eyre?  Is not Sim Eyre Lord Mayor of London?  Fear nothing, Rose, let them all say what they can.  Dainty, come thou to me:  laughest thou?

MARGERY
Good my Lord, stand her friend in what thing you may.

EYRE
Why, my sweet Lady Madgy, think you Simon Eyre can forget his fine Dutch journeyman?  No, vah!  Fie, I scorn it!  It shall never be cast in my teeth that I was unthankful.  Lady Madgy, thou hadst never covered thy saracen’s head with this French flap, nor loaden thy bum with this farthingale–’tis trash, trumpery, vanity! Simon Eyre had never walked in a red petticoat, nor wore a chain of gold, but for my fine journeyman’s portuguese:  and shall I leave him?  No!  Prince am I none, yet bear a princely mind.

LACY
My Lord, ’tis time for us to part from hence.

EYRE
Lady Madgy, Lady Madgy, take two or three of my piecrust-eaters, my buff-jerkin varlets, that do walk in black gowns at Simon Eyre’s heels.  Take them, good Lady Madgy.  Trip and go, my brown queen of periwigs, with my delicate Rose and my jolly Rowland to the Savoy; see them linked, countenance the marriage, and when it is done, cling, cling together, you Hamborow turtle-doves!  I’ll bear you out!  Come to Simon Eyre, come dwell with me, Hans.  Thou shalt eat minced pies and marchpane.  Rose, away, cricket!  Trip and go, my Lady Madgy, to the Savoy!  Hans, wed and to bed!  Kiss and away, go, vanish!

MARGERY
Farewell, my Lord.

ROSE
Make haste, sweet love.

MARGERY
She’d fain the deed were done.

LACY
Come, my Rose, faster than deer we’ll run!                           [They go out.

EYRE
Go, vanish, vanish, avaunt, I say!  By the Lord of Ludgate, it’s a mad life to be a Lord Mayor, it’s a stirring life, a fine life, a velvet life, a careful life! Well, Simon Eyre, yet set a good face on it, in the honour of Saint Hugh.  Soft!  The King this day come to dine with me, to see my new buildings:  His Majesty is welcome, he shall have good cheer, delicate cheer, princely cheer.  This day my fellow prentices of London come to dine with me too:  they shall have fine cheer.  I promised the mad Cappadocians, when we all served at the Conduit together, that if ever I come to be Mayor of London I would feast them all, and I’ll do’t, I’ll do’t, by the life of Pharaoh! By this beard, Sim Eyre will be no flincher!  Besides, I have procured that upon every Shrove Tuesday, at the sound of the pancake bell, my fine dapper Assyrian lads shall clap up their shop windows, and away.  This is the day, and this day they shall do’t, they shall do’t!
Boys, that day are you free:  let masters care,
And prentices shall pray for Simon Eyre.                                           [Exit.

Proceed to the next scene

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